Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
And you the queen on't.
5
Per. Sir, 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,
10
Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts
In every mess have folly and the feeders
To see you so attired,
sworn, I think,
Flo. I bless the time
15
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,
20
Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!
How would he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
Flo. Apprehend
25
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 Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god,
30
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
Nor
in a way so chaste, since my desires
Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my
faith.
35
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king:
Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life.
40
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
45
I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
Though destiny say no. Be merry,
gentle;
Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
50
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 Shepherd, Clown,
Mopsa,
Dorcas,
and others,
with
Polixenes and Camillo disguised.
55
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;
60
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 retired,
As if you were a feasted one and not
The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid
65
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,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
70
It is my father's will I should take on me
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
75
Seeming and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance 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,
80
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the
fairest flowers o' the season
Which some
call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic
garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
85
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,
90
But nature makes that mean: so,
over that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
95
By bud of nobler race: this is an art
Which does mend nature, change it rather, but
The art itself is nature.
And do not call them bastards.
Per. I'll not put
100
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
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
110
Per. Out, alas!
You'ld be so lean, that blasts of January
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
115
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
That come before the swallow dares, and take
120
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
125
Most incident to maids;
bold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er!
130
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 pastorals: sure this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.
135
Flo. What you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms,
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
140
To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
So singular in each particular,
145
That all your acts are
queens.
Per. O Doricles,
Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
And the true blood which
peeps fairly through 't,
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,
150
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.
Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.
Cam. He tells her something
160
The queen of curds and cream.
To mend her kissing with!
Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
165
[
Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Which dances with your daughter?
170
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,
175
I think there is not half a kiss to choose
Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it,
That should be silent: if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
180
Which he not dreams of.
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
185
eaten ballads and all men's ears
grew to his tunes.
Clo. He could never come better; he shall come in. I
love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter
merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung
lamentably.
190
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,
'jump her and thump her;' and where some stretch-mouthed
195
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.
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,
205
cambrics, 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-hand and the work
about the square on't.
Clo. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.
210
Per. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's
Clo. You have of these pedlars, that have more in
them
than you'ld think, sister.
Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolycus, singing.
215
Lawn as white as driven snow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;
220
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:
225
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 shouldst take
no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also
230
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.
235
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 their faces? Is
there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or
kiln-hole,
to
whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling
before all our guests? 'tis well they are whispering:
clamour your tongues, and not a word more.
Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace
and a pair of sweet gloves.
245
Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the
way and lost all my money?
Ant. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore
it behoves men to be wary.
Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shall lose nothing here.
250
Ant. 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 o'
life, for then we are sure they are true.
255
Ant. Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's
wife was brought to bed
of twenty money-bags at a
burthenand how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed.
Mop. Is it true, think you?
260
Ant. Very true, and but a month old.
Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer!
Ant. Here's the
midwife's name to't, one Mistress
Tale-porter, and five or six honest
wives that were present.
Why should I carry lies abroad?
265
Mop. Pray you now, buy it.
Clo. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see
moe ballads;
we'll buy the other things anon.
Ant. Here's another
ballad of a fish, that appeared upon,
the coast on
Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand
fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the
hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman, and
was turned into a
cold 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?
275
Ant. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more
than my pack will hold.
Clo. Lay it by too: another.
Ant. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Mop. Let's have some merry ones.
280
Ant. 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.
285
Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.
Ant. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my
occupation: have at it with you.
A. Get you hence, for I must go
290
D.. Whither?
M. O, whither?
D. Whither?
M. It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell:
M. Or thou goest to the grange or mill:
295
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?
300
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. Pedlar, let's have the
first choice. Follow me, girls.
[Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa.
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
310
Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st, and finest, finest
wear-a?
Come to the pedlar;
Money's a medler,
That doth utter all men's ware-a. [Exit.