Leo.
Nor night, nor day, no rest; it is but weakness
To bear the matter thus; meer weakness, if
The cause were not in being; part o'th' cause,
She, the adultress; for the harlot-King
Is quite beyond mine arm; out of the blank
And level of my brain; plot-proof; but she
I can hook to me: say that she were gone,
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again. Who's there?

Enter an Attendant.

Atten.
My lord.

Leo.
How do's the boy?

Atten.
He took good rest to-night; 'tis hop'd
His sickness is discharg'd.

Leo.
To see his nobleness!
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply,
Fasten'd, and fix'd the shame on't in himself;
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And down-right languish'd. Leave me solely; go,
See how he fares. Fie, fie, no thought of him,
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoyl upon me; in himself too mighty,
† ^noteAnd in his parties, his alliance; let him be
Until a time may serve. For present vengeance
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow;
They should not laugh, if I could reach them, nor
Shall she, within my power.

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