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 thy conceit is foaking, will draw in Cam. Bufinefs, my lord! I think, moft underfland Bohemia ftays here longer. Leo. Ha? Cam. Stays here longer. Cam. To fatisfie your Highness, and th' intreaties Of our most gracious mistress. Leo. Satisfie Th' intreaties of your mistress? fatisfie? Cam. Be it forbid, my lord. Leo. To bide upon't;-Thou art not honeft; or, From course requir'd: or elfe thou must be counted. And therein negligent; or elfe a fool, That feeft å game plaid home, the rich take drawn, Cam. My gracious lord, I may be negligent, foolish and fearful; (3) (3) I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; In Some In every one of these no man is free, It was my folly; if industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Leo Ha'not you seen, Camillo, (But that's paft doubt, you have; or your eye glass Cannnot be mute;) or thought, (for cogitation To have nor eyes nor ears, nor thought,) then say, Sometimes puts forth in your Affairs, my Lord.] Moft accurate Pointing this, and fine Nonfenfe the Refult of it! The old Folio's first blunder'd thus, and Mr. Rowe by Inadvertence (if he read the Sheets at all,) overlook'd the Fault. Mr. Pope, like a moft obfequious Editor, has taken the Paffage on Content, and pursued the Track of Stupidity. I dare fay, every understanding Reader will allow, my Reformation of the Pointing has entirely retriev'd the Place from Obfcurity, and reconcil'd it to the Author's Meaning. My 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 thy 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 messes, Perchance, are to this business purblind? fay. Cam. Bufinefs, my lord! I think, most underfland Bohemia ftays here longer. Leo. Ha? Cam. Stays here longer. Leo. Ay, but why? Cam. To fatisfie your Highness, and th' intreaties Of our most gracious mistress. Leo. Satisfie Th' intreaties of your mistress? fatisfie? Let That fuffice. I've trufted thee, Camillo, Cam. Be it forbid, my lord Leo. To bide upon't;-Thou art not honeft; or, From course requir'd: or elfe thou must be counted And therein negligent; or elfe a fool, That feeft a game plaid home, the rich take drawn, I Cam. My gracious lord, may be negligent, foolish and fearful; (3) (3) I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; In every one of these no man is free, In Some In every one of these no man is free, It was my folly; if industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Leo Ha'not you seen, Camillo, (But that's paft doubt, you have; or your eye glass Cannnot be mute;) or thought, (for cogitation To have nor eyes nor ears, nor thought,) then say, Sometimes puts forth in your Affairs, my Lord.] Moft accurate Pointing this, and fine Nonfenfe the Refult of it! The old Folio's first blunder'd thus, and Mr. Rowe by Inadvertence (if he read the Sheets at all,) overlook'd the Fault. Mr. Pope, like a moft obfequious Editor, has taken the Paffage on Content, and pursued the Track of Stupidity. I dare fay, every understanding Reader will allow, my Reformation of the Pointing has entirely retriev'd the Place from Obscurity, and reconcil'd it to the Author's Meaning. My My prefent vengeance taken; 'fhrew my heart, Leo. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meating noses ? My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd Of this difeas'd Opinion, and betimes; Leo. Say it be, 'tis true. Cam. No, no, my lord. Leo. It is; you lie, you lie : I fay, thou lieft, Camillo, and I hate thee; Canft with thine eyes at once fee good and evil, The running of one glass. Cam. Who does infect her? Leo. Why he, that wears her like his medal, hanging About his neck; Bohemia, who, if I Had fervants true about me, that bare eyes To fee alike mine honour, as their profits, How |