Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.

Aut. I am robbed, Sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man?

Aut. A foot-man, sweet Sir, a foot-man.

Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the garments he hath left with thee; If this be a horse-man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up.

Aut. O! good Sir, tenderly, oh !

Clo. Alas, poor soul.

Aut. O, good Sir, softly, good Sir: I fear, Sir, my shoulderblade is out.

Clo. How now ? canst stand?

Aut. Softly, dear Sir [Picks his pocket]; good Sir, softly; you ha' done me a charitable office.

Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.

Aut. No, good sweet Sir; no, I beseech you, Sir; I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or anything I want: Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart.

Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?

Aut. A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about with trolmy-dames:* I knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good Sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.

Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of the court: they cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.†

Aut. Vices I would say, Sir. I know this man well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motiont of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.

Clo. Out upon him! Prig,§ for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.

Aut. Very true, Sir; he, Sir, he; that's the rogue, that put me into this apparel.

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd have run.

Aut. I must confess to you, Sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him.

Clo. How do you now?

Aut. Sweet Sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's.

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut. No, good-faced Sir; no, sweet Sir.

*The machine used in the game of pigeon-holes,
+ Sojourn.

Procured a puppet-show.

Thief.

Clo. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices for our sheepshearing.

Aut. Prosper you, sweet Sir!-[Exit CLOWN.] Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name put in the book of virtue !

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent* the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.

SCENE III.-The same. A Shepherd's Cottage.

Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA.

Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life: no shepherdess; but Flora,

Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,

And you the queen on't.

Per. Sir, my gracious lord,

To chide at your extremes,t it not becomes me;
O, pardon, that I name them: your high self,
The gracious markt o' the land, you have obscured
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd§ up: But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush

To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To show myself a glass.

Flo. I bless the time,

When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.

Per. Now Jove afford you cause!

To me the difference || forges dread; your greatness
Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble
To think, your father, by some accident,

Should pass this way as you did: O, the fates!
How would he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?

Flo. Apprehend

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire robed-god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,

*Take hold of. { Dressed up.

† Extravagancies.

II. e. of station.

[Exit.

+ Object of observation.

As I seem now: Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer;
Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires
Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.

Per. O but, dear Sir,

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis

Opposed, 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,
Or I my life.

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita,

With these forced thoughts, 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 anything 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 anything

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. O lady fortune,

Stand you auspicious!

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 lived upon

This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook;

Both dame and servant: welcomed all; served 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 retired,
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!

It is my father's will, I should take on me

[TO POL.

The hostesship 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, 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 birta

Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyvors,*

Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind

Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not

To get slips of them.

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,

Do you neglect them?

Per. Fort 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 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 living 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 let'st fall.

I. e. they are not wholly natural, but owe their streaks to the gardener's art.

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 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 skillt 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.

* Living.

+ Reason.

+ Green turf.