Time.
I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds ^note error,
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years and leave the growth ^note untried
Of that wide gap, since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let ^note me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
Or what is now received: I witness ^note to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass and give my scene such growing
As you had slept between: Leontes leaving,
The ^note effects of his fond jealousies so grieving
That he shuts up himself, imagine ^note me,
Gentle spectators, that I ^note now may be
In fair Bohemia; and remember well,
I mentioned ^note a son o' the king's, which ^note Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondering: what of her ensues

I list not prophesy; but let Time's news
Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never, yet that Time himself doth say
He wishes earnestly you never may. ^note [Exit. ^note Scene II. [Footnote: Bohemia. The palace of Polixenes. ^note Enter Polixenes and Camillo.

Pol.

I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to grant this.

Cam.

It is fifteen ^note years since I saw my country: though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure.

Pol.

As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made; better not to have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having made me businesses ^note, which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered, as too much I cannot, to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my ^note profit therein, the heaping friendships ^note. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled

king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues.

Cam.

Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I have missingly ^note noted, he is of late much retired from court and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared.

Pol.

I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far, ^note that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.

Cam.

I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.

Pol.

That's likewise part ^note of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle ^note that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither ^note. Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

Cam.

I willingly obey your command.

Pol.

My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.

^note Scene III. [Footnote: A road ^note near the Shepherd's cottage.

Enter Autolycus, singing.

When daffodils ^note begin to peer,
  With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
  For the red blood reigns in the winter's ^note pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
  With heigh ^note! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Doth set my pugging ^note tooth on ^note edge;
  For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that ^note tirra-lyra ^note chants,
  With heigh! with heigh! ^note 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:

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 most go ^note right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,
  And bear the sow-skin ^note budget ^note,
Then my account I well may give,
  And in the stocks avouch it.

My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise ^note a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchased this ^note caparison, and my revenue is the silly ^note cheat. Gallows and knock ^note are too powerful on the highway: beating and hanging ^note are terrors to me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize!

Clo.

Let me see: every 'leven wether ^note tods; every tod ^note yields pound and odd ^note shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?

Aut. [Aside ^note]

If the springe hold, the cock's mine.

Clo.

I cannot do't without counters ^note. Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar ^note; five pound of currants ^note; 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 nosegays for the shearers, three-man ^note song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one puritan amongst ^note 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 ^note, and as many of raisins ^note o' the sun.

Aut.

O that ever I was born!

Clo.

I' the name of me— ^note

Aut.

O, 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.

O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends ^note me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.

Clo.

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

Aut.

I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable ^note things put upon me.

Clo.

What, by a horseman, or a footman?

Aut.

A footman, sweet sir, a footman.

Clo.

Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee: if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: ^notecome, lend me thy hand.

Aut.

O, good sir, tenderly, O!

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 [picks ^note his pocket]; good sir, softly. You ha' ^note done me a charitable office.

Clo.

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

Aut.

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

Clo.

What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?

Aut.

A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames ^note: I knew him ^note once a servant of the prince:

I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.

Clo.

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

Aut.

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

Clo.

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

Aut.

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

Clo.

Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had but looked big and spit at him, he'ld 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 ^note now?

Aut.

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

Clo.

Shall I bring thee on the way ^note?

Aut.

No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.

Clo.

Then fare thee well ^note: I must go buy ^note spices for our sheep-shearing.

Aut.

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

Song.
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
  And merrily hent ^note the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
  Your sad tires in a mile-a ^note. [Exit. ^note Scene IV. [Footnote: The Shepherd's cottage. ^note Enter Florizel and Perdita. ^note

Flo.
These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do ^note give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as ^note a meeting ^note of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.

Per.
Sir ^note, my gracious lord,
To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:
O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self,
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured
With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts
In every mess have folly and the feeders
Digest it ^note with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired, sworn ^note, I think, ^note

To show myself a glass ^note.

Flo.
I bless the time
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.

Per.
Now Jove afford you cause!
To me the difference forges dread; your greatness
Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!
How would he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely ^note bound up? What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?

Flo.
Apprehend
Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green ^note Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now. Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, ^note
Nor in a way ^note so chaste, since my desires
Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith ^note.

Per.
O, but, sir ^note,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king:
One of these two must be necessities ^note,
Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life.

Flo.
Thou dearest ^note Perdita,

With these forced thoughts, I prithee, 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,
Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle ^note;
Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your ^note countenance, as it were ^note the day
Of celebration of that nuptial which
We two have sworn shall come.

Per.
O lady Fortune,
Stand you auspicious!

Flo.
See, your guests approach:
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth. Enter ^note Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others, with Polixenes and Camillo disguised. ^note

Shep.
Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,
Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all;
Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here,
At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle;
On his shoulder, and ^note his; her face o' fire
With labour and the thing ^note 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 yourself
That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on ^note,

And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.

Per. [To Pol. ^note]
Sir, welcome:
It is my father's will I should take on me
The hostess-ship o' the day. [To Cam. ^note] You're welcome, sir ^note.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be to you ^note both,
And welcome to our shearing!

Pol.
Shepherdess,
A fair one are you, well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter. ^note

Per.
Sir, the year growing ancient,
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest ^note flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors ^note,
Which some call ^note nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's ^note 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 piedness shares
With great creating nature.

Pol.
Say there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean: so, over ^note that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry

A gentler scion ^note to the wildest ^note stock,
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race: this is an art
Which does mend nature, change it rather, but
The art itself is nature.

Per.
So it is.

Pol.
Then make your ^note garden rich in gillyvors ^note,
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 ^note, savory, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the ^note sun
And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer, and I think they are given
To men of middle age. You're ^note very welcome ^note.

Cam.
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.

Per.
Out, alas!
You'ld be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend ^note,
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 Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
From Dis's ^note waggon! daffodils ^note,
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, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold ^note oxlips and
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce ^note being one! O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er!

Flo.
What, like a corse?

Per.
No, like a bank for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried,
But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:
Methinks I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun ^note pastorals: sure this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.

Flo.
What you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'ld ^note have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'ld ^note have you buy and sell so, so give alms,
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move ^note still, still so ^note,
And own no ^note other function: each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are ^note doing in the present deeds ^note,
That all your acts are queens ^note.

Per.
O Doricles,
Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
And the true blood which peeps fairly through 't ^note,

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 ^note 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 ^note for 'em ^note.

Pol.
This ^note is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-sward ^note: nothing she does or seems ^note
But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.

Cam.
He tells her something
That makes her blood look out ^{note note}: good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.

Clo.
Come on, strike up!

Dor. ^note
Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,
To mend her kissing with! ^note

Mop.
Now, in good time!

Clo.
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
Come, strike up ^note! [Music. ^note Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.

Pol.
Pray ^note, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Which ^note dances with your daughter?

Shep.
They call him Doricles; and boasts ^note himself
To have a worthy feeding ^note: but I have it ^note
Upon his own report and I believe it;
He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:
I think so too; for never gazed 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 choose
Who loves another ^note best.

Pol.
She dances featly.

Shep.
So she ^note 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. ^noteEnter Servant.

Serv.

O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe 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 ^note 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.

Serv.

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 dildos and fadings ^note, ‘jump her and thump her;’ and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap ^note 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 ^note fellow. Has he any unbraided ^note wares ^note?

Serv.

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, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings 'em over as they were gods or ^note goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand ^note and the work about the square on't.

Clo.

Prithee 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 pedlars, that have more in them ^note than you'ld think, sister.

Per.

Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

Enter Autolycus, singing.
Lawn as white as driven snow;
Cypress ^note black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;
Bugle bracelet ^note, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden quoifs and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel:
Come buy of me, come; ^note come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:
Come buy. ^note

Clo.

If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

Mop.

I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.

Dor.

He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.

Mop.

He hath paid you all he promised 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 ^note their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, ^note to whistle off ^note these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour ^note your tongues, and not a word more.

Mop.

I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves.

Clo.

Have I not told thee how I was cozened 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 ^note in print o' life ^note, 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 of ^note twenty money-bags at a burthen ^note and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed.

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 ^note name to't, one Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives ^note 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 moe ^note ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut.

Here's another ballad of ^note a fish, that appeared upon, the coast on Wednesday ^note the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom ^note above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold ^note fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved 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. ^note A.
Get you hence, for I must go
Where it ^note fits not you to know. D.
  Whither? M.
O, whither ^note? D.
Whither?

M.
It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell: D.
  Me too, let me go thither ^note. M.
Or thou goest 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 goest? say, whither ^note?

Clo.

We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my father and the gentlemen ^note 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.

  Will you buy ^note any tape,
  Or lace for your cape ^note,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
  Any silk, any ^note thread,
  Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st, and finest, finest wear-a ^note?
  Come to the pedlar;
  Money's a medler,
That doth utter all men's ware-a. ^note [Exit. ^noteRe-enter ^note Servant.

Serv.

Master ^note, there is ^note three carters ^note, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds ^note, that have made themselves all men of hair, 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 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.

Serv.

One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier ^note.

Shep.

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

Serv.

Why, they stay at door, sir ^note.

Pol.
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [To Cam. ^note]
Is it ^note 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 ^note 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 ^note if you make a care ^note
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 ^note
Before this ancient sir, who ^note, it should seem,
Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's ^note tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted
By the northern blasts ^note twice o'er ^note.

Pol.
What follows this?
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before! I have ^note 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 ^note, 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 ^note and knowledge
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
Without her love; for her employ them all;
Commend them and condemn them to her service
Or to their own perdition.

Pol.
Fairly offer'd.

Cam.
This shows a sound affection.

Shep.
But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him? ^note

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 ^note wonder. But, come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

Shep.
Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours.

Pol.
Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; ^note
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 ^note 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 ^note son
Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason
The father, all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity, should hold some counsel

In such a business.

Flo.
I yield all this;
But for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.

Pol.
Let him know't.

Flo.
He shall not.

Pol.
Prithee, let him.

Flo.
No, he must not.

Shep.
Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.

Flo.
Come, come, he must not.
Mark our contract.

Pol.
Mark your divorce, young sir, [Discovering ^note himself.
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledged ^note: thou a sceptre's heir,
That thus affects ^note a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor,
I am ^note sorry that by hanging thee I can
But shorten ^note thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who ^note of force must know
The royal fool thou copest with,— ^note

Shep. ^note
O, my heart!

Pol.
I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond ^note boy,
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
That thou no more shalt ^note 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 ^note 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 ^note blow of it. And you ^note, enchantment,—
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee,—if ^note ever henceforth thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop ^note his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee
As thou art tender to't ^note. [Exit. ^{note note}

Per.
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard ^note; for once or twice
I was about to speak and tell him plainly,
The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but ^note
Looks on ^note alike. Will't ^note please you, sir, be gone?
I told you what would come of this: beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,— ^note
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, ^note
Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir!
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father died ^note,
To lie close by his honest bones: but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me ^note
Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,
That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure

To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have lived
To die when I desire. [Exit. ^note

Flo.
Why look you so upon me ^note?
I am but sorry, not afeard ^note, 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 ^note 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 ^note, I fear:
Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
Come not before him.

Flo.
I not purpose it.
I think, Camillo? ^note

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 ^note but by
The violation of my faith; and then
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks:
From my ^note succession wipe me, father, I
Am heir to my affection.

Cam.
Be advised.

Flo.
I am, and by my fancy: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, ^note
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 ^note glean'd; for all ^note the sun sees, or ^note
The close earth wombs, or the profound sea hides ^note
In unknown fathoms ^note, will I break my oath
To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever ^note been my father's honour'd ^note 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 ^note here I cannot hold on shore;
And most opportune to our ^note need I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared
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. [Drawing ^note her aside. ^note
I'll hear you by and by.

Cam.
He's irremoveable ^note,
Resolved ^note for flight. Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn,
Save him from danger, do him love and honour,
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.

Flo.
Now, good Camillo;
I am so fraught with curious ^note business that ^note
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 deserved: it is my father's music
To speak your deeds, not little of his care
To have them recompensed as thought on.

Cam.
Well, my lord,
If you may please to think I love the king,
And through him what is ^note nearest ^note to him, which is
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction,
If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration, on ^note 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 ^note, with my best endeavours in your absence,
Your discontenting ^note father strive to qualify ^note
And bring him up ^note 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 ^note what we wildly do, so we profess
Ourselves 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 ^note thee the son ^note forgiveness,
As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses ^note the hands
Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides ^note 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 ^note. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with
What you as from your father shall deliver,
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down:
The which shall point you forth at every sitting ^note
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 ^note so certain as your anchors, who ^note
Do their best office, if they can but stay you
Where you'll be loath 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 ^note as forward of her breeding as
She is i' the rear o' our birth ^note.

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

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

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

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 ^note. For instance, sir,
That you may know you shall not want, one word. [They talk aside. ^note Re-enter Autolycus.

Aut.

Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch ^note, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting ^note: they throng ^note 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 ^note; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered. My clown ^note, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' ^note 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 ^note: you might have pinched a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would ^note have filed keys off ^note that hung in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing ^note of it. So that in this time of lethargy I picked 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 scared 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.

Flo.
And those that you'll procure from King Leontes— ^note

Cam.
Shall satisfy your father.

Per.
Happy be you!
All that you speak shows fair.

Cam.
Who ^note have we here? [Seeing Autolycus. ^note
We'll make an instrument of this; omit
Nothing may give us aid. ^note

Aut.
If they have overheard me now, why, hanging. ^note

Cam.
How now, good fellow! why ^note 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 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 ^note in't,—and change garments with this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be ^notethe worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot.

Aut.

I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside ^note] I know ye well enough.

Cam.

Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is ^note half flayed ^note already.

Aut.

Are you in earnest, sir? [Aside ^note] I smell the trick on't.

Flo.

Dispatch, I prithee.

Aut.

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

Cam.
Unbuckle, unbuckle. [Florizel ^note and Autolycus exchange garments.
Fortunate mistress,—let my prophecy
Come home to ye!—you must retire yourself
Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat
And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your ^note face,
Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken
The truth of your own seeming; that you may—
For I do fear eyes over ^note—to shipboard
Get undescried.

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

Cam.
No remedy.
Have you done there?

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

Cam.
Nay, you shall have no hat. [Giving ^note it to Perdita.
Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend ^note.

Aut.
Adieu, sir. ^note

Flo.
O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! ^note
Pray you, a word.

Cam. [Aside ^note]
What I do next, shall be to tell the king
Of this escape and whither they are bound;
Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail
To force him after: in whose ^note 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 ^note Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo.

^note

Aut.

I understand the business, I hear ^note it: to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do't ^note: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter ^note Clown and Shepherd. Aside, aside; here is ^note more matter for a hot brain: every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.

Clo.

See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the king she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood.

Shep.

Nay, but hear me.

Clo.

Nay, but hear me.

Shep.

Go to, then.

Clo.

She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those ^note 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 ^note how much an ounce.

Aut. [Aside ^note]

Very wisely, puppies!

Shep.

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

Aut. [Aside ^note]

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

Clo.

Pray heartily he be at palace ^note.

Aut. [Aside ^note]

Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance: let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off ^note his false beard.] How now, rustics! whither are you bound?

Shep.

To the palace, an ^note it like your worship.

Aut.

Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages ^note, of what having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be ^note 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 ^note steel; therefore they do not give ^note us the lie.

Clo.

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

Shep.

Are you a courtier, an't ^note 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 gait in it the measure of the court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that I insinuate, or ^note

toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck ^note 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 ^note like you.

Clo.

Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant ^note: say you have none.

Shep.

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

Aut.
How blessed ^note 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 ^note a great courtier.

Shep.

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

Clo.

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

Aut.

The fardel there? what's i' the fardel ^note? Wherefore that box?

Shep.

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

Aut.

Age, thou hast lost thy labour.

Shep.

Why, sir?

Aut.

The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest 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 ^note, 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 ^note to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman: which though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I: draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.

Clo.

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

Aut.

He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand ^note till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitæ or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the king: being something gently considered, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs ^note; and if it be in man besides the king to effect your suits, here is man ^note 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: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember ‘stoned,’ and ‘flayed alive.’

Shep.

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

Aut.

After I have done what I promised?

Shep.

Ay, sir.

Aut.

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

Clo.

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

Aut.

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

Clo.

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

Aut.

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

Clo.

We are blest ^note in this man, as I may say, even blest ^note.

Shep.

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

Aut.

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

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