[Exit.]
CAMILLO.
O miserable lady! But, for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes, and my ground to do’t
Is the obedience to a master; one
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his so too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
And flourish’d after, I’d not do’t. But since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
Let villainy itself forswear’t. I must
Forsake the court: to do’t, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!
Here comes Bohemia.
Enter Polixenes.
POLIXENES.
This is strange. Methinks
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good day, Camillo.
CAMILLO.
Hail, most royal sir!
POLIXENES.
What is the news i’ th’ court?
CAMILLO.
None rare, my lord.
POLIXENES.
The king hath on him such a countenance
As he had lost some province, and a region
Lov’d as he loves himself. Even now I met him
With customary compliment, when he,
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and
So leaves me to consider what is breeding
That changes thus his manners.
CAMILLO.
I dare not know, my lord.
POLIXENES.
How, dare not? Do not? Do you know, and dare not?
Be intelligent to me? ’Tis thereabouts;
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must,
And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang’d complexions are to me a mirror
Which shows me mine chang’d too; for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter’d with’t.