Mopsa, Dorcas,
and other Company.
She.
Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon
This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook;
Both dame, and servant: welcom'd all; sev'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
-- 64 --
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.
Welcome, sir! note14Q0471
It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostess-ship o'the day:—You're welcome, sir!—
Give me those † flowers there, Dorcas.—Reverend sirs,
For you there's rose-mary, and rue; these keep
Seeming, and savour, all the winter long:
Grace, and remembrance, note be to you both;
And welcome to our shearing!
Pol.
Shepherdess,
(A fair one are you) well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Per.
Sir, the year growing ancient,—
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter,—the fair'st flowers o'the season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers,
Which some call note, nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustick garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
Pol.
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
Per.
For I have heard it said,
There is an art, which, in their pideness, shares
With great creating nature.
Pol.
Say, there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art,
-- 65 --
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scyen 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.
Pol.
Then make your garden note rich in gilly-flowers,
And do not call them, bastards.
Per.
I'll not put
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them:
No more than, were I painted, I would wish
This youth † should say, 'twere well; and only therefore
Desire to breed by me.—Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed wi'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're very welcome.
Cam.
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
Per.
Out, alas!
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.—Now, my fair'st 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, Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! early daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
-- 66 --
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That dye unmarry'd, ere they can behold
Bright Phœbus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, note and
The crown-imperial; lillies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce 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 lye and play on;
Not like a corse: or if; not to be bury'd,
But quick, and in mine arms. 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 ord'ring 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 still, still so, my fair,
And own no other function: Each 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 youth,
And the true blood which peeps so fairly through't,
-- 67 --
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd;
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.
Flo.
I think, you have
As little skill to fear, as I have purpose
To put you to't.—But, come; our dance, I pray:—
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,
That never mean to part.
Per.
I'll swear for them.
[Musick. Dance forming.
Pol.
This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever
Ran on the green sord: note nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself;
Too noble for this place.
Cam.
He tells her something,
That makes her blood look out note: Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.
Clo.
Come on, strike up.
Dor.
Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlick,
To mend her kissing with.
Mop.
Now, in good time!
Clo.
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.—
Come, strike up, pipers.
[Dance.
Pol.
Pray, good shepherd, what
Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter?
She.
They call him, Doricles; he boasts note himself
To have a worthy feeding: but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it;
He looks like sooth: He says, he loves my daughter;
I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read,
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kiss to choose,
-- 68 --
Who loves another note best.
Pol.
She dances featly.
She.
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 pedler at
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor
and pipe; no, the bag-pipe could not move you: he
sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money; he
utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens' ears
grew to his tunes.14Q0472
Clo.
He could never come better: he shall come in:
I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful matter,
merrily set down; or a very pleasant thing indeed, and
sung lamentably.
Ser.
He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all
sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves:
he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without
bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burthens
of, dil-do's, and, fa-dings, jump her and thump her; and
where some stretch mouth'd rascal would, as it were,
mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter,
he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm,
good man; puts him off, slights him, with, Whoop, do me
no harm, good man.
Pol.
This is a brave fellow.
Clo.
Believe me, thou talk'st of an admirable-conceited
fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? note
Ser.
He hath ribands of all the colours in the
rain-bow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia
-- 69 --
can learnedly handle, though they come to him
by the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns:
why, he sings 'em over, as they were gods, or goddesses:
you would think, a smock were a she-angel;
he so chants to the sleeve-band note, and the work about the
square on't.
Clo.
Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach
singing.
Per.
Fore-warn him, that he use no scurrilous words
in his tunes.
[Exit Servant.
Clo.
You have of these pedlers, that have more in
them than you'd think, sister.
Per.
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolicus, like a Pedler.
Aut.
Lawn, as white as driven snow;
[sings.
cyprus, black as e'er was crow;
gloves, as sweet as damask roses;
masks for faces, and for noses;
bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
pérfume 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; come, buy; come, buy;
buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:
come, buy.
Clo.
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou should'st
take no money of me; but being enthral'd as I am, it
will also be the bondage of certain ribands and gloves.
Mop.
I was promis'd them against the feast; but they
come not too late now.
-- 70 --
Dor.
He hath promis'd you more than that, or there
be liars.
Mop.
He hath pay'd you all he promis'd you: may
be, he has pay'd 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 whisp'ring: Clamour your tongues, and not a
word more.
Mop.
I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry
lace, and a pair of sweet gloves.
Clo.
Have I not told thee, how I was cozen'd by the
way, and lost all my 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 in print,
or a life; for then we are sure they are true.
Aut.
Here's † one, to a very doleful tune, How a
usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags
at a burthen; and how she long'd to eat adders' heads,
and toads carbonado'd.
Mop.
Is it true, think you?
Aut.
Very true; and but a month old.
Dor.
Bless me from marrying a usurer!
Aut.
Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress
-- 71 --
Tale-porter; and five or six honest wives, that were present:
Why should I carry lies abroad?
Mop.
Pray you now, buy it.
Clo.
Come on, lay it by: And let's first see more
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.
Aut.
Here's another † ballad, Of a fish, that appear'd
upon the coast, on we'nsday the fourscore of
April, forty thousand fadom above water, and sung
this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was
thought, she was a woman; and was turn'd into a
cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh with one
that lov'd her: The ballad is very pitiful, and as
true.
Dor.
Is it true too, think you?
Aut.
Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, more
than my pack will hold.
Clo.
Lay it by too: Another.
Aut.
This † is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one.
Mop.
Let's have some merry ones.
Aut.
Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes to
the tune of, Two maids wooing a man: there's scarce a
maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can
tell you.
Mop.
We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part,
thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.
Dor.
We had the tune on't a month ago.
Aut.
I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis my
occupation: have at it with you.
SONG.
A.
Get you hence14Q0473, for I must go;
where, it fits not you to know.
D.
Whither?
M.
O, whither?
D.
Whither?
-- 72 --
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 sad talk, and we'll
not trouble them: come, bring away thy pack after me.
Wenches, I'll buy for you both;—Pedler, let's have the
first choice:—Follow note me, girls.
&clquo;Aut.
&clquo;And you shall pay well for 'em.&crquo;
Will you buy any tape,
[sings.
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 utter all mens' ware-a.
[Exeunt Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and Autolicus.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Master, there is three goat-herds14Q0474, three note shepherds,
three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have
made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves,
saltiers: and they have a dance, which the wenches
-- 73 --
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.
She.
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 three's 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 note.
She.
Leave your prating; since these good men are
pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now.
Ser.
Why, they stay at door, sir.
[Exit.
Enter twelve Rusticks, presenting Satyrs.
Company seat themselves. Dance, and Exeunt Rusticks.
Pol.
O, father,14Q0475 you'll know more of that hereafter.—
[rising from beside the Shepherd.
&clquo;Is it not too far gone?—'Tis time to part them.—
&clquo;He's simple, and tells much.&crquo;—How now, fair shepherd?
Your heart is full of something, that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont
To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him: If your lass
Interpretation should abuse; and call this,
Your lack of love, or bounty; you were straited
For a reply, at least, if you make care note
Of happy holding her.
-- 74 --
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 giv'n already,
But not deliver'd.—O, hear me breath my life
Before this ancient sir, who note, 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 fan'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blasts note 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.
She.
But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
Per.
I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better;
-- 75 --
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
She.
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.
She.
Come, your hand;—
And, daughter, yours.
Pol.
Soft, swain, a while, beseech you;
Have you a father?
Flo.
I have: But what of him?
Pol.
Knows he of this?
Flo.
He neither does, nor shall.
Pol.
Methinks, a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more;
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable note affairs? is he not stupid
With age, and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,
But what he did being childish?
Flo.
No, good sir;
He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,
Than most have of his age.
Pol.
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
-- 76 --
Something unfilial: Reason, my 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.
Pr'ythee, let him.
Flo.
No, he must not.
She.
Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
Flo.
Come, come, he must not:—
Mark our contráct.
Pol.
Mark your divorce,14Q0476 young sir,
[discovering himself.
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base,
To be acknowledg'd: note Thou a scepter's heir,
That thus affect'st note a sheep-hook!—Thou old traitor,
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week.—And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witch-craft; who, of note force, must know
The royal fool thou cop'dst with;
She.
O, my heart!
Pol.
I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made
More homely than thy state.—For thee, fond boy,—
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh,
That thou no more shalt see note this knack, (as never
I mean thou shalt) we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin,
-- 77 --
Far as Deucalion note 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,
Unworthy thee,—if 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.
[Exit Polixenes.
Per.
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard: for once, or twice,
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly,
The self- same sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.—Wilt 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,—
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
Cam.
Why, how now, father?
Speak, ere thou dy'st.
She.
I cannot speak, nor think,
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 dye upon the bed my father dy'd,
To lye close by his honest bones: but now
Some hangman must put on my shrowd, and lay me
Where no priest shovels-in dust.—O cursed wretch;
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adventure
-- 78 --
To mingle faith with him.—Undone! undone!
If I might dye within this hour, I have liv'd
To dye when I desire.
[Exit Shepherd.
Flo.
Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afear'd; 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 note 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,
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks:—
From thy succession note14Q0477 wipe me, father; I
Am heir to my affection.
Cam.
Be advis'd.
Flo.
I am; and by my fancy: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
-- 79 --
Cam.
This is desp'rate, sir.
Flo.
So call it: but it does fulfill my vow;
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat note glean'd; for all the note sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound sea note hides note
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, note
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 note I cannot hold on shore;
And, most oppórtune to the need note, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold,
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
Cam.
O my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.
Flo.
Hark, Perdita.—
[drawing her aside.
I'll hear you by and by.
Cam.
He's irremoveable,
Resolv'd for flight: Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honour;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.
-- 80 --
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 born your father?
Flo.
Very nobly
Have you deserv'd: it is my father's musick,
To speak your deeds; not little of his care,
To have them recompenc'd as thought on.
Cam.
Well, my lord,
If you may please to think, I love the king;
And, through him, what's nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self; embrace but my direction,
(If your more ponderous and settl'd 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 note father14Q0478 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
-- 81 --
To what note 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 thee, the son note, 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 down:
The which shall point you forth, at every fitting 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
-- 82 --
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-in the mind.
Cam.
Yea, say you so?
There shall not, at your father's house, these seven years,
Be born another such.
Flo.
My good Camillo,
She is as forward of her breeding, as
I'the rear of 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;
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 med'cine note of our house,—how shall we do?
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son;
Nor shall appear in Sicily note—
Cam.
My lord,
Fear none of this: I think, you know, my fortunes
-- 83 --
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 converse apart.
Enter Autolicus.
Aut.
Ha, ha! What a fool honesty is? and trust,
his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman. I have
sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a
riband, glass, pomander, broch, table-book, ballad,
knife, tape, glove, shoo-tye, bracelet, horn-ring, to
keep my pack from fasting: note they throng who should
buy first; as if my trinkets had been hallow'd, 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 placket,
it was senseless; 'twas nothing, to geld a cod-piece of
a purse; I would have fil'd keys off note, 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.
Cam.
Nay, but my letters by this means being there
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
-- 84 --
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 Autolicus.
We'll make an instrument of this; omit
Nothing, may give us aid.
&clquo;Aut.
&clquo;If they have overheard me now, why, hanging.&crquo;
Cam.
How now, good fellow?14Q0479 Wherefore shak'st note thou so?
Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, sir.
Cam.
Why, be so still;
Here's no body will steal that from thee: Yet,
For the out-side of thy poverty, we must
Make an exchange: therefore, discase thee instantly,—
Thou must think, there's a necessity in't,—and change
Garments wi' this gentleman: Though the pennyworth,
On his side, be the worst, yet, hold &dagger2; thee, there's some boot.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, sir: note &clquo;I know ye well enough.&crquo;
Cam.
Nay, pr'ythee now, dispatch; the gentleman
'S half flea'd already.
Aut.
Are you in earnest, sir?—
&clquo;I smell the trick of it.&crquo;
Flo.
Dispatch, I pr'ythee.
&clquo;Aut.
&clquo;Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot&crquo;
&clquo;With conscience take it.&crquo;
Cam.
Unbuckle, unbuckle.—
[Florizel and Autolicus exchange Garments.
Fortunate mistress,—Let my prophesy
Come home to you!—you must retire yourself
Into some covert: take your sweet-heart's hat,
-- 85 --
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?
Flo.
Should I now meet my father,
He would not call me son.
Cam.
Nay, you shall have no hat:—
[giving it to Perdita,
Come, lady, come.—Farewel, my friend.
Aut.
Adieu, sir.
[retiring.
Flo.
O, Perdita, what have we twain forgot?
Pray you, a word.
[talking with her aside.
Cam.
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 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 Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo.
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
-- 86 --
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 not14Q0480 it were a piece of honesty to acquaint
the king withal, I would do't note: I hold it the more knavery
to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my
profession.
Enter Clown, and Shepherd.
Aside, aside; here is 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.
She.
Nay, but hear me.
Clo.
Nay, but hear me.
She.
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.
She.
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 not how much an ounce.
-- 87 --
&clquo;Aut.
&clquo;Very wisely; puppies!&crquo;
She.
Well; let us to the king: there is that in this †
farthel, will make him scratch his beard.
&clquo;Aut.
&clquo;I know not, what impediment this complaint
may be to the flight of my master.&crquo;
Clo.
Pray heartily, he be at palace.
&clquo;Aut.
&clquo;Though I am not naturally honest, I am so
sometimes by chance: Let me pocket up my pedler's †
excrement.&crquo;—How now, rustiques? whither are you
bound?
She.
To th' 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: Let me have
no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they
often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it
with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do
not give us the lie.
Clo.
Your worship had like to have given us one, if
you had not taken yourself with the manner.
She.
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, to toze note note from thee thy business, I
am therefore no courtier? I am courtier, cap-a-pe; and
one that will either push-on, or pluck-back, thy business
-- 88 --
there: whereupon I command thee to open thy
affair.
She.
My business, sir, is to the king.
Aut.
What advocate hast thou to him?
She.
I know not, an't like you.
&clquo;Clo.
&clquo;Advocate's the court word for a pheasant;
say, you have none.&crquo;
She.
None, sir: I have no pheasant, cock, 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.
&clquo;Clo.
&clquo;This cannot be but a great courtier.&crquo;
&clquo;She.
&clquo;His garments are rich, but he wears them
not handsomely,&crquo;
&clquo;Clo.
&clquo;He seems to be the more noble, in being
fantastical: a great man, I'll warrant; I know, by
the picking on's teeth. note&crquo;
Aut.
The farthel there? what's i'th' farthel? Wherefore
that box?
She.
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 th'
speech of him.
Aut.
Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
She.
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.
She.
So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have
marry'd a shepherd's daughter.
Aut.
If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him
-- 89 --
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 remov'd 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; there stand note, 'till he be three quarters and
a dram dead: then recover'd again with aqua-vitæ, or
some other hot infusion: then, raw as he is, and in
the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be
set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a southward
eye upon him; where he is to behold him with
flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly
rascals; whose miseries are to be smil'd at, their
offences being so capital? Tell me, (for you seem to
be honest plain men) what you have to the king: being
something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where
he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence,
whisper him in your behalfs; and, if it be in man, besides
the king, to effect your suits, here is man shall
do it.
-- 90 --
&clquo;Clo.
&clquo;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.&crquo;
She.
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 promis'd?
She.
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.
O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: Hang
him, he'll be made an example.
&clquo;Clo.
&clquo;Comfort, good comfort: We must to the
king, and shew our strange sights: he must know,
'tis none of your daughter, nor my sister; we are
gone else.&crquo;—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 seaside;
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.
She.
Let's before, as he bids us: he was provided
to do us good.
[Exeunt Clown, and Shepherd.
Aut.
If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune
-- 91 --
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 Autolicus.
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
