Flo.

I yield all this;

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

Pol.

Let him know't.

Flo. He shall not.

Pol.

Pr'ythee, let him.

Flo.

No, he must not,

Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to

Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledg'd: Thou a scepter'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

More homely than thy state.-For thee, fond boy,-
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,

Far 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, enchantment,-

Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,

That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee,-if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches 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.

[Exit.

Per. Even here undone! I was not much afeard:" for once, or twice, I was about to speak; and tell him plainly, The selfsame 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, But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam.

Speak, ere thou diest.

Shep.

Why, how now, father?

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 ad

venture

To mingle faith with him.-Undone! undone!

' I was not much afeard: &c.] The character is here finely sustained. To have made her quite astonished at the King's discovery of himself had not become her birth; and to have given her presence of mind to have made this reply to the King, had not become her education. WARBURTON.

If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd

To die when I desire.

Flo.

[Exit.

Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,

But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am:

More straining on, for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly.

Cam.

Gracious my lord, You know your father's temper: at this time He will allow no speech,-which, I do guess, You do not purpose to him;-and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him.

Flo.

I think, Camillo.

Cam.

I not purpose it.

Even he, my lord.

Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be

thus?

How often said, my dignity would last

But till 'twere known?

Flo.

It cannot fail, but by

The violation of my faith; And then

Let nature crush the sides o'the earth together, And mar the seeds within!-Lift up thy looks:From my succession wipe me, father! İ

Am heir to

Cam.

my affection.

Be advis'd.

Flo. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.

8

Cam.

This is desperate, sir.
Flo. So call it but it does fulfil my vow;

and by my fancy:] It must be remembered that fancy in our author very often, as in this place, means love.

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,
As you have e'er been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss ine, (as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more,) cast your good counsels
Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune,

Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver, I am put to sea

With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd

For this design. What course I mean to hold,
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting,

Cam.

O, my lord,

I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.

Flo.

Hark, Perdita.

-[Takes her aside. [To CAMILLO.

He's irremovable,

I'll hear you by and by.

Cam.

Resolv'd for flight: Now were' I happy, if

His going I could frame to serve iny turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honour;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,

And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.

You have heard of my poor services, i'the love
That I have borne your father?

Flo.

Very nobly

Have you deserv'd: it is my father's musick,
To speak your deeds; not little of his care
To have them recompens'd as thought on.
Cam.

Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the king;

And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self; embrace but my direction,
(If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration,) on mine honour

I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
As shall become your highness; where you may
Enjoy your mistress; (from the whom, I see,
There's no disjunction to be made, but by,
As heavens forefend! your ruin:) marry her;
And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,)
Your discontenting father strive to qualify,9
And bring him up to liking.

Flo.

How, Camillo,
May this, almost a miracle, be done?

That I may call thee something more than man,
And, after that, trust to thee.

Cam.

A place, whereto you'll go?

Flo.

Have

you thought on

Not any yet:

But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
To what we wildly do;' so we profess

Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies
Of every wind that blows.

Cam.

This follows,-if

Then list to me:

you will not change your purpose,

9 Your discontenting father strive to qualify.] Discontenting is in our author's language the same as discontented.

But as the unthought-on accident is guilty

To what we wildly do;] Guilty to, though it sounds harsh to our ears, was the phraseology of the time, or at least of Shakspeare; and this is one of those passages that should caution us not to disturb his text merely because the language appears different from that now in use. MALONE.

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