SCENE II.-The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CaMILLO, and Attendants.

Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne
Without a burthen: time as long again

Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should, for perpetuity,

Go hence in debt: And therefore, like a cipher
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply,

With one we-thank-you, many thousands more
That go before it.

Leon.

Stay your thanks awhile;

Sir, that's to-morrow.

And pay them when you part.

Pol.

I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance,
Or breed upon our absence: That may blow

No sneaping winds at home, to make us say,

"This is put forth too truly!"a Besides, I have stay'd To tire your royalty.

Leon. We'll part the time between's then: and in that

I'll no gainsaying.

Pol.

Press me not, 'beseech you, so;

There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world,
So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, although
'T were needful I denied it.
My affairs

Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder
Were, in your love, a whip to me; my stay,

a The construction of this passage is somewhat involved; but the meaning is, O that no sneaping (ruffling) winds at home may blow, to make us say my presages were too true.

VOL. IV.

C

Το 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,

a

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 a behind

What lady she her lord.-You'll stay?

You put me off with limber vows: But I,

Though you would seek to 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,

a To let is to hinder: and it is probably here used as a reflective verb-to stay himself.

b Gest is literally a lodging; and the houses or towns where a prince had assigned to stop in his progress, and of which a list was prepared with dates, were so called. We have the expression in Webster sufficiently clear :—

"Like the gesse in the progress; You know where you shall find me."

Good deed-indeed.

d Jar of the clock-the ticking of the pendulum.

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.

Your guest then, madam :

To be your prisoner should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit,

Than you to punish.

Her.

Not your gaoler 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.

We were, fair queen,

Pol.
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 the 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 us: 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.

Grace to boot!

Her.
Of this make no conclusion; lest you say
Your queen and I are devils: Yet, go on;

'll answer;

The offences we have made
do we
you
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us

You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not

Her. What? have I twice said well? when was 't before?

I prithee, tell me : Cram us with praise, and make us
As fat as tame things: One good deed dying tongueless
Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that.

Our praises are our wages: You may ride us,
With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere
With spur we heat an acre.
But to the goal;-

а

My last good deed a 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;

The other, for some while a friend. [Giving her hand to POL. Leon.

Too hot, too hot: [Aside.

To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods.

a Good deed. All the modern editions have contrived to leave out the word deed,

without authority and without explanation.

b This was part of the troth-plight. So in 'King John :'—

"It likes us well; young princes, close your hands."

And in Henry V.:'—

"And so, clap hands, and a bargain."

;

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: it 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;a O, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows.-Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?

Mam.

Leon.

Ay, my good lord.

I' fecks?

Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose?—
They say it's 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

1

[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 anything: But were they false
As o'er-died blacks,d 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,

a The mort o' the deer-the prolonged note of the hunter's horn at the death of the deer.

b Pash. Jamieson explains the word as used in Scotland to be head; as a bare pash, a bare head. But in the midland counties the tuft of hair between the horns of a bull is called the pash. The correct application of the local word is evident when we observe that Leontes has just said, "Art thou my calf?"

• Full like me―quite like me.

■ O'er-died blacks—cloths died black a second time, or cloths originally of another colour died black; and so, false, because impaired in quality.