Scene 2
SCENE changes to the Country.
Enter Autolicus singing.
When daffadils begin to peere,
With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o'th' year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
-- 116 --
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With, hey! the sweet birds, O how they sing!
Doth set my pugging tooth on 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 lye tumbling in the hay.
I have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore
three-pile, but now I am out of service.
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
The pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,
I then do go most right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget;
Then my account I well may give,
And in the Stocks avouch it.
My traffick is sheets; when the kite builds, look to
lesser linnen. (23) note
My father nam'd me Autolicus, being
-- 117 --
litter'd under Mercury; who, as I am, was likewise
a snapper-up of unconsider'd trifles: with die and drab,
I purchas'd this caparison, and my revenue is the silly
Cheat. Gallows, and knock, are too powerful on the
high-way; beating and hanging are terrors to me: for
the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it.—
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 wooll to?
Aut.
If the sprindge 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.
She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for the
shearers;(24) note
three-man song-men all, and very good
ones, but they are most of them means and bases; but
one Puritan among them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes.
I must have saffron to colour the warden-pies,
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—
-- 118 --
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 mony and
apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put
upon me.
Clo.
What, by a horse-man, or a footman?
Aut.
A foot-man, sweet Sir, a footman.
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, poor 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 mony? I have a little mony 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
mony, or any thing I want: offer me no mony, 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 trol-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.
-- 119 --
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 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 compass'd a Motion of the Prodigal
Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where
my land and living lyes; and, having flown over many
knavish professions, he settled only in rogue; some call
him Autolicus.
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 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 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.
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, (25) note let
me be unroll'd, and my name put into the book of
virtue!
-- 120 --
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.
Scene 3
SCENE, the Prospect of a Shepherd's Cotte.
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 extreams 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. 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 shew my self a glass.
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!
How would he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vildly bound up! what would he say! or how
Should I in these my borrow'd flaunts behold
The sternness of his presence?
-- 121 --
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 lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.
Per.
O, but, dear Sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' power o' th' 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 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. For I cannot be
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
Tho' destiny say no. Be merry, (Gentle,)
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. 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 your self to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.
-- 122 --
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'th' table, now i'th' 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's welcome, for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes, and present your self
That which you are, mistress o'th' feast. Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
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,
Not 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 rustick garden's barren, and I care not
To get slips of them.
Pol.
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
Per.
For I have heard it said,
There is an Art, which in their pideness shares
With great creating Nature.
-- 123 --
Pol.
Say, there be;
Yet Nature is made better by no mean,
But Nature makes that mean; so over that Art,
Which, you say, adds to Nature, is an Art
That Nature makes; you see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scyon 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 it self 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, 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 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'th' Spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin-branches yet
Your maiden-heads growing: O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffadils,
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
-- 124 --
Bright Phœbus in his strength; (a malady
Most incident to maids;) bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lillies of all kinds,
The flower-de-lis being one. 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; 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 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; move still, still so,
And own no other function. Each your Doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you're 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 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. 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-sord; nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than her self,
Too noble for this place.
-- 125 --
Cam.
He tells her something,(26) note
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, 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,
Who 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; 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.
Pol.
She dances featly.
Shep.
So she does any thing, tho' I report it
That should be silent; if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him That
Which he not dreams of.
-- 126 --
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
O master, if you did but hear the Pedler 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 mony; he utters
them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens 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.
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, so without bawdry,
(which is strange) with such delicate burthens of
dil-do's and fa-ding's: jump her and thump her: and
where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were,
mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter,
he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm,
good man; puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, do
me no harm, good man.
Pol
This is a brave fellow.
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 Bohemia 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-hand, and the work about the square on't.
Clo.
Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach,
singing.
Per.
Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words
in's tunes.
Clo.
You have of these Pedlers that have more in
them than you'd think, sister.
Per.
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
-- 127 --
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: 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 mony 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.
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 whispring: 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 mony?
Aut.
And, indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad,
therefore it behoves men to be wary.
-- 128 --
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 mony 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,
forty thousand fadom 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 too: another.—
Aut.
This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Mop.
Let's have some merry ones.
Aut.
Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to
the tune of two maids wooing a man; there's scarce a
maid westward, but she sings it: 'tis in request, I can
tell you.
Mop.
We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part,
thou shalt hear, 'tis in three parts.
Dor.
We had the tune on't a month a-go.
-- 129 --
Aut.
I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis my
occupation: have at it with you.
Aut.
Get you hence, for I must go,
Where it fits not you to know.
Dor.
Whither?
Mop.
O whither?
Dor.
Whither?
Mop.
It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell.
Dor.
Me too, let me go thither:
Mop.
Or thou goest to th' grange, or mill,
Dor.
If to either, thou dost ill:
Aut.
Neither.
Dor.
What neither?
Aut.
Neither.
Dor.
Thou hast sworn my love to be;
Mop.
Thou hast sworn it more to me:
Then whither goest? say, whither?
Clo.
We'll have this song out anon by our selves:
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: Pedler, 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 dear-a?
And silk, and thread, any toys for your head
Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?
Come to the Pedler; mony's a medler,
That doth utter all mens Ware-a.
[Ex. Clown, Autolicus, Dorcas, and Mopsa.
-- 130 --
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
(27) noteMaster, there are three goat-herds, three
shepherds, three neat-herds, and 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 gallymaufry 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 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.
Ser.
One three of them, by their own report, Sir,
hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of
the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' square.
Shep.
Leave your prating; since these good men are
pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now.
Here a dance of twelve Satyrs.
Pol.
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.
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 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
-- 131 --
Your lack of love or bounty; you were straited
For a Reply, at least, if you make 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 packt and lockt
Up in my heart, which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my Love
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.
What follows this?
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 imploy 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 th' 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:
-- 132 --
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,
Enough then for your Wonder: but come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
Shep.
Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours.
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? is he not stupid
With age, and alt'ring rheums? can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
Lies he not bed-rid? and, again, does nothing,
But what he did being childish?
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.
-- 133 --
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 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 traytor,
I'm sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week. And thou fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
The royal fool thou coap'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 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,
Tho' 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 hoope 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
Looks on alike. Wilt please you, Sir, be gone?
[To Flo.
-- 134 --
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, ere thou diest.
Shep.
I cannot speak, nor think,
Nor dare to know That which I know. 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 lye close by his honest bones; but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch!
[To Perdita.
That knew'st, This was the Prince; and would'st adventure
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;
More straining on, for plucking back; not following
My leash unwillingly.
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?
How often said, my Dignity would last
But 'till 'twere known?
Flo.
It cannot fail, but by
The violation of my faith, and then
-- 135 --
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.
Cam.
Be advis'd.
Flo.
I am; and by my fancy; if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
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 fadoms, 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, (as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more) cast your good counsels
Upon his passion; let my self and fortune
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver, I am put to Sea
With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our Need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
Cam.
O my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.
Flo.
Hark, Perdita.—
I'll hear you by and by.
[To Cam.
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,
-- 136 --
And that unhappy King, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.
[Aside.
Flo.
Now, good Camillo;
I am so fraught with curious business, that
I leave out ceremony.
Cam.
Sir, I think,
You have heard of my poor services, i'th' love
That I have born 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 recompenc'd, as thought on.
Cam.
Well, my lord,
If you may please to think I love the King,
And thorough him, what's 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, heav'ns forefend!) your ruin. Marry her,
And with my best endeavours, in your absence,
Your discontented father I'll strive to qualifie,
And bring him up to liking.
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 th' unthought-on accident is guilty
Of what we wildly do, so we profess
Our selves to be the slaves of chance, and flies
Of every wind that blows.
Cam.
Then list to me:
This follows, if you will not change your purpose,
But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia;
-- 137 --
And there present your self, 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; kisses the hands
Of your fresh Princess; o'er and o'er divides him,
'Twixt his unkindness, and his kindness: th' one
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow
Faster than thought or time.
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;(28) note
The which shall point you forth at every sitting,
What you must say; that he shall not perceive,
But that you have your father's bosom there,
And speak his very heart.
Flo.
I am bound to you:
There is some sap in this.
Cam.
A course more promising
Than a wild dedication of your selves
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:
Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
-- 138 --
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.
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'th' rear o' 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.
Flo.
My prettiest Perdita—
But, oh, 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 Sicily—
Cam.
My lord,
Fear none of this: I think, you know, my fortunes
Do all lye 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 Autolicus.
Aut.
Ha, ha, what a fool Honesty is! and Trust,
his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have
sold all my trumpery; (29) notenot a counterfeit stone,
-- 139 --
not a ribbon, glass, pomander, browch, table-book,
ballad, knife, tape, glove, shooe-tye, bracelet, horn-ring
to keep my Pack from fasting: 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; you might
have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing
to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have filed keys
off, that hung in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but
my Sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. 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.
[Camillo, Flor. and Perd. come forward.
Cam.
Nay; but my letters by this means being there,
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that Doubt.
Flo.
And those that you'll procure from King Leontes—
Cam.
Shall satisfie your father.
Per.
Happy be you!
All that you speak shews fair.
Cam.
Who have we here?
[Seeing Autol.
We'll make an instrument of this; omit
Nothing may give us aid.
-- 140 --
Aut.
If they have over-heard me now: why, hanging.
[Aside.
Cam.
How now, good fellow,
Why shak'st thou so? fear not, man,
Here's no harm intended to thee.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, Sir.
Cam.
Why, be so still; here's no body will steal
That from thee; yet for the outside of thy poverty,
we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly:
(thou must think, there's a necessity in't) and
change garments with this gentleman: tho' the pennyworth,
on his side, be the worst, yet hold thee, there's
some boot.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, Sir; (I know ye well
enough.)
Cam.
Nay, pr'ythee, dispatch: the gentleman is half
flead already.
Aut.
Are you in earnest, Sir? (I smell the trick
on't.)—
Flo.
Dispatch, I pr'ythee.
Aut.
Indeed, I have had Earnest, but I cannot with
conscience take it.
Cam.
Unbuckle, unbuckle.
Fortunate Mistress! (let my Prophecy
Come home to ye,) you must retire your self
Into some covert; take your sweet-heart's hat,
And pluck it o'er your 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) to ship-board
Get undescry'd.
Per.
I see, the Play so lyes,
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: farewel, my friend.
Aut.
Adieu, Sir.
-- 141 --
Flo.
O Perdita, what have we twain forgot?
Pray you, a word.
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 th' sea side.
[Exit Flor. with Per.
Cam.
The swifter speed, the better.
[Exit.
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 th' 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; I hold it the more
knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to
my Profession.
Enter Clown and Shepherd.
Aside, aside,—here's 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 Changling, 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,
-- 142 --
your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him.
Shew these 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 farthest off you
could have been to him; and then your blood had
been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.
Aut.
Very wisely, puppies!
[Aside.
Shep.
Well; let us to the King; there is That in this
Farthel 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 the Palace.
Aut.
Tho' I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes
by chance: let me pocket up my Pedler's excrement.
How now, rustiques, whither are you bound?
Shep.
To th' Palace, and it like your Worship.
Aut.
Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition
of that farthel, the place of your dwelling, your
names, your age, of what having, breeding, and any
thing that is fitting for 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.
Clo.
Your Worship had like to have given us one, if
you had not taken your self with the manner.
Shep.
Are you a Courtier, an like you, Sir?
Aut.
Whether it like me, or no, I am a Courtier.
Seest thou not the air of the Court in these enfoldings?
hath not my gate in it the measure of the Court? 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 from thee thy business, I am
-- 143 --
therefore no Courtier? I am courtier, Cap-a-pè; and
one that will either push on, or pluck back thy business
there, whereupon I command thee to open thy
affair.
Shep.
My business, Sir, is to the King.
Aut.
What Advocate hast thou to him?
Shep.
I know not, and't like you.
Clo.
Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say,
you have none.
Shep.
None, Sir; I have no pheasant cock, nor hen.
Aut.
How bless'd are we, that are not simple men!
Yet Nature might have made me as these are,
Therefore I will not disdain.
Clo.
This cannot be but a great Courtier.
Shep.
His garments are rich, but he wears them not
handsomly.
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.
Aut.
The farthel there? what's i'th' farthel?
Wherefore that box?
Shep.
Sir, there lyes such secrets in this farthel and
box, which none must know but the King; and which
he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th'
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, tho' remov'd fifty times, shall all come
-- 144 --
under the hangman; which tho' 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 ston'd; but that death is too soft
for him, say I: draw our throne into a sheep-coat! all
deaths are too few, the sharpest too easie.
Clo.
Has the old man e'er a son, Sir, do you hear,
and't like you, Sir?
Aut.
He has a son, who shall be flay'd alive, then
'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's
nest, then stand 'till he be three quarters and a dram
dead; then recover'd again with Aqua-vitæ, or some
other hot infusion; then raw as he is, (and in the hottest
day prognostication proclaims) 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 smil'd 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 consider'd, I'll bring you where he is
aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper
him in your behalf, and if it be in man, besides the
King, to effect your suits, here is a man shall do it.
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;
shew the inside of your purse to the outside of his
hand, and no more ado. Remember, ston'd, and flay'd
alive.—
Shep.
And'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 tho' my case be a pitiful
one, I hope, I shall not be flay'd out of it.
-- 145 --
Aut.
Oh, 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 shew 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 perform'd; 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 bless'd in this man, as I may say, even
bless'd.
Shep.
Let's before, as he bids us; he was provided
to do us good.
[Exeunt Shep. and Clown.
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 shoar 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.
[Exit.
-- 146 --
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
