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

With any but with us.

LEONTES.

Is he won yet?

HERMIONE.

He'll stay, my lord.

LEONTES.

At my request he would not.

Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st

To better purpose.

HERMIONE.

Never?

LEONTES.

Never but once.

HERMIONE.

What! Have I twice said well? When was't before?

I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's

As fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless

Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.

Our praises are our wages; you may ride's

With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere

With spur we heat an acre. But to th' goal:

My last good deed 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 th' purpose- When?

Nay, let me have't; I long.

LEONTES.

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.'

HERMIONE.

'Tis Grace indeed.

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th' purpose twice:

The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;

Th' other for some while a friend.

[Giving her hand to POLIXENES]

LEONTES.

[Aside] Too hot, too hot!

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.

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. 'T 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 'twere

The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment

My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,

Art thou my boy?

MAMILLIUS.

Ay, my good lord.

LEONTES.

I' fecks!

Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose?

They say 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?- 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;