SCENE III.
A Shepherd's Cot.
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, it not becomes me5 note;
Oh, pardon, that I name them: your high self,
6 noteThe gracious mark o'the land, you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up7 note
: 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 myself a glass8 note
.
-- 374 --
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 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,
Vilely bound up9 note
? What would he say? Or how
-- 375 --
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
Flo.
Apprehend
Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves1 note
,
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 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 forc'd 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 any thing to any, if
I be not thine: to this I am most constant,
-- 376 --
Though 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 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, 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.
Fye, 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'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 retir'd,
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.
Sir, welcome!
[To Pol. and Cam.
It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostessship o'the day:—You're welcome, sir!
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.—Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Seeming, and favour, all the winter long:
-- 377 --
2 note
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both,9Q0471
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'the 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 art3 note, 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 cyon 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.
-- 378 --
Pol.
Then make your garden rich in gilly-flowers4 note
,
And do not call them bastards.
Per.
I'll not put
The dibble5 note 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 live by gazing.
-- 379 --
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:—O Proserpina6 note
,
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, dim7 note
,
-- 380 --
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, a malady
Most incident to maids; 8 note
bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies 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.
Flor.
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,9Q0473
But quick, and in mine arms9 note
. 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
-- 381 --
A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so,
And own no other function: 1 noteEach 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 youth2 note
,
And the true blood, which peeps 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 have3 note
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 'em4 note
.
-- 382 --
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 something5 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; 6 notewe stand upon our manners.—
Come, strike up.
Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Pol.
Pray, good shepherd, what
Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter?
Shep.
They call him Doricles; and he boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding7 note
: but I have it
-- 383 --
Upon his own report, and I believe it;
He looks like sooth8 note
: 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; though I report it,
That should be silent: if young Doricles
Do light upon 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 men's 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 down9 note, 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:
-- 384 --
he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without
bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens
of dil-do's and fadings1 note
: 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 man2 note.
Pol.
This is a brave fellow.
Clo.
Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited
fellow. Has he any unbraided wares3 note
?
-- 385 --
Ser.
He hath ribbons of all the colours i'the rainbow;
points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia
can learnedly handle, though they come to him by
the gross; inkles, 4 note
caddisses, cambricks, lawns: why,
he sings them over, 'as they were gods or goddesses:
you would think, a smock were a she-angel; he so
chants to the 5 note
sleeve-hand, and the work about the
square on't.
-- 386 --
Clo.
Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach
singing.
Per.
Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words
in his tunes.
Clo.
You have of these pedlers, that have more in
'em than you'd think, sister.
Per.
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolycus, 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 bracelet, neck-lace amber;
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden quoifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins, and poking-sticks of steel6 note
,
What maids lack from head to heel:
-- 387 --
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 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.
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 off these secrets;
but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests?
'Tis well they are whispering:7 note
Clamour your tongues,
and not a word more.
-- 388 --
Mop.
I have done. Come, 8 note
you promis'd me a
tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves.
-- 389 --
Clo.
Have I not told thee, how I was cozen'd by
the way, and lost all my money?
-- 390 --
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, a'-life9 note
; for then we are sure they are true.
Aut.
Here's one, to a very doleful tune, How an
usurer's wife was brought to bed with twenty money-bags
at a burden; 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
Taleporter; 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 lets first see more
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.
-- 391 --
Aut.
Here's another ballad, Of a fish1 note, that appear'd
upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April,
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 9Q0476 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 ago.
Aut.
I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis my
occupation: have at it with you.
SONG.
A.
Get you hence, for I must go;
Where, it fits not you to know.
D.
Whither?
M.
O, whither?
D.
Whither?
-- 392 --
M.
It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell:
D.
Me too, let me go thither.
M.
Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill:
D.
If to either, thou dost ill.
A.
Neither.
D.
What, neither?
A.
Neither.
D.
Thou hast sworn my love to be;
M.
Thou hast sworn it more to me:
Then, whither go'st? say, whither?
Clo.
We'll have this song out anon by ourselves:
My father and the gentlemen are in 2 notesad 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.
[Aside.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk, any thread,
Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?
Come to the pedler;
Money's a medler,
That doth 3 noteutter all mens' ware-a.
[Exit Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, and Mopsa.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
4 noteMaster, there are three carters, three shepherds,
-- 393 --
three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have
made themselves all men of hair5 note
; they call themselves,
saltiers: and they have a dance, which the
wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because
they are not in't; but they themselves are o'the mind,
(if it be not too rough for some, that know little but
bowling6 note) 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 the
square.
-- 394 --
Shep.
Leave your prating; since these good men
are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now.
Ser.
Why, they stay at door, sir.
Here a dance of twelve Satyrs.
Pol. [Aside.]
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter7 note.—
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 doth 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
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,
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 snow8 note
,
-- 395 --
That's bolted by the northern blasts9Q0477 twice o'er.
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 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'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, a while, 'beseech you;
-- 396 --
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? Can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate9 note
?
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.
Flo.
No, he must not.
-- 397 --
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 am 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 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
I mean thou shalt) we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin,
1 note
Far than Deucalion off: Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court.—Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it.—And you, enchantment,—
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
-- 398 --
Unworthy thee,—if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to it.
[Exit.
Per.
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard2 note: 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. 9Q0478—Wilt please you, sir, be gone?
[To Florizel.
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 Florizel.
You have undone a man of fourscore three3 note,
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 shrowd, and lay me
-- 399 --
Where no priest shovels-in dust4 note.—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 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: 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,
5 note
And mar the seeds within!—Lift up thy looks:—
From my succession wipe me, father! I
Am heir to my affection.
-- 400 --
Cam.
Be advis'd.
Flo.
I am; and by my fancy6 note
: 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 sea hides
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, (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 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.
Flor.
Hark, Perdita.—
I'll hear you by and by.
[To Camillo.
Cam. [Aside.]
He's irremoveable,
Resolv'd for flight: Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
-- 401 --
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.
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 recompenc'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 I'll strive to qualify,
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 the unthought-on accident is guilty
To what we wildly do; so we profess
-- 402 --
7 noteOurselves 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;
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'the father's person: kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess: o'er and o'er divides him
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the 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 down8 note
:
-- 403 --
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 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:
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 in9 note
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'the rear of birth.
Cam.
I cannot say, 'tis pity
-- 404 --
She lacks instructions; for she seems a mistress
To most that teach.
Per.
Your pardon, sir, for this;
I'll blush you thanks. 9Q0479
Flo.
My prettiest Perdita.—
But, oh, the thorns we stand upon!—Camillo,—
Preserver of my father, now of me;
The medicin 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 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!1 note
I have
sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a
-- 405 --
ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad,
knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn-ring, to
keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should
buy first; as if my trinkets had been2 notehallowed, 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 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 placket3 note
, 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, Florizel and Perdita, 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 satisfy your father.
Per.
Happy be you!
All, that you speak, shews fair.
Cam.
Who have we here?—
[Seeing Autolycus.
We'll make an instrument of this; omit
-- 406 --
Nothing, may give us aid.
Aut.
If they have over-heard me now,—why
hanging.
[Aside.
Cam.
How now, good fellow? Why shakest 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 nobody wil 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 necessity in't) and
change garments with this gentleman: Though the
pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold thee,
there's some 4 noteboot.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, sir:—I know ye well
enough.
[Aside.
Cam.
Nay, pr'ythee, dispatch: the gentleman is
half flead already.
Aut.
Are you in earnest, sir?—I smell the trick of
it.—
[Aside.
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 you!—you must retire yourself
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 lies,
That I must bear a part.
Cam.
No remedy,
Have you done there?
-- 407 --
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.
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 the sea-side.
Cam.
The swifter speed, the better.
[Exeunt Flo. Per. and Cam.
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: 5 noteIf I thought it were not a piece of honesty to
acquaint the king withal, I would do't: I hold it
the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I
constant to my profession.
-- 408 --
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 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 punish'd by him.
Shew 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 sons 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. 9Q0480.
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 palace.
Aut.
Though I am not naturally honest, I am so
sometimes by chance:—Let me pocket up my
pedler's6 note
excrement.—How now, rusticks? whither
are you bound?
-- 409 --
Shep.
To the palace, an it like your worship.
Aut.
Your affairs there? what? with whom?
the condition of that farthel, the place of your
dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having,
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:9Q0481 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 lye7 note
.
Clo.
Your worship had like to have given us one,
if you had not taken yourself with the manner.
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? receives not thy nose court-odour from me?
reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt?
Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, or toze8 note
from
-- 410 --
thee thy business, I am 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, an't like you.
Clo.
Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant9 note
;
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
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 teeth1 note
.
-- 411 --
Aut.
The farthel there? what's i'the farthel?
Wherefore that box?
Shep.
Sir, there lies 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 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 ston'd; 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 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 day2 note prognostication proclaims, shall he be set
-- 412 --
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: 3 note
being
something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where
he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence,
whisper him in your behalfs; and, if it be in man,
besides the king, to effect your suits, here is 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.
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 flay'd out of it.
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,
-- 413 --
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 Clo.
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.
[Exit.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
