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The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; |
Th' other for some while a friend. |
[Giving her hand to POLIXENES] |
LEONTES. [Aside] Too hot, too hot! |
To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. |
I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances, |
But not for joy, not joy. 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 'twere |
The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment |
My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius, |
Art thou my boy? |
MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord. |
LEONTES. I' fecks! |
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 |
Upon his palm?- How now, you wanton calf, |
Art thou my calf? |
MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord. |
LEONTES. 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 anything. But were they false |
As o'er-dy'd 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?- may't be? |
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, |
And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent |
Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost- |
And that beyond commission; and I find it, |
And that to the infection of my brains |
And hard'ning of my brows. |
POLIXENES. What means Sicilia? |
HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled. |
POLIXENES. How, my lord! |
What cheer? How is't with you, best brother? |
HERMIONE. You look |
As if you held a brow of much distraction. |
Are you mov'd, my lord? |
LEONTES. 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, methoughts I did recoil |
Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd, |
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzl'd, |
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? |
MAMILLIUS. No, my lord, I'll fight. |
LEONTES. You will? Why, happy man be's dole! My brother, |
Are you so fond of your young prince as we |
Do seem to be of ours? |
POLIXENES. If at home, sir, |
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. |
LEONTES. So stands this squire |
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. |
HERMIONE. If you would seek us, |
We are yours i' th' 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! |
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! |
And arms her with the boldness of a wife |
To her allowing husband! |
Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and ATTENDANTS |
Gone already! |
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, |
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