Enter Autolycus, a rogue,^{17 note}

When daffodils 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 pale.

I have serv'd prince Florizel, and, in my time wore fine garments; 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 right.

My father named me, Autolycus; who, being, as I am, litter'd under Mercury,^{18 note} was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles: With die, and drab, I purchased this caparison,^{19 note} and my revenue is the silly cheat.^{20 note}—A prize! a prize!

Clown.

Let me see:—Every 'leven wether tods; every tod^{21 note} yields—fifteen hundred shorn,—What comes the wool to?

Aut.

If the springe hold, the cock's mine.

Clown.

Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants; rice—What will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. Mace,—dates,—none; that's out of my note: nutmegs, seven; a race, or two of ginger;—but that I may beg;—four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o'the sun.

Aut.

O that ever I was born!

Clown.

I' the name of me,—^{22 note}

Aut.

O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and then death, death!

Clown.

Alack, poor soul; thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.

Aut.

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

Clown.

Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.

Aut.

O! good sir, tenderly; oh!

Clown.

Alas, poor soul.

Aut.

O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out.

Clown.

How now? canst stand?

Aut.

Softly, dear sir; [picks his pocket.] Good sir, softly; you ha' done me a charitable office.

Clown.

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.

Clown.

What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you?

Aut.

A fellow, sir, that I knew once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipp'd out of the court.

Clown.

His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipp'd out of the court.

Aut.

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

Clown.

Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig:^{23 note}

Aut.

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

Clown.

Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bithynia; if you had but look'd big, and spit at him, he'd have run.

Aut.

I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him.

Clown.

How do you now?

Aut.

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

Clown.

Shall I bring thee on the way?

Aut.

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

Clown.

Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.

Aut.

Prosper you, sweet sir!—[Exit Clown.] 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 enroll'd, and my name put in the book of virtue!

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
  And merrily hent the stile-a:^{24 note}
A merry heart goes all the day,
  Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit.

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