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.
Cam.
My gracious lord,
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 willful-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,
Ha' 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, rumor
Cannot be mute; or thought,— for cogitation
Resides not in that man that does not think't,—
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 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
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.
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 theirs, theirs only,
That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world and all that's 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.
Cam. No, no, my lord.
Leon.
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.
Leon. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia: who -- if I
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine honor as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts,— they would do that
Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou,
His cupbearer,-whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who mayst see
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven,
How I am gall'd,- thou mightst bespice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.
Cam.
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 honorable.
Leon.
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled
T'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;
Make that thy question, and go rot!
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?
I must believe you, sir:
I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
Provided that, when he's remov'd, your highness
Will take again your queen as yours at first,
Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
Even so as I mine own course have set down:
I'll give no blemish to her honor, none.
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.
Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou splitt'st thine own.
Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me.
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.
Re-enter POLIXENES.
This is strange: methinks
My favor here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good day, Camillo.
Hail, most royal sir! Pol. What is the news i' the court? Cam.
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.
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.
How! caught of me!
Make me not sighted like the basilisk:
I've 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 behoove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
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 honor does acknowledge,
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.
Since I am charg'd in honor, and by him
That I think honorable: therefore mark my counsel,
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as
I mean to utter't, or both yourself and me
Cry "lost," and so good night!
Pol.
On, good Camillo.
Cam. I am appointed him to murder you.
Pol. By whom, Camillo ?
Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
As he had seen't, or been an instrument
To tice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.
Pol.
O, then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly, and my name
Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savor that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard or read!
By each particular star in heaven and
By all their influences, you may as well
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