I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: ’tis a sickness

denying thee anything; a death to grant this.

It is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have for the most

part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the

penitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I

might be some allay, or I o’erween to think so,—which is another spur

to my departure.

As thou lov’st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by

leaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made;

better not to have had thee than thus to want thee. Thou, having made

me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must

either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very

services thou hast done, which if I have not enough considered (as too

much I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my

profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia,

prithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the

remembrance of that penitent, as thou call’st him, and reconciled king,

my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even

now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince

Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being

gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their

virtues.

Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs

may be, are to me unknown, but I have missingly noted he is of late

much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises

than formerly he hath appeared.

I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I

have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I

have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most

homely shepherd, a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond

the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.

I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare

note: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin

from such a cottage.

That’s likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the angle that

plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we

will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd;

from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my

son’s resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business,

and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

I willingly obey your command.

My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.