To you a charge, and trouble: to save both,

Farewell, our brother.

Leon.

Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you.

Her. I had thought, Sir, to have held my peace, until You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, Sir, Charge him too coldly: tell him, you are sure

All in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction

The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward.

Leon.

Well said, Hermione.

Her. To tell he longs to see his son were strong:

But let him say so then, and let him go;

But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,

We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.

Yet of your royal presence [To POLIXENES.] I'll adventure

The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia

You take my lord, I'll give him my commission,
To let him there a month behind the gest

Prefix'd for 's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind

What lady should her lord. You'll stay?

You put me off with limber vows; but I,

Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths,

Should yet say, "Sir, no going." Verily,

You shall not go: a lady's verily is

As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?

Force me to keep you as a prisoner,

Not like a guest, so you shall pay your fees,

When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?

My prisoner, or my guest? by your dread verily,

One of them you shall be.

Pol.

To be your prisoner should import offending;

Your guest then, Madam:

Which is for me less easy to commit,

Than you to punish.

Her.

Not your jailor then,

But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you

Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys;
You were pretty lordings then.

Pol.

We were, fair queen,

Two lads, that thought there was no more behind,
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,

And to be boy eternal.

Her.

Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two?

Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' the sun, And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd,

Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd

That any did. Had we pursued that life,

And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd

With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
Boldly, "not guilty;" the imposition clear'd,

Temptations have since then been born to 's; for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl :
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say,

Your queen and I are devils: yet, go on:

Th' offences we have made you do, we 'll answer;

If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
With any, but with us.

Leon.

Is he won yet?

Her.

He'll stay, my lord.

Leon.

At my request he would not.

Her. What? have I twice said well? when was 't before? I pr'ythee, tell me. Cram's with praise, and make's As fat as tame things: one good deed, dying tongueless, Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages: you may ride 's With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs, ere With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal. My last good deed was to entreat his stay; What was my first? it has an elder sister, Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to the purpose: When?

Nay, let me have 't; I long.

Leon.

=

Why, that was when

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,

Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,

And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter,

"I am yours for ever."

Her.

It is Grace, indeed.

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband,

Th' other for some while a friend.

Leon.

[Giving her hand to POLIXENES. [Aside.] Too hot, too hot!

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.

I have tremor cordis on me:

But not for joy,—not joy.

my heart dances,

This entertainment

May a free face put on; derive a liberty

From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
And well become the agent: 't may, I grant;
But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers,
As now they are; and making practis'd smiles,
As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 't were
The mort o' the deer; O! that is entertainment

Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose? They say, it is a copy out of mine.

Come, captain,

We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain

And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,

Are all call'd neat.

Still virginalling

[Observing POLIXENES and HERMIONE.

Upon his palm? - How now, you wanton calf!

Art thou my calf?

Mam.

Yes, if you will, my lord.

Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots that I have, To be full like me: - yet, they say, we are

Almost as like as eggs: women say so,

That will say any thing: but were they false
As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters; false
As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes
No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
To say this boy were like me. Come, Sir page,
Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!
Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?:
Affection? thy intention stabs the centre:
Thou dost make possible things not so held,
Communicat'st with dreams; - (how can this be?) —
With what's unreal thou coactive art,

may 't be

And fellow'st nothing. Then, 't is very credent, Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost; (And that beyond commission;) and I find it,

And that to the infection of my brains,

And hardening of my brows.

Pol.

Her. He something seems unsettled.

Pol.

What means Sicilia?

How, my lord!

Leon. What cheer? how is 't with you, best brother?

Her.

As if you held a brow of much distraction

Are you mov'd, my lord?

Leon.
No, in good earnest.
How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms' Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, my thoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled,
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.

How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,

Will you take eggs for money?

Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight.

You look,

Leon. You will? why, happy man be his dole! — My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince, as we

Do seem to be of ours?

If at home, Sir,

Pol.
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy,
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.
He makes a July's day short as December;
And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.

So stands this squire

Leon.
Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord,

And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,
How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome
Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap.

Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's
Apparent to my heart.

Her.

If you would seek us,

We are yours i' the garden: shall 's attend you there?
Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found,
you beneath the sky. -— [Aside.] I am angling now,

Be