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Camillo, this great Sir will yet stay longer.

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold; When you caft out, it ftill came home.

Lea. Didft note it?

Cam. He would not stay at your petitions made; His bufinefs more material.

Leo. Didit perceive it à

They're here with me already; whifp'ring, rounding:
Sicilia is a fo-forth; 'tis far gone,

When I fhall guft it laft. How came't, Camillo,
That he did ftay?

Cam. At the good Queen's entreaty.

Leo. At the Queen's be't; good, fhould be pertinent; But fo it is, it is not. Was this taken

By any understanding-pate but thine?

For thy conceit is foaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks; not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures? by fome severals
Of head piece extraordinary; lower meffes,
Perchance, are to this bufinefs purblind? fay.

Cam. Bufinefs, my Lord? I think, most understand Bohemia ftays here longer.

Leo. Ha?

Cam. Stays here longer,

Leo. Ay, but why?

Cam. To fatisfy your Highnefs, and th' intreaties Of our most gracious mistress.

Leo. Satisfy

Th' intreaties of your mistrefs? fatisfy ?-
Let that fuffice. I've trufted thee, Camillo,
With all the things nearest my heart; as well
My chamber-councils, wherein, prieft like, thou
Haft cleans'd by bofom: I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity; deceiv'd

In that, which feems fo.

Cam. Be it forbid, my Lord

Leo. To bide upon't;-Thou art not honeft; or, If thoù inclin'ft that way, thou art a coward; Which hoxes honefty behind, reftraining

From course requir'd: or else thou must be counted
A fervant grafted in my ferious truft,

And therein negligent; or elfe a fool,

That feeft a game plaid home, the rich take drawn,
And tak'st it all for jeft.

Cam. My gracious Lord,

I may be negligent, foolish and fearful (5) ;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my Lord,
If ever I were wilful negligent,

It was my folly; if industriously

I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the iffue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wifeft: thefe, my Lord,
Are fuch allow'd infirmities, that honefty
Is never free of. But, befeech your Grace,
Be plainer with me, let me know my trespass
By its own vifage; if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.

Leo. Ha'not you feen, Camillo,

(But that's paft doubt, you have; or your eye-glafs Is thicker than a cuckold's horn ;) or heard,

(For a vifion fo apparent, rumour

Cannot be mute;) or thought, (for cogitation

Refides not in that man, that do's not think it ;)

(5) I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;
In every one of thefe no man is free,
But that bis negligence, bis folly, fear,

Amongst the infinite doings of the world

Sometimes puts forth in your affairs, my Lord.] Moft accurate pointing this, and fine nonfenfe the refult of it! The old folio's firft blunder'd thus, and Mr. Rowe by inadvertence (if he read the sheets at all,) overlook'd the fault, Mr. Pope, like a moft obfequious editor, has taken the paffage on content, and purfued the track of Atup dity. I dare fay, every underftanding reader will allow, my reformation of the pointing has entirely retriev'd the place from obfcusity, and reconcil'd it to the author's meaning.


My wife is flippery ? if thou wilt, confefs;
(Or else be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say,
My wife's a hobby-horse, deferves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: fay't, and juftify't,
Cam. I would not be a ftander-by, to hear
My fovereign Mistress clouded fo, without
My prefent vengeance taken; 'fhrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you lefs
Than this; which to reiterate, were fin
As deep as that, tho' true.

Leo. Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meating nofes?
Kiffing with infide lip? ftopping the career
Of laughter with a figh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honefty :) horfing foot on foot ?
Skulking in corners ? withing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? the noon, midnight, and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web, but theirs; theirs only,
That would, unfeen, be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing;
The covering fky is nothing, Bohemia nothing;

My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.

Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'd

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.

Leo. Say it be, 'tis true.

Cam. No, no, my Lord.

Leo. It is; you lye, you lye:

I fay, thou lieft, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a grofs lowt, a mindless slave,

Or elfe a hovering temporizer, that

Canft with thine eyes at once fee good and evil,
Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver
Infected, as her life, fhe would not live

The running of one glass.

Cam. Who do's infect her?

Leo. Why he, that wears her like his medal, hanging


About his neck; Bohemia,-who, if I
Had fervants true about me, that bare eyes
To fee alike mine honour, as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
Which fhould undo more doing: I, and thou
His cup-bearer, (whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who may'st see
Plainly, as heav'n fees earth, and earth fees heav'n,
How I am gall'd ;) thou might'ft be-fpice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lasting wink ;
Which draught to me were cordial.

Cam. Sir, my Lord,

I could do this, and that with no rash potion,
But with a lingring dram, that fhould not work,
Maliciously, like poifon but I cannot (6)


Believe this crack to be in my dread miftrefs,
So fovereignly being honourable.

Leo. I've lov'd thee.Make't thy queftion, and go rots Do't think, I am fo muddy, fo unfettled,

To appoint myself in this vexation? Sully
The purity and whitenefs of my fheets,
(Which to preferve, is fleep; which being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wafps :)
Give fcandal to the blood o'th' Prince, my fon,
Who I do think, is mine, and love as mine,


but I cannot

Believe this crack to be in my dread miftrefs,

So fovereignly being bonourable.

I have lov'd thee.

Leo. Make that thy queftion and go rot.] This paffage wants very little weighing, to determine fafely upon it, that the laft hemiftich affign'd to Camillo, muft have been mistakenly placed to him. It is a ftrange inftance of difrefpect and infolence in Camillo to his king and matter, to tell him that he has once lov'd him.But fenfe and reason will easily acquit our Poet from fuch an impropriety. I have ventur'd at a tranfpofition, which feems felf-evident. Camillo will not be perfuaded into a fufpicion of the difloyalty imputed to his mif. trefs. The King, who believes nothing but his jealousy, provok'd that Camillo is fo obftinately diffident, finely ftarts into a rage and cries; I've lov'd thee.- -Make't thy queftion, and go rot. i. e. I have tender'd thee well, Camillo, but I here cancel ali former refpect at If thou any longer make a question of my wife's difloyalty; go from my prefence, and perdition overtake thee for thy ftubbornnefs. Without


Without ripe moving to't? would I do this?
Could man fo blench?

Cam. I muft believe you, Sir;

I do, and will fetch off Bohemia for't t

Provided, that, when he's remov'd, your Highnefa
Will take again your Queen, as yours at first,
Even for your fon's fake, and thereby for fealing
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms
Known and ally'd to yours.

Leo. Thou doft advise me,

Even fo as I mine own course have fet down:
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
Cam. My Lord,

Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feafts, keep with Bohemia,
And with your Queen: I am his cup-bearer;
If from me he have wholesome beveridge,
Account me not your fervant.

Leo. This is all;

Do't, and thou haft the one half of my heart;

Do't not, thou fplit'ft thine own.

Cam. I'll do't, my Lord.

Leo. I will feem friendly, as thou haft advis'd me. [Exit.
Cam. O miferable Lady! but for me,

What cafe ftand I in? I must be the poifoner
Of good Polixenes, and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master; one,

Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his, fo too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands, that had ftruck anointed Kings,
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but fince
Nor brafs, nor ftone, nor parchment, bears not one ;
Let villainy itself forfwear't. I must

Forfake the court; to do't, or no, is certain

To me a break-neck. Happy ftar, reign now!
Here comes Bohemia.

Enter Polixenes.

Pol. This is ftrange! methinks,


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