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Page 43
CAMILLO.
O, my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.
FLORIZEL.
Hark, Perdita.--[Takes her aside.]
[To CAMILLO.]I'll hear you by and by.
CAMILLO.
He's irremovable,
Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honour;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.
FLORIZEL.
Now, good Camillo,
I am so fraught with curious business that
I leave out ceremony.
CAMILLO.
Sir, I think
You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
That I have borne your father?
FLORIZEL.
Very nobly
Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music
To speak your deeds; not little of his care
To have them recompens'd as thought on.
CAMILLO.
Well, my lord,
If you may please to think I love the king,
And, through him, what's nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction,--
If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration,--on mine honour,
I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
As shall become your highness; where you may
Enjoy your mistress,--from the whom, I see,
There's no disjunction to be made, but by,
As heavens forfend! your ruin,--marry her;
And,--with my best endeavours in your absence--
Your discontenting father strive to qualify,
And bring him up to liking.
FLORIZEL.
How, Camillo,
May this, almost a miracle, be done?
That I may call thee something more than man,
And, after that, trust to thee.
CAMILLO.
Have you thought on
A place whereto you'll go?
FLORIZEL.
Not any yet;
But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
To what we wildly do; so we profess
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies
Of every wind that blows.
CAMILLO.
Then list to me:
This follows,--if you will not change your purpose,
But undergo this flight,--make for Sicilia;
And there present yourself and your fair princess,--
For so, I see, she must be,--'fore Leontes:
She shall be habited as it becomes
The partner of your bed. Methinks I see
Leontes opening his free arms, and weeping
His welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness,
As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness,--the one
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow
Faster than thought or time.
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