Flo.
Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afraid; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am;
More straining on, for plucking back; not following
My leash unwillingly.

Cam.
Gracious my Lord,
You know your father's temper: at this time
He will allow no speech, (which I do guess,
You do not purpose to him;) and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear;
Then, 'till the fury of his Highness settle,
Come not before him.

Flo.
I not purpose it.
I think, Camillo?—

Cam.
Even he, my Lord.

Per.
How often have I told you, 'twould be thus?
How often said, my dignity would last
But till 'were known?

Flo.
It cannot fail, but by
The violation of my faith, and then
Let nature crush the sides o'th' earth together,
And mar the seeds within.—Lift up thy looks—
From my succession wipe me, father, I
Am heir to my affection.

Cam.
Be advis'd.

Flo.
I am; and by my fancy;* ^note if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.

Cam.
This is desperate, Sir.

Flo.
So call it; but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd: therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever been my father's friend,
When he shall miss me, as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more, cast your good counsels
Upon his passion; let myself and fortune
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver, I am put to sea
With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.

Cam.
O my Lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.

Flo.
Hark, Perdita—
I'll hear you by and by. [To Camillo.

Cam. [aside.]
He's irremoveable,
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.

Flo.
Now, good Camillo—
I am so fraught with curious business, that
I leave out ceremony.

Cam.
Sir, I think,
You have heard of my poor services, o'th' love
That I have borne your father?

Flo.
Very nobly
Have you deserv'd: it is my father's musick
To speak your deeds, not little of his care
To have them recompenc'd, as thought on.

Cam.
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, heav'ns forefend!) your ruin. Marry her,
And with my best endeavours, in your absence,
Your discontented father I'll strive to qualify,
And bring him up to liking.

Flo.
How, Camillo,
May this, almost a miracle, be done?
That I may call thee something more than man,
And after that trust to thee.

Cam.
Have you thought on
A place whereto you'll go?

Flo.
Not any yet;
* ^noteBut as th' unthought-on accident is guilty
Of what we wildly do, so we profess
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies
Of every wind that blows.

Cam.
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'th' father's person; kisses the hands
Of your fresh Princess; o'er and o'er divides him,
'Twixt his unkindness, and his kindness: th' one
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow
Faster than thought or time.

Flo.
Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my visitation shall I
Hold up before him?

Cam.
Sent by the King your father
To greet him, and to give him comforts, Sir.
The manner of your Bearing towards him, with
What you, as from your father, shall deliver,
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down;^{3 note}


The which shall point you forth at ev'ry sitting,
What you must say; that he shall not perceive,
But that you have your father's bosom there,
And speak his very heart.

Flo.
I am bound to you:
There is some sap in this.

Cam.
A course more promising
Than a wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores; most certain
To miseries enough: no hope to help you,
But as you shake off one, to take another:
Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
Do their best office, if they can but stay you
Where you'll be loth to be. Besides, you know,
Prosperity's the very bond of love,
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
Affliction alters.

Per.
One of these is true:
I think, affliction may subdue the cheek,
But not take in the mind.

Cam.
Yea, say you so?
There shall not at your father's house, these seven years,
Be born another such.

Flo.
My good Camillo,
She is as forward of her Breeding, as
She is i'th' rear of birth.

Cam.
I cannot say, 'tis Pity
She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress
To most that teach.

Per.
Your pardon, Sir, for this:
I'll blush you thanks.

Flo.
My prettiest Perdita—
But, oh, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,
Preserver of my father, now of me;
The medicine of our House! how shall we do?
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son,
Nor shall appear in Sicily—

Cam.
My Lord,
Fear none of this: I think, you know, my fortunes
Do all lie there: it shall be so my care
To have you royally appointed, as if
The Scene, you play, were mine. For instance, Sir,
That you may know you shall not want; one word.— [They talk aside.

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