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Clo. Doft lack any money? I have a little money

for thee.

AUT. No, good sweet fir; no, I beseech you, fir: I have a kinsman not paft three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I fhall 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 rob'd you ? AUT. A fellow, fir, that I have known to go about with trol-madames: I knew him once a fervant of the prince; I cannot tell, good fir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipt out of the

court.

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

Aur. Vices I would say, fir. I know this man well: he hath been fince an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailif; then he compaff'd a motion of the prodigal fon, and marry'd a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish profeffions, he fettl'd only in rogue: fome call him, Autolicus.

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

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

if

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

run.

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

Clo. How do you now?

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

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way?

AUT. No, good-fac'd fir; no, sweet fir.

Clo. Then fare thee well; I muft go buy fpices for our sheep-fhearing.

AUT. Profper you, fweet fir! [Exit Clown.] Your purfe is not hot enough to purchase your fpice. I'll be with you at your fheep-fhearing too: If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the fhearers prove theep, let me be unrol'd, and my name put in the book of virtue ! [fings.

Fog on, jog on, the foot-path way,

and merrily bend the ftile-a :

a merry

heart goes all the day,

your fad tires in a mile-a.

[Exit.

SCENE III. The fame. A Room in the Shepherd's Houfe.

Enter FLORIZEL, and PERDITA.

FLO. These your unusual weeds to each part of you

Do give a life: no fhepherdefs; but Flora,

Peering in April's front. This your sheep-fhearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,

And you the queen on't.

PER. Sir, my gracious lord,

To chide at your extreams, it not becomes me;
O, pardon, that I name them: your high self,
The gracious mark o'the land, you have obscur'd
With a fwain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Moft goddess-like prank'd up: But that our feafts

16 bent 23 Do's give

In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digeft it with a custom; I should blush,
To fee you fo attired; fwoon, I think,
To fhew myself a glass.

FLO. I blefs 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 us'd 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 fee his work, fo noble,
Vilely bound up? What would he fay? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The fternness of his presence?-

FLO. Apprehend

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beafts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble fwain,

As I feem now: Their tranfformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer;
Nor in a way fo chaft: fince my desires
Run not before mine honour; nor my lufts
Burn hotter than my faith.

PER. O but, dear fir,

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis

Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king: One of these two must be neceffities,

3 fworne I

Which then will speak; that you must change this purOr I my life.

FLO. Thou dearest Perdita,

[pose,

With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o'the feaft: 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 conftant,
Though destiny fay, no. Be merry, gentle;
Strangle fuch thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance; as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which

We two have fworn fhall come.

PER. O lady fortune,

Stand you aufpicious!

FLO. See, your guests approach:

Addrefs yourfelf to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, difguis'd; Clown, MoPSA, DORCAS, and other Company.

She. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon This day, fhe was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame, and fervant: welcom'd all; ferv'd all : Would fing her fong, and dance her turn: now here, upper end o'the table; now, i'the middle;

At

On his fhoulder, and his : her face o' fire

With labour; and the thing, fhe took to quench it,
She would to each one fip: You are retir'd,
As if you were a feafted one, and not
The hoftefs of the meeting: Pray you, bid

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 feaft: Come on,
And bid us welcome to your fheep-fhearing,
As your good flock fhall profper.

PER. Welcome, fir!

It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hoftefs-fhip o'the day: You're welcome, fir!-
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend firs,
For you there's rose- mary, and rue; these keep
Seeming, and favour, all the winter long :
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both;
And welcome to our fhearing!

POL. Shepherdess,

(A fair one are you) well

With flowers of winter.

you fit our ages

PER. Sir, the year growing ancient,— Not yet on fummer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fair'ft flowers o'the feason Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers, Which fome call, nature's bastards: of that kind Our ruftick garden's barren; and I care not

To get flips of them.

Poz. Wherefore, gentle maiden,

Do you neglect them?

PER. For I have heard it faid,

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: fo, o'er that art,

7 fir, welcome:

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