Shepherd. 
’Tis a lucky day, boy; and we’ll do good deeds on’t.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV.

Scene I.

[Enter Time, as Chorus.]

Time. 
I,—­that please some, try all; both joy and terror
Of good and bad; that make and unfold error,—­
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings.  Impute it not a crime
To me or my swift passage, that I slide
O’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap, since it is in my power
To o’erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o’erwhelm custom.  Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient’st order was
Or what is now received:  I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it.  Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing
As you had slept between.  Leontes leaving
The effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving
That he shuts up himself; imagine me,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia; and remember well,
I mention’d a son o’ the king’s, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondering:  what of her ensues,
I list not prophesy; but let Time’s news
Be known when ’tis brought forth:—­a shepherd’s daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is the argument of Time.  Of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never, yet that Time himself doth say
He wishes earnestly you never may.

[Exit.]

Scene II.  Bohemia.  A Room in the palace of Polixenes.

[Enter Polixenes and Camillo.]

Polixenes. 
I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:  ’tis
a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this.

Camillo.  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.

Polixenes.  As thou lovest 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, pr’ythee, 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.