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Per. Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my faireft

friend, I would, I had some flowers o'th' spring, that might Become your time of day; and yours,


That wear upon your virgin-branches yet
Your maiden-heads growing: 0 Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'ft fall
From Dis's waggon! daffadils,
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 Phæbus in his ftrength; (a malady
Most incident to maids :) bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lillies of all kinds,
The flower-de-lis being one. O, these I lack
To make you garlands of, and, my sweet friend,
To ftrow him o'er and o'er.

Flo. What? like a coarse ?

Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on; Not like a coarse; 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

n whitson pastorals: fure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition.

Fla. What you do, Still betters what is done. When you speak, (sweet) I'd have


do it ever ; when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell fo; fo, give alms;
Pray, fo; and for the ord’ring your affairs,
To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o'th' fea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move ftill, still so,
And own no other function. Each your doing,
So fingular in each particular,
Crowns what you're 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 forth fairly through it,
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 ; fo turtles pair,
That never mean to part.

Per. I'll swear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever
Ran on the green-ford; nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than her self,
Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her something, (13)
That makes her blood look out: good footh, she is
The Queen of curds and cream.
Clo. Come on, strike

up Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlick to mend her kifling with

Mop. Now, in good time!

Cló. Not a word, a word; we fand upon our mansers; come, ftrike up.

Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdeffes. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this, Who dances with your daughter?


He tells her Something, That makes her Blood look on't.) Thus all the old Editions corruptedlyn I dare say, I have restor'd the true Reading; and the Meaning must be this. The Prince tells her Something, that calls the Blood up into her Checks, and makes ber blush. She, but a little before, uses a like Expression to describe the Prince's. Sincerity, which appear'd in the honest Blood riGng on his Facc.

Tour Praises are too large; but that your Touth
And the true Blood, which pceps forth fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unftain'd.Shepherche

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Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts himseli
To have a worthy feeding; but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it :
He looks like footh; 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 chuse
Who loves another best.

Pol. She dances featly.
Shep. So she does any thing, tho' I report it
That should be filent ; if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she fhall 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 fings several tunes, faster than you'll tell mony; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens“ ears grew 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 fung lamentably.

Ser. He hath fongs for man, or woman, of all fizes ; no milliner can fo fit his customers with gloves : he has the prettiest love-songs for maids, fo without bawdry, (which is strange) with such delicate barthens of dil-do's and fa-ding's : jump her and thump her: and where fome stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean milchief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts him off, flights him, with Whoop, da me na barn, good man.

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Clo.. Believe me, thou talkeit of an admirable-conGited fellow ; has he any unbraided wares ? Ser. He hath ribbons of all the colours i'th' rainbow;



points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross ; inkles, caddifles, cambricks, lawns; why, he fings them over, as they were Gods and 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.

Cle. Pr’ythee, bring him in; and let him approach, singing

Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes.

Clo. You have of these pedlers that have more in 'em than you'd think, fifter. Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

Enter Autolicus singing.
Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
Masks for faces and

for noses ;
Bugle bracelets, neck-lace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber :
Golden quoifs, and Aomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins, and poaking-ficks of feel,
What maids lack from head to heel:
Come buy of me, come : come buy, come buy,
Buy, lads, or else your lases cry. -

Come buy, &c. Cle. If I were not in love with Mopfa, thou should'st take no mony of me ; but being enthrall’d as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

Mop. I was promis'd them against the feaft, but they come not too late now.

Dor. He hach promis'd you more than that, or there be liars.

Mop. He hath paid you all he promis'd you : 'may be, he has paid you more ; which will Thame you to give him again.




Clo. Is there no manners left among maids ? will they wear their plackets, where they should wear their faces ? is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kill-hole, to whistle of these fecrets, but you must be tittle tattling before all our guests ? 'tis well, they are whispring : clamour your tongues, and not a word

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 mony?

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 fo, Sir, for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clo. What haft here? ballads ?

Mop. Pray now, buy fome; 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 with twenty mony bags at a burthen; and how the long’d to eat adders" heads, and toads carbonado'd.

Mop. Is it true, think you?
Aut. Very true, and but a month old.
Dar. Bless me from marrying a afurer!

Aut. Here's the widwife's name toʻt, one mistress Tale. porter, and five or fix honest wives that were present. Why should I


lies abroad? Mop. Pray you now, buy it.

Clo. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see more bal. lads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeard upon the coait, on Wednesday 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 wa man, 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.


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