1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them;

never

Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them,
Even to their ships.

How bless'd am I

Leon.
In my just censure! 1 in my true opinion!-
Alack, for lesser knowlege !—How accursed,
In being so bless'd! There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom; for his knowlege
Is not infected: but if one present

The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts. I have drank, and seen the

spider.

Camillo was his help in this, his pander.

There is a plot against my life, my crown:
All's true, that is mistrusted :—that false villain,
Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him:
He has discover'd my design, and I

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
Has made thee swell thus.

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,
That calumny doth use ;-O, I am out,

1

That mercy does; for calumny will sear
Virtue itself:-these shrugs, these hums, and ha's,
When you have said, she's goodly, come between,
Ere you can say she's honest: but be it known,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,

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,
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
Should a like language use to all degrees,
And mannerly distinguishment leave out
Betwixt the prince and beggar!—I have said,
She's an adulteress; I have said, with whom :
More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is

A federary 1 with her; and one that knows
What she should shame to know herself,
But with her most vile principal, that she's
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those

That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy
To this their late escape.

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.