themselves saltiers^{3 note}: and they have a dance which

the wenches say is a gallimaufry^{4 note} of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling^{5 note}

Shep.

Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much homely 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 note}.

Shep.

Leave your prating; since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.

Serv.

Why, they stay at door, sir.

Pol.
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter^{7 note}

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 ransack'd
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him: If your lass
Interpretation should abuse; and call this,
Your lack of love, or bounty; you were straited^{8 note}
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^{9 note},
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^{1 note}

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 knowledge,
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,
Or to their own perdition.

Pol.
Fairly offer'd.

Cam.
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:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

Shep.
Take hands, a bargain;—
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't:

I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.

Flo.
O, that must be
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.
Come, your hand;—
And, daughter, yours.

Pol.
Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you;
Have you a father?

Flo.
I have: But what of him?

Pol.
Knows he of this?

Flo.
He neither does, nor shall.

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^{2 note}

? Can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate^{3 note}

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.

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 grieve
At knowing of thy choice.

Flo.
Come, come he must not:—
Mark our contráct.

Pol.
Mark your divorce, young sir, [Discovering himself.
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^{4 note}, 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 never see this knack, (as never^{5 note}

I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin,
Far than^{6 note}

Per.
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard^{8 note}: 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^{9 note}

Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam.
Why, how now, father?
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^{1 note},
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^{2 note}

Flo.
Why look you so upon me^{4 note}?
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^{5 note}: 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?
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^{6 note}
!—Lift up thy looks^{7 note}:—
From my succession wipe me, father! I
Am heir to my affection.

Cam.
Be advis'd.

Flo.
I am; and by my fancy^{8 note}

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,
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me, (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^{9 note} I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our need^{1 note}

Cam.
O, my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.

Flo.
Hark, Perdita.— [Takes her aside.
I'll hear you by and by. [To Camillo.

Cam.
He's irremovable,
Resolv'd for flight: Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my 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.

Flo.
Now, good Camillo,

I am so fraught with curious business, that
I leave out ceremony. [Going.

Cam.
Sir, I think,
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,
And bring him up to liking^{2 note}

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.
Have you thought on
A place, whereto you'll go?

Flo.
Not any yet:
But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
To what we wildly do^{3 note}

Cam.
Then list to me:
This follows,—if you will not change your purpose,
But undergo this flight;—Make for Sicilia;
And there present yourself, and your fair princess,
(For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes;
She shall be habited, as it becomes
The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see
Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping
His welcomes forth: asks thee, the son^{5 note}

Flo.
Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my visitation shall I
Hold up before him?

Cam.
Sent by the king your father
To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with
What you, as from your father, shall deliver,
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down:
The which shall point you forth at every sitting,
What you must say^{6 note}

Flo.
I am bound to you:
There is some sap in this^{7 note}
.

Cam.
A course more promising
Than a wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores; most certain,
To miseries enough: no hope to help you;
But, as you shake off one, to take another^{8 note}


:
Nothing so certain as your anchors; who
Do their best office, if they can but stay you
Where you'll be loth to be: Besides, you know,
Prosperity's the very bond of love;

Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
Affliction alters.

Per.
One of these is true:
I think, affliction may subdue the cheek,
But not take in the mind^{9 note}

Cam.
Yea, say you so?
There shall not, at your father's house, these seven years,
Be born another such.

Flo.
My good Camillo,
She is as forward of her breeding, as
She is i' the rear our birth.

Cam.
I cannot say, 'tis pity
She lacks instructions; for she seems a mistress
To most that teach.

Per.
Your pardon, sir, for this;
I'll blush you thanks^{1 note}

Flo.
My prettiest Perdita.—
But, O, the thorns we stand upon!—Camillo,—
Preserver of my father, now of me;
The medicine of our house!—how shall we do?
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son;
Nor shall appear in Sicilia—

Cam.
My lord,
Fear none of this: I think, you know, my fortunes

Do all lie there: it shall be so my care
To have you royally appointed, as if
The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir,
That you may know you shall not want,—one word. [They talk aside. Enter Autolycus.

Aut.

Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a riband, glass, pomander^{2 note}

Aut.

Are you in earnest, sir?—I smell the trick of it.—

Flo.

Dispatch, I pr'ythee.

Aut.

Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it.

Cam.
Unbuckle, unbuckle.— [Flo. and Autol. exchange garments.
Fortunate mistress,—let my prophecy
Come home to you!—you must retire yourself

Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat,
And pluck it o'er thy brows; muffle your face;
Dismantle you; and as you can, disliken
The truth of your own seeming; that you may,
(For I do fear eyes over you^{9 note},) to shipboard
Get undescried.

Per.
I see, the play so lies,
That I must bear a part.

Cam.
No remedy.—
Have you done there?

Flo.
Should I now meet my father,
He would not call me son.

Cam.
Nay, you shall have no hat:—
Come, lady, come.—Farewell, my friend.

Aut.
Adieu, sir.

Flo.
O Perdita, what have we twain forgot^{1 note}?
Pray you, a word. [They converse apart.

Cam.
What I do next, shall be, to tell the king [Aside.
Of this escape, and whither they are bound;
Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail,
To force him after: in whose company
I shall review Sicilia; for whose sight
I have a woman's longing.

Flo.
Fortune speed us!—
Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.

Cam.
The swifter speed, the better. [Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo.

Aut.

I understand the business, I hear it: To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite

also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see, this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been, without boot? what a boot is here, with this exchange? Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity; stealing away from his father, with his clog at his heels: If I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do't^{2 note}

Aside, aside;—here is more matter for a hot brain: Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.

Clo.

See, see; what a man you are now! there

is no other way, but to tell the king she's a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood.

Shep.

Nay, but hear me.

Clo.

Nay, but hear me.

Shep.

Go to then.

Clo.

She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the king; and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those things you found about her; those secret things, all but what she has with her: This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you.

Shep.

I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law.

Clo.

Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer, by I know how much an ounce^{3 note}.

Aut.

Very wisely; puppies!

Shep.

Well; let us to the king; there is that in this fardel, will make him scratch his beard.

Aut.

I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master.

Clo.

'Pray heartily he be at palace.

Aut.

Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance:—Let me pocket up my pedler's excrement^{4 note}

Shep.

To the palace, an it like your worship.

Aut.

Your affairs there? what? with whom? the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having^{5 note}, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover.

Clo.

We are but plain fellows, sir.

Aut.

A lie; you are rough and hairy: Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie^{6 note}.

Clo.

Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner^{7 note}.

Shep.

Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?

Aut.

Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier. See'st thou not the air of the court, in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it, the measure of the court^{8 note}? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt?

Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, or toze^{9 note}

Shep.

My business, sir, is to the king.

Aut.

What advocate hast thou to him?

Shep.

I know not, an't like you.

Clo.

Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant^{1 note}

Shep.

None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock, nor hen^{2 note}.

Aut.
How bless'd are we, that are not simple men!
Yet nature might have made me as these are,
Therefore I'll not disdain.

Clo.
This cannot be but a great courtier.

Shep.

His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.

Clo.

He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical; a great man, I'll warrant; I know, by the picking on's teeth^{3 note}
.

Aut.
The fardel there? what's i' the fardel?
Wherefore that box?

Shep.

Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel, and box, which none must know but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the speech of him.

Aut.

Age, thou hast lost thy labour.

Shep.

Why, sir?

Aut.

The king is not at the palace; he is gone

aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air himself: For, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know, the king is full of grief.

Shep.

So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter.

Aut.

If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster.

Clo.

Think you so, sir?

Aut.

Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman: which though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say, he shall be stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I: Draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.

Clo.

Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir?

Aut.

He has a son, who shall be flayed alive, then, 'nointed over with honey^{4 note}, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand, till he be three quarters and a dram dead: then recovered again with aqua-vitæ, or some other hot-infusion: then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims^{5 note}

shall he be set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him; where he is to behold him, with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, (for you seem to be honest plain men,) what you have to the king: being something gently considered^{6 note}

Clo.

He seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado: Remember stoned, and flayed alive.

Shep.

An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much more; and leave this young man in pawn, till I bring it you.

Aut.

After I have done what I promised?

Shep.

Ay, sir.

Aut.

Well, give me the moiety:—Are you a party in this business?

Clo.

In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.

Aut.

O, that's the case of the shepherd's son:— Hang him, he'll be made an example.

Clo.

Comfort, good comfort: we must to the king, and show our strange sights: he must know, 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you.

Aut.

I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you.

Clo.

We are blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed.

Shep.

Let's before, as he bids us: he was provided to do us good.

Aut.

If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune would not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion; gold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which, who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me, rogue, for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't: To him will I present them, there may be matter in it.

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