Scene
SCENE, the country.
Enter Autolicus singing* note.
When daffodils begin to peere,
With hey the doxy over the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o'th' year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing:
Doth set my progging tooth an edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark that tirra lyra chaunts,
With hey, with hey, the thrush and the jay:
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
I have served prince Florizel, and in my time wore
three pile, but now I am out of service. My traffic
is sheets. My father nam'd me Autolicus, who, being,
as I am, litter'd under Mercury, was likewise
a snapper-up of unconsider'd trifles. A prize! a
prize!
Enter Clown.
Clo.
Let me see, every eleven weather tods, every
tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred
shorn, what comes the wool to?
Aut.
If the springe hold, the cock's mine.
[Aside.
Clo.
I cannot do't without compters. Let me see,
what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? three
pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice—
what will this sister of mine do with rice? but my
father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she
lays it on. I must have saffron to colour the wardenpies;
-- 191 --
mace—dates—none—that's out
of my note: nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger;
but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and
as many raisins o'th' sun.
Aut.
Oh, that ever I was born!
[Groveling on the ground.
Clo.
I'th' name of me—
Aut.
Oh, help me, help me: pluck but off these
rags, and then death, death.—
Clo.
Alack, poor soul, thou hast need of more rags
to lay on thee, rather than have these off.
Aut.
Oh, Sir, the loathsomness of them offends
me, more than the stripes I have receiv'd, which are
mighty ones, and millions.
Clo.
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may
come to a great matter.
Aut.
I am robb'd, 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 has 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.
Oh! good Sir, tenderly, oh!
Clo.
Alas, good soul.
Aut.
O good Sir, softly, good Sir: I fear, Sir,
my shoulder-blade is out.
Clo.
How now? canst stand?
Aut.
Softly, dear Sir; good Sir, softly; you ha'
done me a charitable office.
Clo.
Dost lack any money? I have a little money
for thee. [Clown shews a purse, and puts it up—Autolicus
steals it.]
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
-- 192 --
money, or any thing I want: offer me no money, I
pray you; that kills my heart.
Clo.
What manner of fellow was he that robb'd
you?
Aut.
A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about
with* note troll-my-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 whipp'd out of
the court.
Clo.
His vices, you would say; there's no virtue
whipp'd out of the court; they cherish it to make it
stay there, and yet it will not 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 compast a motion† note 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 Autolicus.
Clo.
Out upon him, prig! he haunts wakes, fairs,
and bear-baitings.
Aut.
Very true, Sir; he, Sir, he; that's the rogue
that put me into his apparel.
Clo.
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bithynia; if
you had but look'd 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 do, 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 thy way?
Aut.
No, good fac'd Sir; no, sweet Sir.
Clo.
Then farewel, I must go to buy spices for our
sheep-shearing.
[Exit.
-- 193 --
Aut.
Prosper you, sweet Sir. 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 unrol'd, and my name put into the book of
virtue.
SONG.
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.
[Exit.
Florizel and Perdita discover'd* note.
Flo.
These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Does 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 it not becomes me:
Oh pardon, that I name them: your high self,
The gracious mark o'th'land, you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up.
Flo.
I bless the time
When my good falcon made her flight a-cross
Thy father's ground.
Per.
Now Jove afford you cause;
To me the difference forges dread, your greatness
Hath not been us'd to fear; even now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way, as you did: oh the fates!
-- 194 --
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* note?
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-rob'd God,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
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 wishes
Burn hotter than my faith.
But, dearest Perdita,
With these forc'd thoughts I pr'ythee darken not
The mirth o'th' feast; or I'll be thine, my fair,
Or not my father's. To this I am most constant,
Tho' destiny say no. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance, as 'twere the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.
Per.
O lady fortune,
Stand you auspicious!
Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, Servants, with Polixenes and Camillo disguis'd.
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
-- 195 --
At upper end o'th' table, now i'th' middle;
On his shoulder, and his. You are retired,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting; pray you bid
These unknown friends to's welcome.
Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o'th' feast. Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper* note.
Per.
Sirs, welcome.
[To Pol. and Cam.
It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostessship o'th' day: you're welcome, Sirs.
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 unto 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,
Nor yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o'th' season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers,
Which some call nature's bastards; of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren. Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram,
The mary-gold, that goes to bed with th' sun,
And with him rises, weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle age. Y'are 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 friends,
-- 196 --
I would I had some flowers o'th' spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin-branches yet
Your maiden-blushes glowing. O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'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 Phœbus in his strength. O these I lack
To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend
To strow him o'er and o'er.
Flo.
What? like a coarse?
Per.
No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;
Not like a coarse. Come, take your flowers,
Methinks I play as I have seen them do
In Whitson 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 ord'ring your affairs,
To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o'th' sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that.
Per.
O Doricles,
Your praises are too large; but that your youth
And the true blood which peeps forth fairly 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.
Pol.
This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-sord: nothing she does, or seems,
-- 197 --
But smacks of something greater than her self,
Too noble for this place.
Clo.
Come on, strike up.
Dor.
Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlick
to mend her kissing with.
Mop.
Now in good time.
Clo.
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners,
come, strike up.
Here a dance of shepherds and shepherdesses.
Pol.
Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this,
Whose happy hand is to your daughter's link'd?
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; 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 chuse,
Who loves another best.
If young Doricles
Do marry with her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor
and pipe: no, the bag-pipe could not move you;
he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money;
he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens
ears grow 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.
Ser.
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, with such delicate
burthens! jump her and thump her: and
where some stretch'd-mouth'd rascal would, as it
-- 198 --
were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the
matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me
no harm, good man; put him off, slights him, with
Whoop, do me no harm, good man.
Clo.
Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable
conceited fellow; has he any unbraided wares?
Ser.
He hath ribbons of all the colours i'th' rainbow;
points, more than all the lawyers in Bithynia
can learnedly handle, tho' they come to him by the
gross; inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns; why he
sings 'em over, as they were gods and goddesses;
you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so
chants to the sleeve-band, and the work about the
square on't.* note
Clo.
Pr'ythee bring him in, and let him approach
singing.
Enter Autolicus singing.
Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
Masks for faces and for noses;
Bugle-bracelets, neck-lace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber.
Golden quoifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins, and poaking sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel:
Come buy of me: come buy, come buy,
Buy lads, or else your lasses cry:
Come buy, &c.
Clo.
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou should'st
take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am,
it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and
gloves.
Mop.
I was promis'd them against the feast, but
they come not too late now.
-- 199 --
Dor.
He hath promis'd you more than that, or
there be liars.
Mop.
He hath paid you all he promis'd you: 'may
be he has paid you more, which will shame you to
give him again.
Clo.
Is there no manners left among maids? will
they wear their plackets where they should bear
their faces? is there not milking-time, when you
are going to bed, or kill-hole, to whistle of these
secrets, but you must be tittle-tatling before all our
guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour your
tongues, and not a word more.
Mop.
I have done: come, you promis'd me a tawdry
lace, and a pair of sweet gloves.
Clo.
Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by
the way, and lost all my money?
Aut.
And indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad,
therefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clo.
Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing
here.
Aut.
I hope so, Sir, for I have about me many
parcels of charge.
Clo.
What hast here, ballads?
Mop.
Pray now buy some, I love a ballad in print,
or a life; for then we are sure they are true.
Aut.
Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a
usurer's wife was brought to bed with twenty money
bags at a burthen, and how she long'd to eat adders
heads, and toads carbonado'd.
Mop.
Is it true, think you?
Aut.
Very true, and but a month old.
Dor.
Bless me from marrying a usurer.
Aut.
Here's the midwife's name to't; one mistress
Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were
present. Why should I carry lies abroad?
Mop.
Pray you now buy it.
Clo.
Come on, lay it by; and let's first see more
ballads; we'll buy the other things, anon.
Aut.
Here's another ballad, of a fish that appear'd
upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April,
-- 200 --
forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this
ballad against the hard hearts of maids; it was
thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a
cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh with one
that lov'd her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as
true.
Dor.
Is it true too, think you?
Aut.
Five justices hands at it; and witnesses
more than my pack will hold.
Clo.
Lay it by. We'll have this song out anon by
ourselves, my father and the gentlemen are in sad
talk, and we'll not trouble them: come, bring away
thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both:
pedlar, let's have the first choice; follow me, girls.
Aut.
And you shall pay well for 'em.
SONG.
Will you buy any tape, or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my deer-a?
Any silk, any thread, any toys for your head,
Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st where-a?
Come to the pedlar, money's, a medler,
That doth utter all mens' ware-a.
* note[Ex. Clown; Autolicus, Dorcas, and Mopsa.
Pol.
Is it not too far gone? 'tis time to part them.
He's simple, and tells much. 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 pedlar'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
For a reply, at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.
-- 201 --
Flo.
Old Sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are;
The gifts she looks from me, are packt and lockt
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
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,
That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er.
Pol.
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before! I've 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, and heav'ns, 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 shews 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'th' virtue of your daughter; one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
-- 202 --
Enough then for your wonder: but come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
Pol.
Soft, swain, a-while; '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?
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 chuse 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,
As knowing of thy choice.
Flo.
Come, come, he must not:
Mark our contract.
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'm sorry that by hanging thee, I can
-- 203 --
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—
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.
Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
Tho' full of our displeasure, yet we free thee,
From the dead blow of it: and you, enchantment,
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 it.
[Exit.
Per.
Even here undone:
I was not much afraid; 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 both
Looks on alike. Wilt please you, Sir, be gone.
[To Flo.
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 farther,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
Cam.
Why how now, father?
Speak e'er thou diest.
Shep
I cannot speak, nor think.
O Sir,
[To Flor.
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father dy'd,
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. Oh cursed wretch!
[To Perdita.
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adventure
-- 204 --
To mingle faith with him. Undone, undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire.
[Exit.
Flo.
Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afraid; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am;† note
More straining on, for plucking back.
Cam.
My lord,
You know your father's temper: at this time
He will allow no speech, 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'th' earth together,
And mar the seeds within. Lift up thy looks!
From my succession wipe me, father, I
Am heir to my affection.* note
Cam.
This is desperate, Sir.
Flo.
So call it; but it does fulfil my vow!
Not for Bithynia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereout 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 friend,
When he shall miss me,
Thus much deliver, I am put to sea
-- 205 --
With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And most opportune to our need, I have
A vessel rides, fast by.
Cam.
O my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.
Flo.
Hark, Perdita,
[Drawing her aside.
I'll hear you, by and by.
Cam.
He's irremoveable,
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.
[Aside.
Flo.
Now, good Camillo—
Cam.
Have you thought on
A place whereto you'll go?
Flo.
Not any yet.
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, forgiveness,
As 'twere i'th' father's person.
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.
Flo.
Yet, Camillo,
Preserver of my father, now of me;
The medicine of our house! how shall we do?
We are not furnish'd like Bithynia's son,
Nor shall appear in Sicily—
-- 206 --
Cam.
My lord,
Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes
Do all lie there: it shall be my care
To have you royally appointed. For instance, Sir,
That you may know you shall not want; one word.
[They talk aside.
Enter Autolicus.
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
ribbon, glass, pomander, broche, table-hook, ballad,
knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, hornring
to keep my pack from fastning: they throng
who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been
hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer;
by which means, I saw whose purse was best in picture;
and what I saw, to my good use, I remember'd.
My good clown (who wants but something
to be a reasonable man) grew so in love with the
wenches song; that he would not stir his pettitoes,
'till he had both tune and words; which so drew the
rest of the herd to me, that all their other senses
stuck in ears. So that in this time of lethargy, I
pick'd and cut most of their festival purses: and had
not the old man come in, with a whoo-bub against
his daughter and the king's son, and scar'd my
choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive
in the whole army.
Cam.
Nay, but my letters by this means being
there so soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
Flor.
And those that you'll procure from king Leontes—
Cam.
Shall satisfie your father.
Flor.
But how to ship-board get, undescry'd?
Cam.
Indeed that asks invention. Who have we here?
[Seeing Autolicus.
Aut.
If they have overheard me now, why hanging—
Cam.
How chance oft hits the mark, when wisdom fails!
-- 207 --
Now, my best lord, if you dare trust your course,
Intirely to my skill—
Flor.
You are our pilot.
Cam.
Enough. How now, good fellow? Why
shakest thou so? fear not, man, here's no harm intended
thee.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, Sir.
Cam.
Why, be so still; here's nobody will take
that from thee. Yet for the outside of thy poverty,
we must make an exchange. Therefore retire with
us to the next covert, and change garments with this
gentleman, (thou must think there's necessity in it)
and tho' the bargain on his side be the worst, yet
thou shalt have gold to boot.
Aut.
Are you in earnest, Sir?
I know the trick on't.
[Aside.
Cam.
There's earnest to prove it.
[Gives him a purse.
The business dispatched, thou shalt have as much more.
Flor.
I partly guess your drift.
Cam.
You must exchange
Your costly garment for this rustic's rag.
You, my sweet lady, take your lover's hat,
And shepherd's habit, so shall we deceive
Each prying eye, till we are safe aboard.
Perd.
Alack, the shame on't, that a lowly maid
Should to such peril, and unworthy shifts,
Reduce your greatness!
Flor.
Sweetest Perdita,
Fear not, but list my words.
[He takes her aside.
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.
Is she won yet?
Perd.
I see the play so-lies,
That I must bear a part.
-- 208 --
Cam.
Set on, and Fortune speed our course.
Come, fellow.
[Exeunt.† note
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
