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, disguised; 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
With labour; and the thing she took to quench it,
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,1 all the winter long

(1) Likeness and smell.

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

season

Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.

Pol.

Do you neglect them?

Per.

Wherefore, gentle maiden,

For I have heard it said,

There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares With great creating nature.

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 marry
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.

Per.

So it is.

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly flowers, And do not call them bastards.

Per.

I'll not put

The dibble2 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 ;

(1) Because that. (2) A tool to set plants.

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
From Dis's waggon! daffodils,

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,2 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,

You woo'd me the false way.

Flo.

I think you have As little skill to fear, as I have purpose To put you to't.-But, come; our dance, I pray : Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,

That never mean to part.

Per.

I'll swear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does, or

seems,

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

Cam. He tells her something,

That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream.

Clo.

Come on, strike up.

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry,

garlic,

To mend her kissing with.

Мор.

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.

(1) Green turf.

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: but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it;

He looks like sooth:2 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.3

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.

Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, 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

(1) A valuable tract of pasturage.
(3) Neatly.

(2) Truth.