Than you to punish.

Her. Not your Goaler then,

But your kind Hoftefs; come, I'll question you
Of my Lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys!
You were pretty lordings then?

Pol. We were, fair Queen,

Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, But fuch a day to-morrow as to-day,

And to be boy eternal.

Her. Was not my Lord the verier wag o'th' two?
Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i'th'

Sun,

And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd,
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing; no, nor dream'd,
That any did had we purfu'd that life,
And our weak fpirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we fhould have anfwer'd heaven
Boldly, Not guilty; th' impofition clear'd ',
Hereditary ours.

Her. By this we gather,

You have tript fince.

Pol. O my most facred Lady,

Temptations have fince then been born to's: for
In thofe unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
Your precious felf had then not crofs'd the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.

Her.

Grace to boot!

Of this make no conclufion, left you fay,

Your Queen and I are devils.

Yet, go on;--
Th' offences we have made you do, we'll anfwer;
If you firft finn'd with us, and that with us

You did continue fault; and that you flipt not,
With any but with us.

Leo. Is he won yet?
Her. He'll ftay, my Lord.

Leo. At my request he would not:
Hermione, my deareft, thou ne'er spok'st
To better purpose.

Her. Never?

Leo. Never, but once.

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

I pr'ythee, tell me; cram's with praife, and make's As fat as tame things: one good deed, dying tongue.

lefs,

Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages. You may ride's
With one foft kifs a thoufand furlongs, ere
With fpur we heat an acre, but to th' goal.
My laft good deed was to intreat his ftay;
What was my firft? it has an elder fifter,

Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!
But once before I fpake to th' purpofe? when?

Grace to boot! i. e. tho' temptations have grown up, yet I hope grace too has kept pace with them. Grace to boot, was a proverbial expreffion of these occafions. To the other part, fhe replies, as for our tempting you, pray take heed you draw no conclufion from thence, for that would be making your Queen and me devils, &c.

WARBURTON. With fpur ve heat an acre. But to th goal.] Thus this paffage has been always pointed; whence it appears,

that

the Editors did not take the Poet's conceit. They imagined that, But to th goal meant, but th come to the purpofe; but the fente is different, and plain enough when the line is pointed thus,

ere

With fur we heat an acre, but to th' ghal.

i. e. good ufage will win us to any thing; but, with ill, we ftop fhort, even there where both our intereft and our inclination would otherwife have carried us.

WARBURTON.

Nay,

Nay, let me have't; I long.

Leo. Why, that was when

Three crabbed months had fowr'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,

And clepe thyfelf my love; then didft thou utter, "I am yours for ever."

Her. 'Tis Grace, indeed.

Why, lo you now; I've spoke to th' purpose twice;
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;

Th' other for fome while a friend.

Leo. Too hot, too hot

[Afide.

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 bofom,
And well become the Agent: 't may, I grant;
But to be padling palms, and pinching fingers,
As now they are, and making practis'd fmiles,
As in a looking-glafs - and then to figh, as 'twere
The mort o' th' deer 3; oh, that is entertainmeut
My bofom likes not, nor my brows-Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?

Mam. Ay, my good Lord.

Leo. I' fecks!

Why, that's my bawcock; what? has't fmutch'd thy nofe?

They fay, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain,
We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, captain;
And yet the fteer, the heifer, and the calf,

Are all call'd neat. Still virginalling*

[Obferving Polixenes and Hermione.

3 The mort o' th' deer-] A leffon upon the horn at the death of the deer. THEOBALD.

We must be neat.] Leontes, feeing his fon's nofe fmutched, cries, we must be neat; then, re

collecting that neat is the term for horned cattle, he fays, not neat, but cleanly.

4

Still virginalling] Still playing with her fingers, as a girl playing on the virginals.

Upon

Upon his palm?--how now, you wanton calf! .
Art thou my calf?

Mam. Yes, if you will, my Lord.

Leo. Thou want'ft a rough pafh, and the shoots that
I have,

To be full like me.-Yet they fay, we are
Almost as like as eggs; women fay so,
That will fay any thing; but were they false,
As o'er-dy'd blacks, as winds, as waters; falfe
As dice are to be wifh'd, by one that fixes
No bourne '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, fweet villain.
Most dear'ft, 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 co-active 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 seems unfettled.

Pol. How? my Lord?

Leo. What cheer? how is't with you, best brother?

Her. You look

As if you held a brow of much Distraction.
Are not you mov'd, my Lord?

Leo. No, in good earnest.

How fometimes nature will betray its folly!
Its tenderness! and make itfelf a paftime
To harder bofoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and faw myself unbreech'd,

As o'er-dy'd blacks.] Sir T.
Hanmer understands, blacks died
too much, and therefore rotten.
VOL. II.

welkin eye,] Blue eye; an eye of the fame colour with the welkin, or fly.

R

In

1

In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled,
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 fquafh, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money?

Mam. No, my Lord, I'll fight.

Leo. You will!
My brother,

why,

happy man be's dole!

Are you fo fond of your young Prince, as we
Do feem to be of ours?

Pol. If at home, Sir,

He's all my exercife, my mirth, my matter;
Now my fworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parafite, my foldier, ftates-man, all;
He makes a July's day fhort as December;
And with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that fhould 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 thyself, and my young rover, he's
Apparent to my heart.

Her. If you will seek us,

We are yours i'th' garden: fhall's attend you there!
Leo. To your own bents difpofe you; you'll be found,
you beneath the sky.-I am angling now,
Tho' you perceive me not, how I give line;

Be

6 Will you take eggs for mony?] This feems to be a proverbial expreffion, used when a man fees himfelf wronged and makes no refiftance. Its original, or precife meaning, I cannot find, but I believe it means, will you be a cuckold for hire. The cuckow is

reported to lay her eggs in another

[Afide, obferving Her.

bird's neft; he therefore that has eggs laid in his neft, is faid to be cucullatus, cuckow'd, or cuckold.

-happy man be's dole!-] May his dole or fare in life be to be a happy man.

7 Apparent-] That is, beir apparent, or the next claimant.

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