Per.
O but, dear sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king:
One of these two must be necessities,

Which then will speak; that you must change this
purpose,

Thou dearest Perdita,

Or I my life.
Flo.
With these forc'd houghts, I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o'the feast: Or I'll be thine, my fair,
Or not my father's: for I cannot be
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if

I be not thine: to this I am most constant,
Though destiny say, No. Be merry, gentle;
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are
coming:

Lift up your countenance; as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.

Per.

Stand you auspicious!

O lady fortune,

Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo, dis-
guised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others.
Flo.
See, your guests approach:
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd,
upon

This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook;
Both dame and servant : welcom'd all; serv'd all:
Would sing her song, and dance her turn: now here,
At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle;
On his shoulder, and his her face o'fire

:

Pol.

Say, there be;

Yet nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art,
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marty
A gentler scion to the wildest stock;
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race; This is an art
Which does mend nature,-change it rather: but
The art itself is nature.
So it is.

Per.
Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly flowers,
And do not call them bastards.
Per.
I'll not put
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them:
No more than, were I painted, I would wish
This youth should say, 'twere well; and only

therefore

Desire to breed by me.-Here's flowers for you!
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ;
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle age: You are very welcome.
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.

Per.

Out, alas!
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.--Now, my
fairest friend,

I would I had some flowers o'the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing:-0 Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fall

With labour; and the thing she took to quench it, From Dis's waggon! daffodils,

She would to each one sip: You are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us welcome: for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes; and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o'the feast: Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.

Per.
Welcome, sir! [To Pol.
It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostess-ship o'the day :-You're welcome, sir!
[To Camillo.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.-Reverend
sirs,

For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Seeming, and savour,2 all the winter long:
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!

Pol.

Shepherdess (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages With flowers of winter.

Per.
Sir, the year growing ancient,
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o'the

That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er.

Flo.
What? like a corse?
Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corse: or if,-not to be buried,
But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your
flowers:

Methinks, I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.

Flo.
What you do,
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function: Each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.

Per.

O Doricles,
Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it,
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd;
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,

But smacks of something greater than herself;
Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her something,

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares ?5

Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i'the rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross; inkles,6 caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel; he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the square on't.9

Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him ap proach singing.

Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous

Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em than you'd think, sister.

That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she is words in his tunes.
The queen of curds and cream.
Clo.
Come on, strike up.
Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry,
garlic,

To mend her kissing with.—

Mop.

Now, in good time!

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our

manners.

Come, strike up.

[Music.

Here a dance of shepherds and shepherdesses.
Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what

Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter?
Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts
himself

To have a worthy feeding 2 but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it;

He looks like sooth :3 He says, he loves my

daughter;

I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read,
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think there is not half a kiss to choose,
Who loves another best.

Pol.

She dances featly.4

Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it,
That should be silent: if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.

Enter a Servant.

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolycus, singing,

Lawn, as white as driven snow;
Cyprus, black as e'er was crow;
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces, and for noses;
Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber:10
Golden quoifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel:
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry;
Come, buy, &c.

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou
should'st take no money of me; but being enthrall'd
ribands and gloves.
as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain

Мор. was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now.

Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or

there be liars.

Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you: may be he has paid you more; which will shame you to give him again.

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets, where they should bear Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedler their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you at the door, you would never dance again after a are going to-bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move secrets; but you must be tittle-tattling before all you: he sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell our guests? 'Tis well they are whispering: Clamoney; he utters them as he had eaten ballads,mour your tongues, 12 and not a word more. and all men's ears grew to his tunes.

Clo. He could never come better: he shall come in: I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably.

Serv. He hath songs, for man or woman, of all sizes: no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; So without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings; jump her and thump her; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, good man.

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace,13 and a pair of sweet gloves.

Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by the way, and lost all my money?

Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.

Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of change.

Clo. What hast here? ballads?

Mop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true.

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a usurer's wife was brought to-bed of twenty moneybags at a burden; and how she longed to eat adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed.

(10) Amber, of which necklaces were made fit to perfume a lady's chamber.

(11) Fire-place for drying malt; still a noted ossiping-place.

(12) Ring a dumb peal.

(13) A lace to wear about the head or waist.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

themselves saltiers 4 and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are mis-o'the mind (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling,) it will please plentifully.

Aut. Very true; and but a month old. Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer! Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one tress Taleporter; and five or six honest wives' that were present: Why should I carry lies abroad? Mop. Pray you now, buy it.

Clo. Come on, lay it by: And let's first see more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish, that appeared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

Dor. Is it true too, think you?

Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much humble foolery already :-I know, sir, we weary you.

Pol. You weary those that refresh us: Pray let's see these four threes of herdsmen.

Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squire.6

Shep. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit.

Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, Re-enter Servant, with twelve rustics, habited like

more than my pack will hold.

Clo. Lay it by too: Another.

Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty

one.

Mop. Let's have some merry ones.

Aut. Why this is a passing merry one; and goes to the tune of, Two maids wooing a man: there's scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.

Mop. We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.

Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.

Is it not too far gone?-'Tis time to part them.-
He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.]-How now,
fair shepherd?

Your heart is full of something, that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont
To load my she with knacks: I would have ran-
sack'd

The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis To her acceptance; you have let him go, my occupation: have at it with you.

SONG.

A. Get you hence, for I must go ;

Where, it fits not you to know.

D. Whither? M. O, whither? D. Whither?

M. It becomes thy oath full well,

Thou to me thy secrets tell:

D. Me too, let me go thither.

M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill
D. If to either, thou dost ill.

A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither.
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be;
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me:

Then, whither go'st? say, whither?
Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves:
My father and the gentlemen are in sad! talk, and
we'll not trouble them: Come, bring away thy
pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both:
Pedler, let's have the first choice-Follow me, girls.
Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. [Aside.

Will you buy any tape,

Or lace for your cape,

My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk, any thread,

Any toys for your head,

Of the new'st. and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?
Come to the pedler;

Money's a medler,

That doth utter2 all men's ware-a.

And nothing marted? with him: if your lass
Interpretation should abuse; and call this
Your lack of love, or bounty: you were straited !3
For a reply, at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.

Flo.

Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd.-O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this?—

How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand, was fair before!-I have put you out:-
But to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.

Flo.

Do, and be witness to't.
Pol. And this my neighbour too?
Flo.
And he, and more
Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all:
That,-were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve; had force, and know-
ledge,

More than was ever man's,-I would not prize them,
Without her love: for her, employ them all;
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service,

[Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, and Or to their own perdition.

Mopsa.

Enter a Servant.

But, my daughter,

Pol.
Fairly offer'd.
Cam. This shows a sound affection.
Shep.
Say you the like to him?
Per.
I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:

(7) Bought, trafficked. (8) Put to difficulties.
(9) The sieve used to separate flour from bran is
called a bolting-cloth.

I'the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder: But, come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

Shep.

And, daughter, yours.

Pol.

Come, your hand ;

Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee,—if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches3 to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to't.

Per.

[Exit.

Even here undone !

I was not much afeard: for once, or twice,
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly,
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.-Will't please you, sir, be gone?
[To Florizel.
I told you, what would come of this: 'Beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,--
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
He neither does, nor shall. But milk my ewes, and weep.

Soft, swain, a while, 'beseech you;
Have you a father?

Flo.

I have: But what of him?

Pol. Knows he of this?
Flo.

Pol. Methinks, a father

Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest

That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ;|
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid

With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak?
hear?

Know man from man? dispute his own estate?1
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,
But what he did being childish?
Flo.
No, good sir;
He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,
Than most have of his age.

Pol.
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: Reason, my son
Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason,
The father (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel
In such a business.

I yield all this;

Flo.
But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.

Pol.

Flo. He shall not.

Pol.

Let him know't.
Pr'y thee, let him.

Flo.

No, he must not. Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.

Flo.
Mark our contract.
Pol.

Come, come, he must not :

Mark your divorce, young sir,
[Discovering himself.
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledg'd: Thou a sceptre's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook?-Thou old traitor,
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week.-And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft; who, of force, must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with ;-
Shep.
O, my heart!
Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars,
and made

Why, how now, father?

Cam.
Speak, ere thou diest.
Shep.
I cannot speak, nor think,
Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir,
[To Florizel.

You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones: but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels-in dust.-O cursed wretch!
[To Perdita.
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st
adventure

To mingle faith with him.-Undone! undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire.

More homely than thy state.-For thee, fond boy,-If
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh,

That thou no more shalt see this knack (as never
I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Far2 than Deucalion off:-Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court.-Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it.-And you, enchant-

ment

(1) Talk over his affairs. (2) Further.

Cam.
This is desperate, sir.
Flo. So call it but it does fulfil my vow
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd: Therefore, I pray you,

(3) Doors. (4) A leading string. (5) Love.

2 P