Aut.
Any tapes, ribbons, stay-laces to-day?
Hare skins or rabbit skins? Now, girls, this way!
Any old wine or beer bottles to sell?
If not, old silver spoons will do as well.
Good prices given—and then, to make the best of 'em.
No questions asked, of how you came possessed of 'em.
My trade's not bad, in spite of the belief
That the receiver is worse than the thief.
Why shouldn't I be proud of profits made
In mine as well as any other trade;
There's so much swindling now, there's scarce a fig
To choose between the tradesman and the prig.

SONG, Autolycus.—Air,—“Bobbing Around.”
The shopkeeper who gives short weight,
  Is robbing all round, all round, all round;
The grocers who adulterate,
  Like me go robbing all round.
The milkman in his lowly walk,
  Goes robbing all round, all round, all round,
When 'stead of milk, he walks his chalk,
  And so goes robbing around.
The publican dilutes our beer,
  A robbing all round, all round, all round,
With water, and still worse, I fear,
  So he goes robbing around.
In all we eat, or drink, or buy,
  There's robbing all round, all round, all round,
And tradesmen with each other vie,
  Who'll best do robbing all round.
Who'll first at me, then, throw a stone,
  For robbing around, around, around?
My trade's as honest as their own,
  Since all go robbing around.

But who comes here? sure I should know that phiz;
Can it be young Prince Florizel? It is!
What brings him here? I'll watch! Enter Florizel, L.

Flor.
Ho! fellow! stay!
Hast seen a hawking party pass this way?

Aut.
Sir, I'm a hawking party. (opening pack.)

Flor.
So I see,
But curb your hawker's license, sir, with me,
Or of your pedlar's head I'll be a breaker,
And make each pedlar's bone a pedlar's acher.
Leave me.

Aut. (picks his pocket of handkerchief:)
I'm off.

Flor.
Or, stay—go seek my train,
That they may know I've sent you, take this chain, (gives chain from his wrist.
They'll recognize it—

Aut. (aside.)
I'm afraid they'll not,
If I once get it to the melting pot. Exit, L.

Flor.
Heigho! I'm worn out, tired, beaten hollow,
Fool that I was the game so far to follow.
I've lost my party, and I've lost my way,
And now, in seeking both, I've lost the day.
I've had no dinner, though (pray don't feel hurt
At the old joke) I have got my dessert.
Why couldn't I let others seek the game?
I might have said I caught it all the same.
How oft I've known hares, partridges, and pheasants,
By famous sportsmen sent to friends as presents,
And known full well more birds, by ten to one,
Were brought down by their purse than by their gun!
I've known men who kill rabbits by the score,
That late were hanging at the poulterer's door,
And first-rate fishermen their baskets filling
With splendid river trout, at three a-shilling!
Where are my fellows? Ho! Halloa! In vain
I've called so often I can't call again;
I've tried all day, till I've near cracked my throat,
It's no use calling, so I'll send a note. (blows horn.
Still no one comes. Yes! coming steps I hear!

Enter Perdita, with a milk-pail, R.
What's that? My stars!

Per. (starting.)
Oh my!

Flor. (starting.)
Oh lor!

Per.
Oh dear!

Flor.
Smitten completely! Yes, I'm done for surely.

Per.
Oh! something's struck me here, I feel quite poorly.

Flor.
Fair maid!

Per.
Fair sir!

Flor.
I—that is, how d'ye do?

Per.
Considerably worse for seeing you.

Flor.
And my poor heart, you've sent an arrow thro' it.

Per.
Have I? indeed I didn't go to do it.
But let me fly for something that will heal
Your wounds.

Flor.
Not so! first tell me how you feel.

Per.
A little better than I did—but still—

Flor.
Describe the symptons.

Per.
If I can I will.

DUET,—Florizel and Perdita.—Air, “Lilly Baker.’ Per.
Oh! my heart goes pit-a-pat. (symphony piccolo.)
And my brain goes whirligig. (symphony violin.)
Brows all throbbing rub-a-dub. (symphony drum.) Flor.
Just my case precisely, oh. Per.
Trembling like the aspen tree, Flor.
Just my symtoms to a T. Per.
Feeling like I can't tell what, Flor.
Just the ailment I have got. Together.
Both our hearts go pit-a-pat. (sym. piccolo.)
Both our brains go whirligig. (sym. violin.)
Both our brows throb rub-a-dub. (sym. drum.)
And match each others, nicely oh,
Rub-a-dub, whirligig, pit-a-pat. (sym. piccolo.)
Trembling, shivery quivery. (triangle.)
Whirligig, pit-a-pat, rub-a-dub. (sym. drum.)
That's the case precisely oh.

Per.
But I must go.

Flor.
First hear me breathe my vows.

Per.
I've got to feed the sheep and milk the cows.

Flor.
Hear me! I'm rich, you shall in robes of silk walk,

Per.
You're very kind—my walk in life's a milk walk.

Flor.
My station's high as the bright stars that glow
I' the milky way above.

Per.
Mine's milk below.

Flor.
Still what is rank?

Per.
My butter will be soon,

Per.
If I stand talking all the afternoon.

Flor.
Nay, was a churn e'er meant for hands like these?
Though in a cottage bred, you're quite the cheese.
Think not of butter, then, be mine, I pray,
Nor let the paltry curds stand in your way.

Per.
These tender words are hard to be withstood,
But it can't be, I only wish it could.

SONG,—Perdita.—Air, “Kemo Kimo.”
I'm a simple country maid,
  You may sing songs, and folly talk, to try me, oh,
But you don't mean it, I'm afraid,
  Sing song folly meant to guy me, oh.
Some folks, forgetting their condition,
  Sing song stations such as I'm in, oh,
Will give full swing to their ambition,
  Sing song policy and climbin', oh.
Scheme, oh, climb, oh, where? up there.
  You're high, I'm low, our lots together bringing,
Such a medley 'twould be—palace—sheep-cot—
  Sing song folly don't come nigh me, oh.

Flor.
You do not love me, then.

Per.
Oh! don't I though?

Flor.
You do!

Per.
I'm p'raps too bold in saying so.
But—

Flor.
But you do?

Per.
False modesty I'll shelf,

Thus I embrace your offer and yourself. (embraces him.
What have I done? (starting away.)

Flor.
Precisely what you should do.
Under the circumstances—all you could do.
Do it again.

Per.
Nay; but my father—

Flor.
Pshaw!
He'll not object to such a son-in-law.
Lead me to him at once.

Per.
I should be proud
To lead you but “no followers are allowed”
In this place, he on that point is so strict,
Each love-sick shepherd out o' th' farm is kicked.

Flor.
May I ask why?

Per.
He says it doesn't pay,
For Corin to be piping half the day
To Phillis, while they both have work to do.

Flor.
Of course not, when he pays the piper too.
He'll not object to me, though, I'll engage.

Per.
He does to all—he gets in quite a rage,
Flies at them like a tiger.

Flor.
Hah! 'twill be
My offer he will jump at—not at me.

DUET.—Air, “Cheer up, Sam.” Flor.
So come, fear nought, my charmer, you'll see what you shall see. Per.
My father would be furious, if he thought that you loved me. Flor.
However fierce his fury, my passion his shall quell. Per.
Oh, no; I wish you'd leave me, and seek some fairer belle. Flor.
Cheer up, dear! and don't let your spirits go down,
For there's no fairer belle—that you know well—
And I'll make it all right for a crown. Per.
Dear, oh, dear! you'll be done so uncommonly brown,

When my father you tell—that I know well—
And I wouldn't be you for a crown. Exeunt, R. Enter Autolycus, L.

Aut.
Business is looking up. The chain I've sold—
'Twas literally worth its weight in gold.
Then let me see; two watches, three gold rings,
Twelve handkerchiefs, besides a lot of things
Hung out to dry—I thought, their roughness feeling,
They wanted either ironing or stealing.
But stay—by Jove! here comes the prince again.
I shouldn't wonder if he'll want his chain.
What shall I say? I'd best be off, or no—
I'll swear that I've been robbed. (lies down groaning.)
  Help—murder—oh! Enter Florizel, R.

Flor.
I've seen her to the door: she said she'd rather
I saw her pa, before I saw her farther.

Aut.
He doesn't see me—oh!

Flor.
Whence come those groans? (seeing Autolycus starts.
A man!

Aut.
No, sir, a heap of broken bones—
Oh!

Flor.
Speak; how came you thus?

Aut.
Oh, sir! you see,
A band of felons came and fell on me—
Robbed and half killed me.

Flor.
Let me help you—so! (raising him.

Aut.
Gently, good sir—stop! (picks his pocket of purse.)
  That's it now—ah! oh!

Flor.
How feel you know?

Aut.
Sir, to your kindness bound—
Better, I should say, by (feeling weight of purse.) some twenty pound. (aside.)
He doesn't ask me for the chain—it's queer.

Flor.
Tell me—are you a dweller about here?

Aut.
I don't dwell regularly anywhere.

Flor.
Well, do you know the farm house over there?

Aut.
Old Blocus's! well I should think I did.

Flor.
Within that farm-house is a treasure hid,
Which must be mine. Now could you aid me win it?

Aut.
Aid you! we'll crack the crib in half a minute.

Flor.
What mean you?

Aut.
Oh, all right! there's nought to fear,
We shan't meet a policeman far or near.

Flor.
'Twould make but little difference if we should—
The papers say they're not a bit of good.
But all I want is to get in the place.

Aut.
That's all one ever wants in such a case.
The treasure that you speak of then—you snatch it,
And chuck it out—I'll wait below to catch it.

Flor.
Chuck out my treasure!—she, so fair—so tender!

Aut.
She! Stop! here's some mistake about the gender.
A woman! Ah!— (hesitating.)

Flor.
You hesitate—and wherefore?

Aut.
Well, it's not quite the sort of job I care for.

Flor.
Still if I pay you well—

Aut.
Sir, I'm your man.

Flor.
Good! There's my hand: and now, then, what's your plan?

DUET,—Autolycus and Florizel. (With whistle obligato). Air, “Bill Simmons.” Aut.
They're busy sheep-shearing at present, I know,
So in as a lab'rer your plan is to go. Flor.
Though the plan is degrading, I'll not hesitate,
But submit to the shears, as the scissors of Fate. Aut.
Success, then, is sure, 'tis on all hands agreed,
By dint of sheer industry all may succeed. Flor.
Sheer industry! Stuff! At such maxims I scoff!
My shearing will be but with her to sheer off. Aut.
While there to assist you, to-morrow I'll be. Flor.
But how will you do it? Aut.
Just leave it to me. Exeunt—Florizel R., Autolycus L.

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