And we'll become the Agent; 't may, I grant;
But to be padling Palms, and pinching Fingers,
As now they are, and making practis'd Smiles
As in a Looking-Glass-
and then to figh, as 'twere The Mort o'th' Deer; oh, that is Entertainment My Bofom likes not, nor my Brows
Art thou my Boy!
Mam. Ay; my good Lord.
Why that's my Bawcock; what? has't fmutch'd thy Nofe?
They fay it is 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
Upon his Palm
Art thou my Calf?
How now, you wanton Calf!
Mam. Yes, if you will, my Lord.
Leo. Thou want'ft a rough Pash, and the Shoots that I
Yet they fay we are
Almost as like as Eggs; Women lay fo,
That will fay any thing; but were they falfe,
As o'er-dy'd Blacks, as Winds, as Waters; false
As Dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes
No born 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true,
To fly this Boy were like me. Come, Sir Page,
Look on me with your welking Eye, fweet Villain.
Moft deareft, my Collop-Can thy Dam? may't be
Imagination! thou doft ftab to th' Center.
Thou doft make poffible things not be fo held,
Communicat'ft with Dreams how can this be?
With what's unreal, thou coactive art,
And fellow'ft nothing. Then 'tis very credent,
Thou may'ft co-join with fomething, and thou doft,
And that beyond commiffion, and I find it,
And that to the Infection of my Brains,
And hardning of my Brows.
Pol. What means Sicilia?
Her. He fomething feems unfetled.
Pol. How? my Lord?
Leo. What cheer? how is it with you, my beft Brother?
Her. You look as if you held a brow of much diftra&tion. Are you mov'd, my Lord?
Leo. No, in good earnest.
How fometimes Nature will betrays its Folly!
It's Tenderness! and make it self a Paftime
To harder Bofoms! Looking on the Lines
Of my Boy's Face, methoughts I did recoil
Twenty three Years, and faw my self unbreech'd,
In my green Velvet Coat; my Dagger muzzel'd,
Left it should bite its Mafter, and fo prove,
As Ornaments oft do, too dangerous;
How like, methought, I then was to this Kernel,
This Squash, this Gentleman. Mine honeft Friend,
Will you take Eggs for Mony?
Mam. No, my Lord, I'll fight.
Leo. You will! why happy Man be's dole. My Brother, Are you fo fond of your young Prince, as we
Do feem to be of ours?
Pol. If at home, Sir,
He's all Exercife, my Mirth, my Matter;
Now my fworn Friend, and then mine Enemy;
My Parafite, my Soldier, States-man, all;
He makes a July's day, fhort as December,
And with this varying Childnefs, cures in me
Thoughts, that should thick
my Blood.
Leo. So ftands this Squire
Offic'd with me: We two will walk, my Lord,
And leave you to your graver fteps. Hermione,
How thou lov'ft us, fhew in our Brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:
Next to thy felf, and my young Rover, he's
Apparent to my Heart.
Her. If you would feck us,
We are yours i'th' Garden: fhall's attend
Leo. To your own bents difpofe you; you'd be found, Be you beneath the Sky: I am angling now,
Tho' you perceive me not how I give Line,
Go to, go to.
[Afide, obferving Her. How the holds up the Neb! the Bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a Wife
lix. Her. and Attendants. Manent Leo. Mam. and Cam.
To her allowing Husband. 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 fo difgrac'd a part, whofe İffue
Will hils 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 e'er now;
And many a Man there is, even at this prefent,
Now while I fpeak this, holds his Wife by th' Arm,
That little thinks she has been fluic'd in his abfence,
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 thofe Gates open'd,
As mine, against their Will. Should all despair
That have revolted Wives, the tenth of Mankind
Would hang themselves. Phyfick for't, there's none:
It is a bawdy Planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful: think it.
From Eaft, Weft, 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 a thousand of's
Have the Difeafe, and feel't not. How now, Boy?
Mam. I am like you, they fay.
Leo. Why, that's fome comfort.
What? Camillo there?
Cam. Ay, my good Lord.
Leo. Go play, Mamillius, thou'rt an honest Man:
Camillo, this great Sir will yet ftay longer.
Cam. You had much ado to make his Anchor hold,
When you caft out, it ftill came home,
Cam. He would not stay at your Petitions, made
His bufinefs more material.
Leo. Didft perceive it?
They're here with me already; whifp'ring, rounding:
Sicilia is a fo-forth; 'tis far gone,
When I fhall guft it laft. How came't, Camillo,
That he did ftay?
Cam. At the good Queen's Entreaty.
Leo. At the Queen's be't; Good fhould be pertinent;
But fo it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding Pate but thine?
For the Conceit is foaking, will draw in
More than the common Blocks, not noted, is't,
But of the finer Natures? By fome Severals
Of Head-piece extraordinary? Lower Meffes
Perchance are to this Bufinefs purblind? Say.
Cam. Bufinefs, my Lord? I think most understand
Bohemia ftays here longer.
Cam. Stays here longer.
Leo. I, but why?
Cam. To fatisfie your Highnefs, and the Entreaties Of our most gracious Mistress.
Th' Entreaties of your Mistress? Satisfie?
Let that fuffice. I have trufted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my Heart, as well
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.
Cam. 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, reftraining
From Course requir'd; or else thou must be counted
A Servant grafted in my ferious Trust,
And therein negligent; or elfe a Fool,
That feeft a Game plaid home, the rich Stake drawn,
And tak'ft it all for Jeft.
Cam. My gracious Lord,
may be negligent, foolish and fearful,
In every one of thefe; no Man is free,
But that his Negligence, his Folly, Fear,
Amongst the infinite Doing of the World,
Sometimes puts forth in your Affairs, my Lord.
If ever I were wilful negligent,
It was my Folly; if induftriously
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: These, my Lord,
Are fuch allow'd Infirmities, that Honefty
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)
My Wife is flippery? If thou wilt, confefs,
Or elfe be impudently Negative,
To have nor Eyes, nor Ears, nor Thought, then say
My Wife's a Holy Horfe, deferves a Name
As rank as any Flax-wench, that puts to
Before her Troth-plight: Say't and justify't.
Cam. I would not be a Stander-by, to hear
My Sovereign Miftrefs clouded fo, without
My prefent Vengeance taken; 'fhrew my Heart,
You never fpoke what did become you lefs
Than this, which to reiterate, were Sin
As deep as that, tho' true.
Leo. Is Whispering nothing?
Is leaning Cheek to Cheek? Is meeting Nofes?
Kiffing with infide Lip? Stopping the Carreer
Of Laughter, with a Sigh? A Note infallible
Of breaking Honefty: horfing Foot on Foot?
Skulking in Corners? withing Clocks more swift?
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,
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