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Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the garments he hath left with thee; if this be a horse-man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand.

[Helping him up. Aut. Oh! good Sir, tenderly, oh! Clo. Alas, poor soul.

Aut. O good Sir, softly, good Sir: I fear, Sir, my thoulder-blade is out.

Clo. How now? canst stand ?

Aut. Softly, dear Sir; good Sir, softly; you ha' done me a charitable office.

Clo. Doft lack any mony? I have a little mony 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 mony, or any thing I want: offer me no mony, I pray you; that kills my heart.

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

Aut. A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about with trol-my-dames : I knew him 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.

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

Aut. Vices I would say, Sir. I know this man well; he hath been fince an ape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compass'd a motion of the prodigal fon, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lyes; and, having flown over many knavish profeffions, he settled only in a rogue; some call him Autolicus.

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

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


N 2

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; 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.

Cle. 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.

Clo. Shall I bring thee on thy way?
Aut. No, good-fac'd Sir; no, sweet Sir.

Clo. Then, farewel, I must go to buy spices for our sheep-fhearing.

[Exit. Aut. Prosper you, sweet Sir! Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your fpice. 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 unroll’d, and my name put into the book of virtue!

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

And merrily bent the file-a.
A merry beart goes all the day,
Your fad tires in a mile-a.

[Exit. SCEN E, the Prospect of a Shepherd's Cotté.

Enter Florizel and Perdita. Fl.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-lhearing 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 : Oh pardon, that I name them: your high self, The gracious mark o'th' land, you have obscurid With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts


In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digeft it with a custom, should blush
To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To shew myself a glass.

Flo. I bless the time,
When my good falcon made her flight a-cross
Thy father's ground.
Per. Now Jove afford you

To me the difference forges dread, your greatnefs
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: oh, the fates !
How would he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vildly bound up! what would he fay! or how
Should I in these my borrow'd flaunts behold
The fternness of his presence !

Fl. Apprehend
Nothing but jollity: the Gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter
Became à 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 seem now. Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
Nor in a way so chafte: fince my desires
Run not before mine honour, nor my lufts
Burn hotter than my faith.

Per. O, but, dear Sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' power o'th'King.
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak, that you must change this

purpose, Or I my life.

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita,
With these forc'd thoughts, I prythee, darken not
The mirth o'th' 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

I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
Tho' destiny say no. Be merry, (Gentle,)
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing

you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance, as 'twere the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.

Per. O lady fortune,
Stand you auspicious !
Enter Sbepherd, Clown, Mopfa, Dorcas, Servants ;

with Polixenes and Camillo disguis'd.
Fl. See, your guests approach ;
Address yourself to entertain them fprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

Shep. Fie, daughter; when my old wife liv’d, upon
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,
Both dame and servant; welcom'd all, serv'd all ;
Would fing her song, and dance her turn; now here
At upper end o'th' table, now i'th' 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 fip. You are retired,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting : pray you, bid
These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes, and present your felf
That which you are, mistress o'th' feast. Come on,
And bid us welcome to your fheep-fhearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
Per. Sirs, welcome.

[To Pol. and Cam. It is my father's will, I should take on me The hostessship o'th' day; you're welcome, Sirs. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.- -Reverend Sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue, these keep Seeming and favour all the winter long : Grace and remembrance be unto you both, And welcome to our fhearing!


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 fairest flowers o'ch' season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind.
Our ruftick 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 piedeness Mares
With great creating nature.

Pol. Say, there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean; fo over that art,
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes; you fee, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scyon to the wildest sock;
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 it self is nature.

Per. So it is.

Pol. Then make your garden 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 with This youth should say, 'twere well; and only therefore: Desire to breed by me.- Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, favoury, marjoram, The mary-gold, that goes to bed with th' sun, And with him rises, weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given To mén of middle age.

Y'are very

welcome. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing.




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