The Winters Tale | Page 6

HERMIONE. If you would seek us, We are yours i' the garden. Shall's
attend you there?
LEONTES. To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found, Be you
beneath the sky. [Aside.] I am angling now. Though you perceive me
not how I give line. Go to, go to! [Observing POL. and HER.] How she
holds up the neb, the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a

wife To her allowing husband! Gone already!
[Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and Attendants.]
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one!-- Go, play, boy,
play:-- thy mother plays, and I Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose
issue Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour Will be my
knell.--Go, play, boy, play.--There have been, Or I am much deceiv'd,
cuckolds ere now; And many a man there is, even at this present, Now
while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm That little thinks she has
been sluic'd in his absence, And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour,
by Sir Smile, his neighbour; nay, there's comfort in't, Whiles other men
have gates, and those gates open'd, As mine, against their will: should
all despair That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang
themselves. Physic for't there's none; It is a bawdy planet, that will
strike Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it, From east,
west, north, and south: be it concluded, No barricado for a belly: know't;
It will let in and out the enemy With bag and baggage. Many thousand
of us Have the disease, and feel't not.--How now, boy!
MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say.
LEONTES. Why, that's some comfort.-- What! Camillo there?
CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord.
LEONTES. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.--
[Exit MAMILLIUS.]
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
CAMILLO. You had much ado to make his anchor hold: When you
cast out, it still came home.
LEONTES. Didst note it?
CAMILLO. He would not stay at your petitions; made His business
more material.
LEONTES. Didst perceive it?-- They're here with me already;
whispering, rounding, 'Sicilia is a so-forth.' 'Tis far gone When I shall
gust it last.--How came't, Camillo, That he did stay?
CAMILLO. At the good queen's entreaty.
LEONTES. At the queen's be't: good should be pertinent; But so it is, it
is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine? For thy
conceit is soaking, will draw in More than the common blocks:--not
noted, is't, But of the finer natures? by some severals Of head-piece
extraordinary? lower messes Perchance are to this business purblind?

say.
CAMILLO. Business, my lord! I think most understand Bohemia stays
here longer.
LEONTES. Ha!
CAMILLO. Stays here longer.
LEONTES. Ay, but why?
CAMILLO. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties Of our most
gracious mistress.
LEONTES. Satisfy Th' entreaties of your mistress!--satisfy!-- Let that
suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my
heart, as well My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou Hast
cleans'd my bosom; I from thee departed Thy penitent reform'd: but we
have been Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd In that which seems so.
CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord!
LEONTES. To bide upon't,--thou art not honest; or, If thou inclin'st
that way, thou art a coward, Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted A servant grafted in
my serious trust, 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.
CAMILLO. My gracious lord, I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;
In every one of these no man is free, But that his negligence, his folly,
fear, Among 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 affects 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.
LEONTES. 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 hobby-horse;
deserves