POLIXENES. Very sooth, to-morrow.
  LEONTES. We'll part the time between's then; and in that
    I'll no gainsaying.
  POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so.
    There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' th' world,
    So soon as yours could win me. So it should now,
    Were there necessity in your request, although
    'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
    Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder
    Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
    To you a charge and trouble. To save both,
    Farewell, our brother.
  LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you.
  HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until
    You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,
    Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure
    All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction
    The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him,
    He's beat from his best ward.
  LEONTES. Well said, Hermione.
  HERMIONE. To tell he longs to see his son were strong;
    But let him say so then, and let him go;
    But let him swear so, and he shall not stay;
    We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
    [To POLIXENES] Yet of your royal presence I'll
    adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
    You take my lord, I'll give him my commission
    To let him there a month behind the gest
    Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes,
    I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind
    What lady she her lord.- You'll stay?
  POLIXENES. No, madam.
  HERMIONE. Nay, but you will?
  POLIXENES. I may not, verily.
  HERMIONE. Verily!
    You put me off with limber vows; but I,
    Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths,
    Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,
    You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is
    As potent as a lord's. Will go yet?
    Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
    Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
    When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
    My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,'
    One of them you shall be.
  POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam:
    To be your prisoner should import offending;
    Which is for me less easy to commit
    Than you to punish.
  HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then,
    But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
    Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys.
    You were pretty lordings then!
  POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen,
    Two lads that thought there was no more behind
    But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
    And to be boy eternal.
  HERMIONE. Was not my lord
    The verier wag o' th' two?
  POLIXENES. 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, nor dream'd
    That any did. Had we pursu'd that life,
    And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
    With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
    Boldly 'Not guilty,' the imposition clear'd
    Hereditary ours.
  HERMIONE. By this we gather
    You have tripp'd since.
  POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady,
    Temptations have since then been born to 's, for
    In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
    Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
    Of my young playfellow.
  HERMIONE. Grace to boot!
    Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
    Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on;
    Th' offences we have made you do we'll answer,
    If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
    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