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Page 12
HERMIONE.
Let's have that, good sir.
Come on, sit down;--come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites: you're powerful at it.
MAMILLIUS.
There was a man,--
HERMIONE.
Nay, come, sit down: then on.
MAMILLIUS.
Dwelt by a churchyard:--I will tell it softly;
Yond crickets shall not hear it.
HERMIONE.
Come on then,
And give't me in mine ear.
[Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and Guards.]
LEONTES.
Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?
FIRST LORD.
Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
Saw I men scour so on their way: I ey'd them
Even to their ships.
LEONTES.
How bles'd am I
In my just censure, in my true opinion!--
Alack, for lesser knowledge!--How accurs'd
In being so blest!--There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge
Is not infected; but if one present
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts;--I have drunk, and seen the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander:--
There is a plot against my life, my crown;
All's true that is mistrusted:--that false villain
Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him:
He has discover'd my design, and I
Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will.--How came the posterns
So easily open?
FIRST LORD.
By his great authority;
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so,
On your command.
LEONTES.
I know't too well.--
Give me the boy:--I am glad you did not nurse him:
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
Have too much blood in him.
HERMIONE.
What is this? sport?
LEONTES.
Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;
Away with him!--and let her sport herself
With that she's big with;--for 'tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.
[Exit MAMILLIUS, with some of the Guards.]
HERMIONE.
But I'd say he had not,
And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you learn the nayward.
LEONTES.
You, my lords,
Look on her, mark her well; be but about
To say, 'she is a goodly lady' and
The justice of your hearts will thereto add,
''Tis pity she's not honest, honourable':
Praise her but for this her without-door form,--
Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,--and straight
The shrug, the hum or ha,--these petty brands
That calumny doth use:--O, I am out,
That mercy does; for calumny will sear
Virtue itself:--these shrugs, these hum's, and ha's,
When you have said 'she's goodly,' come between,
Ere you can say 'she's honest': but be it known,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
She's an adultress!
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