And therein negligent; or else a fool,

That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak'st it all for jest.

I

Cam.

may

My gracious lord,

be negligent, foolish, and fearful:

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 issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out

Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty
Is never free of: but, beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me: let me know my trespass
By its own visage; if I then deny it,

'Tis none of mine.

Leon.

Have not you seen, Camillo,
(But that's past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn) or heard,

(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour
Cannot be mute) or thought, (for cogitation
Resides not in that man that does not think it')
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,
Or else be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought, then say,
My wife's a hobbyhorse'; deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: say't, and justify't.
Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear

(for cogitation

Resides not in that man that does not think IT)] Some copies of the second folio add it after "think," but in other copies it is wanting; and had we not found it inserted in MS. in the corr. fo. 1632 we should have been of opinion that it was needless, being clearly understood. However, as it is printed in some copies of the folio, 1632, and as it is written into that before us, we place it in the text. It certainly avoids an apparent truism.

2 My wife's a HOBBY HORSE ;] All the old folios read "holy horse," which is corrected in MS. in Lord Ellesmere's copy to "hobby horse."

My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken. 'Shrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate, were sin
As deep as that, though true.

Is whispering nothing?

Leon.
Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honesty) horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes blind
With the pin and web', but their's, their's only,
That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world, and all that is in't, is nothing;
The covering sky 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.

Leon.

Cam. No, no, my lord.

Leon.

Say, it be; 'tis true.

It is; you lie, you lie :

I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
Or else a hovering temporizer, that

Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live

The running of one glass.

Who does infect her?

Cam. Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia: who—if I

3 With the PIN AND WEB,] The pin and web was the old name for a cataract in the eyes thus Florio, in his "New World of Words," 1611, informs us that cataratta is "a dimness of sight, occasioned by humours hardened in the eyes called a cataract, or a pin and a web." This explanation is wanting in Florio's first edition, 1598. "The pin and the web" are again mentioned in "King Lear," A. iii. sc. 4.

✦ Why he, that wears her like HER medal,] So the old copies, meaning a medal of her; but some of the later editors have altered it to "his medal," which is any thing but an improvement. In the corr. fo. 1632 it is changed, less questionably, but still erroneously, to "like a medal," meaning a medallion.

Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou,
His cup-bearer',-whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship, who may'st see,
Plainly as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven,
How I am gall'd,-thou might'st bespice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lasting wink,

Which draught to me were cordial.

Cam.

Sure, my lord',

I could do this, and that with no rash potion,

But with a lingering dram, that should not work
Maliciously, like poison; but I cannot

Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable.

I have lov'd thee,

Leon.

Make that thy question, and go rot.

Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled,

To appoint myself in this vexation? sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets,

(Which to preserve is sleep; which, being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps,)
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince, my son,
(Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine)
Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this?
Could man so blench"?

Cam.

I must believe

you,

sir:

I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
Provided that, when he's remov'd, your highness

5 His cup-bearer,] Greene, in his novel of “Pandosto," says, that "devising with himself a long time how he might best put away Egistus, without suspicion of treacherous murder, he concluded at last to poyson him; which opinion pleasing his humour, he became resolute in his determination, and the better to bring the matter to passe he called unto him his cup-bearer," meaning the cup-bearer of Egistus. Shakespeare's Library, Part i. p. 9.

How I am gall'd,-THO" might'st bespice a cup,] The second folio repeats thou before" might'st;" and probably rightly, as the measure shows.

SURE, my lord,] So the corr. fo. 1632, for " Sir, my lord" of the old editions, and it is evidently the true text: Camillo means that he could certainly do it, and with ease, not by a hastily working draught, but by a slow and unsuspected poison.

Could man so BLENCH?] To blench is to start off: Shakespeare often uses the word in this sense. Leontes means, "could any man so start or fly off from propriety of behaviour." Such is the correct interpretation of Steevens.

Will take again your queen, as your's at first,

Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to your's.

Leon.

Thou dost advise me,

Even so as I mine own course have set 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 feasts, keep with Bohemia,
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer;
If from me he have wholesome beverage,

Account me not your servant.

Leon.

This is all:

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

Do't not, thou split'st thine own.

Cam.

I'll do't, my lord.

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. [Exit. Cam. O, miserable lady!-But, for me,

What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner

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 so too.-To do this deed,
Promotion follows: if I could find example
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings,
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
Let villainy itself forswear't.-I must

Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain

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

Methinks,

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak ?-
Good-day, Camillo.

None rare, my lord.

Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance,
As he had lost some province, and a region
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him

With customary compliment, when he,

Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling

A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and
So leaves me to consider what is breeding
That changes thus his manners.

Cam. I dare not know, my lord.

Pol. How! dare not? do not! Do you know, and dare not Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts;

For, to yourself, what you do know, you must,
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror,
Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding

Myself thus alter'd with 't.

Cam.

There is a sickness

Which puts some of us in distemper; but

I cannot name the disease, and it is caught
Of you, that yet are well.

Pol. How caught of me?

Make me not sighted like the basilisk:

I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,-
As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto
Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns
Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle,—I beseech you,
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not

In ignorant concealment.

Cam.

I may not answer.

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well? I must be answer'd.-Dost thou hear, Camillo,

I conjure thee, by all the parts of man

Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least

Is not this suit of mine,-that thou declare

What incidency thou dost guess of harm

Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be;

If not, how best to bear it..

Cam.
Sir, I will tell you;
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable. Therefore, mark my
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, as

counsel,