My chamber-councels, wherein, priest like, thou
Haft cleans'd my bofom: I from thee departed
Thy Penitent reform'd; but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity; deceiv'd
In that, which feems fo.

Gam. Be it forbid, my lord

Leo. To bide upon't;- Thou art not honeft; or, If thou inclin'ft that way, thou art a coward; Which hoxes honefty behind, restraining

From courfe requir'd: or elfe thou must be counted A fervant grafted in my ferious Truft,

And therein negligent; or elfe a fool,

That feeft a game plaid home, the rich stake drawn, And tak'ft it all for jeft.

I

Cam. My gracious lord,

may be negligent, foolish and fearful; (5) In every one of these no man is free,

But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst 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 iffue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wifeft: thefe, my lord,
Are fuch allow'd infirmities, that honesty

(5) I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;
In every one of thefe na Man is free,

But that his Negligence, his Folly, Fear,
Amongst the infinite Doings of the World

Sometimes puts forth in your Affairs, my Lord.] Moft accurate Pointing This, and fine Nonsense the Refult of it! The old Folio's first blunder'd thus, and Mr. Rowe by Inadvertence (if he read the Sheets at all,) overlook'd the Fault. Mr. Pope, like a moft obfequious Editor, has taken the Paffage on Content, and pursued the Track of Stupidity. I dare fay, every understanding Reader will allow, my Reformation of the Pointing has entirely retriev'd the Place from Obfcurity, and reconcil'd it to the Author's Meaning.

Is never free of. But, befeech your Grace,
Be plainer with me, let me know my trespass
By its own vifage, if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.

Leo. Ha'not you feen, Camillo,

(But that's paft doubt, you have; or your eye-glafs
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn;) or heard,
(For to a vifion fo apparent, rumour

Cannot be mute;) or thought, (for cogitation
Refides not in that man, that do's not think it ;)
My wife is flippery? if thou wilt, confefs ;
(Or elfe be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then fay,
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: fay't, and justify't.
Cam. I would not be a ftander-by, to hear
My fovereign Miftrefs clouded fo, without
My prefent vengeance taken; 'fhrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you lefs
Than this; which to reiterate, were fin
As deep as that, tho' true.

Leo. Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meating nofes?
Kiffing with infide lip? ftopping the career
Of laughter with a figh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honefty:) horfing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wifhing clocks more fwift?
Hours, minutes? the noon, midnight, and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web, but theirs; theirs only,
That would, unfeen, 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 difeas'd opinion, and betimes;

For 'tis most dangerous.

Leo. Say it be, 'tis true.

Cam. No, no, my lord.

Lea,

Leo. It is; you lie, you lie:

I fay, thou lieft, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a grofs lowt, a mindless flave,
Or else a hovering temporizer, that

Canft with thine eyes at once fee good and evil,
Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver
Infected, as her life, fhe would not live
The running of one glafs.

Cam. Who do's infect her?

Leo. Why he, that wears her like his medal, hanging
About his neck; Bohemia,—who, if I
Had fervants true about me, that bare eyes

To fee alike mine honour, as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do That
Which fhould undo more Doing: I, and thou
His cup-bearer, (whom I from meaner form

Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who may'st see
Plainly, as heav'n fees earth, and earth fees heav'n,
How I am gall'd ;) thou might'ft be-fpice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lafting wink;

Which draught to me were cordial.
Cam. Sir, my lord,

I could do this, and that with no rash potion,
But with a lingring dram, that should not work,
Maliciously, like poifon : but I cannot (6)

(6)

but I cannot

Believe this Crack to be in my dread Mistress,
So fovereignly being honourable.

I have lov'd thee..

Leo. Make that thy Question and go rot.] This Paffage wants very little weighing, to determine fafely upon it, that the last Hemiftich af fign'd to Camillo, muft have been mittakenly placed to him. It is a ftrange Inftance of Difrefpect and Infolence in Camillo to his King and Mafter, to tell him that He has once lov'd him. But Senfe and Reafon will eafily acquit our Poet from fuch an Impropriety. I have ventur'd at a Tranfpofition, which feems self-evident. Camillo will not be perfuaded into a Sufpicion of the Disloyalty imputed to his Miftrefs. The King, who believes Nothing but his Jealouly, provok'd that Camillo is fo obftinately diffident, finely starts into a Rage and cries;

Ive lov'd thee. Make't thy Queftion, and go rot. i. e. I have tender'd thee well, Camillo, but I here cancel all former Refpect at once. If Thou any longer make a Queftion of my Wife's Difloyalty; go from my Prefence, and Perdition overtake thee for thy Stubbornnefs.

Believe

Believe this crack to be in my dread miftrefs,
So foveraignly being honourable.
Leo. I've lov'd thee.

go rot:

Make't thy Queftion, and

Do'ft think, I am fo muddy, so unfettled,

To appoint my felf in this vexation? Sully
The purity and whitenefs of my fheets,

(Which to preserve, is fleep; which being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wafps :)
Give fcandal to the blood o'th' Prince, my fon,
Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine,
Without ripe moving to't? would I do this?
Could man fo blench?

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 firft,
Even for your fon's fake, and thereby for fealing
The injury of tongues, in Courts and Kingdom's
Known and ally'd to yours.

Leo. Thou dost advise me,

Even fo as I mine own courfe have fet 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 feafts, keep with Bohemia,
And with your Queen: I am his cup-bearer;
If from me he have wholesome beveridge,
Account me not your fervant.

Leo. I will feem friendly, as thou haft advis'd me.

Cam. O miferable lady! but for me,

What cafe ftand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes, and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a mafter; one,
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have

[Exit.

All

All that are his, fo too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands, that had ftruck anointed Kings,"
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but fince

Nor brafs, nor ftone, nor parchment, bears not one;
Let villany it felf forfwear't. I must

Forfake the Court; to do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy ftar, reign now!
Here comes Bohemia.

Enter Polixenes.

Pol. This is strange! methinks,

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good day, Camillo.

Cam. Hail, most royal Sir!

Pol. What is the news i'th' Court?
Cam. None rare, my lord.

Pol. The King hath on him fuch a countenance,
As he had loft fome Province, and a region
Lov'd, as he loves himself: even now I met him
With customary compliment, when he,
Wafting his eyes to th' contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, fpeeds from me, and
So leaves me to confider what is breeding,
That changes thus his manners.

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 your felf, what you do know, you must,
And cannot fay, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror,
Which fhews me mine chang'd too; for I must be
party in this alteration, finding

A

My felf thus alter'd with it.

Cam. There is a fickness

Which puts fome of us in diftemper; but
I cannot name the disease, and it is caught
Of you that yet are well,

Pol.