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The Winter's Tale


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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,

          Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm

          That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence,

          And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by

          Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in't,

          Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,

          As mine, against their will. Should all despair

          That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind

          Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none;

          It is a bawdy planet, that will strike

          Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis pow'rfull, think it,

          From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,

          No barricado for a belly. Know't,

          It will let in and out the enemy

          With bag and baggage. Many thousand on's

          Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!

        MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say.

        LEONTES. Why, that's some comfort.

          What! Camillo there?

        CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord.

        LEONTES. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.

                                                        Exit MAMILLIUS

          Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.

        CAMILLO. You had much ado to make his anchor hold;

          When you cast out, it still came home.

        LEONTES. Didst note it?

        CAMILLO. He would not stay at your petitions; made

          His