1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them, How bless'd am I Leon. The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander. There is a plot against my life, my crown: Remain a pinch'd thing; 3 yea, a very trick For them to play at will. How came the posterns So easily open? 1 Lord. By his great authority; Which often hath no less prevail'd than so, Give me the boy: I am glad, you did not nurse him. Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in him. Her. What is this? sport? Leon. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her: Away with him ;—and let her sport herself With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes Her. But I'd say, he had not, And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying, Howe'er you lean to the nayward. Leon. You, my lords, Look on her; mark her well; be but about To say, She is a goodly lady,' and The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 'Tis pity, she's not honest, honorable.' Praise her but for this her without-door form, (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech) and straight The shrug, the hum, or ha; these petty brands, 1 That mercy does; for calumny will sear Stigmatise or brand as infamous. She's an adulteress. Her. Should a villain say so, The most replenish'd villain in the world, He were as much more villain: you, my lord, Do but mistake. Leon. You have mistook, my lady, Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing, Which I'll not call a creature of thy place, A federary 1 with her; and one that knows That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, When you shall come to clearer knowlege, that You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord, You scarce can right me throughly then, to say You did mistake. Leon. No, no; if I mistake In those foundations which I build upon, 1 Confederate. |