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Ser. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair;” they call themselves saltiers: and they have a dance, which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't ; but they themselves are o' th' mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling,) it will please plentifully. Shep. Away! we'll none on’t ; here has been too much humble foolery already :—I know, sir, we weary OUI. y Pol. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four-threes of herdsmen. Ser. 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.” Shep. Leave your prating ; since these good men are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly now. Ser. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit.
Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics, habited like satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.
Pol. O, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.— Is it not too far gone 7—"Tis time to part them.—
 Men of hair, are hairy men, or satyrs. A dance of satyrs was no unusual entertainment in the middle ages. At a great festival celebrated in France, the king and some of the nobles personated satyrs dressed in close habits, tufted or shagge; all over, to imitate hair. They began a wild dance, and in the tumult of their merriment one of them went too near a candle and set fire to his satyr's garb, the flame ran instantly over the loose tufts, and spread itself to the dress of those that were next him, a great number of the dancers were cruelly scorched, being neither able to throw off their coats nor extinguish them. The king had set himself in the lap of the dutchess of Burgundy, who threw her robe over him and saved #nson
3) a by the foot-rule. Esquierre, Fr. MALONF,
He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.]—How now, fair
Your heart is full of something, that does take
Flo. Old sir, I know
Pol. What follows this 2–
Flo. Do, and be witness to't.
Pol. And this my neighbour too !
Flo. And he, and more
Pol. Fairly offer'd.
Cann. This shows a sound affection.
Shep. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him :
Per. I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well: no, nor mean better :
Pol. Pr'ythee, let him.
Flo. No, he must not.
Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.
Flo. Come, come, he must not:Mark our contráct.
Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir,
Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base
Shep. O, my heart!
Pol. I’ll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, 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 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 Flo.
 I think for far than we should read.sar as. We will not hold thee qf our kia even so far off as Deucalion, the common ancestor of all. JOHNSON.
 The character is here finely sustained. To have made her quite astonished ;. ...; . of o: not become her birth; and to have given her Joresence of mind to have made this repl he ki tion. WARBURTON. ply to the king, had not become her educa
I told you, what would come of this. 'Beseech you,
Cam. Why, how now, father?
Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know.—O, sir, [To Flo. 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-indust.—O cursed wretch
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adventure
Flo. Why look you so upon me? -
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 not purpose it. I think, Camillo.
Cam. Even he, my lord.
Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus?
Flo. It cannot fail, but by
 These sentiments, which the poet has heightened by a strain of ridicule that runs through them, admirably characterize the speaker; whose selfishness is seen in concealing the adventure of Perdita; and here supported, by showing no regard for his son or her, but being taken up entirely with himself, though #§§