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 fairest

friend,

I would I had some flowers of the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
That wear upon your virgin branches yet

Your maiden honours growing ;-

Daffodils,

That come before the swallow dares, and take
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;

Bold oxlips, and

The crown-imperial !-O, these I lack,

To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,

To strow him o'er and o'er.

Flo. What, like a corse ?

[To Florizel, R.

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.

[Florizel and Perdita retire, and sit in the alcove, R.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does, or seems, But smacks of something greater than herself;

Too noble for this place.

CLOWN, &c. advance.

Clo. Come on, strike up.

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, garlic,

To mend her kissing with!

Mop. Now, in good time!

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln hole, to whistle off these secrets; but you must be tittletattling before all our guests?---'Tis well they are whispering.-Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up.

[A DANCE of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES.] Pol. (L.) 'Pray, good shepherd, what Fair swain is this, now talking with your daughter?

She. (R.) They call him Doricles; and he boasts

himself

To have a worthy feeding:

He says, he loves my daughter ;

And, to be plain,

I think, there is not half a kiss to choose,

Who loves another best.

If young Doricles

Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.

Enter a NEATHERD, R.

Nea. (R.) O, master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe: he sings songs faster than you'll tell money; he utters them, as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes.

Clo. (c.) He could never come better; he shall come in.

Nea. He hath songs, for man or woman, of all sizes; ribands of all the colours i'the rainbow; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses.

Clo.. 'Prithee, bring him in; and let him approach singing. [Exit Neatherd, R.] 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.

Enter AUTOLYCus, singing, and the NEATHERD.-SHEPHERDS, CLOWNS, and MAIDs gather round him, c.

Will you buy any tape,

Or lace for your cape,

My dainty duck, my dear-a?

Any silk, any thread,

Any toys for your head,

Of the newest, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?

Come to the Pedlar,

Money's a medler,

That doth utter all men's ware-a.

Mop. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet gloves.

Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.

Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you: may be, he has paid you more.-Come, come.

E

Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by the way, and lost all my money?

Aut. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. Clo. What hast here? ballads?

Mop. 'Pray now, buy some; I love a ballad in print, 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 burden; and how she long'd to eat adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed.

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 Taleporter; 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 appeared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of men: 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.

Dor. Is it true, 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."

Dor. We can sing it; if thou'lt bear a part.
Mop. We had the tune on't a month ago.
Clo. Have at it with you.

SONG.

By the CLOWN, MOPSA, and DORCAS.

C. Get you hence, for I must go;

Where, it fits not you to know.

D. Whither? M. O, whither: D. Whither ?

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.

C. Neither. D. What, neither?

D. Thou hast sworn my love to be ;-
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me?

Then, whither go'st? say, whither ?

C. Neither.

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. [Polixenes and Shepherd in close conference near L. S. E.] Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice.-Follow me, girls.

Aut. And you shall pay well for them.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,

My dainty duck, my dear-a? &c. &c.

[Sings.

[Exeunt Autolycus, Clown, Dorcas, Mopsa, Neatherd, Shepherds and Shepherdesses.

Pol. O, father, [To Shepherd] you'll know more of

that hereafter.

How now, fair shepherd ?

[To Florizel, who advances with Perdita from the alcove.

Sooth, when I was young,

I was wont

To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury, and have pour'd it

To her acceptance; you have let him go,

And nothing marted with him.

Flo. (c.) She prizes not such trifles as these are;
O, hear me breathe my life

Before this ancient sir, who, 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 fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er.

Cam. How prettily the young swain seems to wash

The hand, was fair before!

Pol. (L. c.) You have put him 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.

Shep. (L.) But, my daughter,

Say you the like to him?

Per. (R.) I cannot speak

So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better ;
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

Shep. 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.

Shep. [Goes between and takes a hand of each.]
Come, your hand;

And, daughter, yours.

Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, '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:

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.