It was my folly; if industriously '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,) (Or else be impudently negative, To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought), then say, Leon. Is whispering nothing? 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. 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; Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, The running of one glass. Cam. Who does infect her? 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 give mine enemy a lasting wink; Which draught to me were cordial. Cam. Sir, my lord, I could do this; and that with no rash potion, Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, I have lov'd thee, Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot! Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation? sully Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted, Cam. 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. 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, If from me he have wholsome beverage, 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! Pol. Enter POLIXENES. This is strange! methinks, My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, With customary compliment; when he, 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 it. Cam. There is a sickness |