Enter Polixenes and Camillo.
Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:
'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to grant this.
Cam. 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.
Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest