The Dramatic Works of Shakespeare

Then my account I well may give,

And in the stocks avouch it.

Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then process-server, My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to les- a bailiff; then he compassed a motion of the prodigal ser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who song, and married a tinker's wife within a mile, where being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a my land and living lies; and, having flown over many snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die, and knavish professions, he settled only in rogue: some drab, I purchased this caparison: and my revenue is call him Autolycus. the silly cheat. Gallows, and knock, are too powerful on the highway: beating, and hanging, are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. - A prize! A prize!

Clo. Let me see!

Enter Clown.

fifteen

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.

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia! If you had but looked 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. Clo. 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.

Every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields— pound and odd shilling: hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. Aside. Clo. I cannot do't without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants: rice,-What will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers :three-man song-men all,and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases: but one [Exit Clown.] Your Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to horn-purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be pipes. I must have saffron, to colour the warden pies; with you at your sheep-shearing too: If I make not this mace,-dates,-none; that's out of my note; nutmegs, cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, seven; arace, or two, of ginger; but that I may beg; let me be unrolled, and my name put in the book of -four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o'the virtue!

sun.

Aut. O, that ever I was born!

[Grovelling on the ground.

Clo. I'the name of me, Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!

Clo. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.

Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the stripes, I have received, which are mighty ones, and millions.

Clo. Alas, poor mau! a million of beating may come to a great matter. Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta en from me, and these detestable things put

upon me.

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir!
Clo. Then fare thee well! I must go buy spices for our
sheep-shearing.

Ant. Prosper you, sweet sir!

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,

[Exit.

Your sad tires in a mile-a.
SCENE III.-The same. A shepherd's cottage.

Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA.

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
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.

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 obscur'd,
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
gar-Digest it with a custom, I should blush,
To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To show myself a glass.
Flo. I bless the time,

Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the ment 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. O! good sir, tenderly, oh!

Clo. Alas, poor soul!

Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out.

Clo. How now? canst stand?

Aut. Softly, dear sir; [Picks his pocket.] good sir, softly; you ha' done me a charitable office. Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little money 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 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 robbed 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 whipped out ofthe court. Clo.His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of court: they cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.

When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.

Per. Now Jove afford you canse!

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 see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
Flo. Apprehend

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-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now. Their transformations
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.

Per. O but, dear sir,

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis

Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the 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 pr'ythee, darkennot
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

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.
Lift up your countenance; as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.

Per. O lady fortune,

Stand you auspicious!

Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, dis-
guised; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and others.
Flo. See, your guests approach:
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth!

Shep. Fye, 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 sing her song, and dance her turn: now here,
At upper end o'the table, now, i'the 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 sip: you are retir'd,
Asif you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess 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 feast! Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
Per. Welcome, sir!

[To Polixenes.

It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostessship o'the day.-You're welcome, sir!
[To Camillo.

Give me those flowers there, Dorcas!-Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary, and rue: these keep
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,—
Nor yet on summer's death, uor on the birth

Of trembling winter,-the fairest flowers o'the season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic 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 piedness, shares
With great creating nature.

Pol, Say, there be;

Yet nature is made better by no mean,

But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art,
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art

That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock,

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 with the sun,
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle age. You are very welcome.
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 fair

est friend,

would I had some flowers o'the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing. —O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! 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 Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold o.lips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er.

Flo. What? like a corse?

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.

Flo. What you do,

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,

To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish

you

A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function! Each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are 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 fairly peeps 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: so turtles pair,

That never mean to part.

Per. I'll wear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does, or seems,

He looks like sooth. He says, he loves my daughter; him again.
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 halfa kiss to choose,
Who loves another best.

Pol. She dances featly.

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, Which he not dreams of.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Omaster, if you did but hear the pedler 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 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 bedoleful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably.

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 burdens of dildos and fadings: jump her and thump her; and where some stretch-mouth'd 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, du me no harm, good man!

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

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.

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.Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here. 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,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 now she longed 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, Serv.He hath ribands of all the colours i'the rainbow; forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this balpoints,more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learn-lad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought, she edly handle, though they come to him by the gross; was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish; for she inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns: why, he sings them would not exchange flesh with one that loved her. over,'as they were gods, or goddesses; you would think, The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. a smock were a she-angel; he so chants to the sleeve- Dor. Is it true too, think you? hand, and the work about the square on't.

Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in, and let him approach singing! Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes!

Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em than you'd think, sister.

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter AUTOLYCUs, 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 bracelet, necklace-amber,

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: 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.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis my occupation: have at it with you!

SONG.

A. 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.

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 go'st? say, whither?

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: pedler, let's have the first choice.-Follow me, girls!

Aut. And you

shall pay

well for 'em.

[Aside

[Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas,and Mopsa.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves sal- I tiers, and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o'the mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling,) it will please plentifully.

Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much humble foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. Pol. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen !

Serv.One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath
danced before the king; and not the worst of the three,
but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squire.
Shep. Leave your prating; since these good men are
pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.
Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir.
[Exit.
Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics habited like
Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.
Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter,
Is it not too far gone? - 'Tis time to part them. -
He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.]-How now, fair
shepherd?

Your heart is full of something, that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont

To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your lass
Interpretation should abuse, and call this
Your lack of love or bounty; you were straited
For a reply, at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.

Flo. Old sir, I know

She prizes not such trifles as these are.

The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd.-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 blasts twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this?-

How prettily the young swain seems to wash

The hand, was fair before!-I have put you 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.

Pol. Fairly offer'd.

Cam. This shows a sound affection.
Shep. But my daughter,

Say you the like to him?

Per. 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:
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,
shall have more, than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses!
Shep. 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. Pray you, once more;
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak ? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,
But what he did being childish?
Flo. No, good sir;

He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,
Than most have of his age.

Pol. By my white beard,

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial. 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!
Flo. He shall not.
Pol. Pr'ythee, let him!
Flo. No, he must not.

Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.

Flo. Come, come, he must not:

Mark our contract.

Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir,

[Discovering himself.
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledg'd. Thou a sceptre's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!-Thou, old traitor,
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week.-And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who, of force, must know
The royal fool, thou cop'st with;-

Shep. O, my heart!

Pal. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and
made

More homely, than thy state. For thee, fond boy,-
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh,

That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never
I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession,
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin,
Far than Deucalion off. -Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court!-Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dread blow of it.-And you, enchantment,-
Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee, ifever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to't.

Per. Even here undone!

Flo. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.

Cam. This is desperate, sir.

Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp, that may
Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more,) cast your good counsels
Upon his passion; let myself and fortune
Tug for the time to come! This you may know,
And so deliver. I am put to sea

With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
[Exit. And, most opportune to our need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold,
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.

I was not much afeard: for once, or twice,
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly,
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone?
[To Florizel.
I told you, what would come of this. 'Beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,-
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam. Why, how now, father?

Speak, ere thou diest.

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think,

Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir,

[To Florizel.

You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
Te die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones: but now
Some hangmau must put on my shroud, and lay me,
Where no priest shovels-in dust.- O cursed wretch!
[To Perdita.

Cam. O, my lord,

I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.

Flo. Hark, Perdita.

I'll hear you by and by.

Cam. He's irremovable,

[Takes her aside. [To Camillo.

Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn,

Save him from danger, do him love and honour,
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.

Flo. Now, good Camillo,'

I am so fraught with curious business, that
I leave out ceremony.

Cam. Sir, I think,

[Going.

You have heard of my poor services, i'the love,
That I have borne your father?
Flo. Very nobly

That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adven-Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music,

To speak your deeds: not little of his care

To have them recompeus'd as thought on.
Cam. Well, my lord,

If you may please to think I love the king,
And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self: embrace but my direction,

(If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration,) on mine honour,
I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
As shall become your highness; where you may
Enjoy your mistress; (from the whom, I see,
There's no disjunction to be made, but by,
As heavens forefend! your ruin :) marry her;
And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,)
Your discontenting father strive to qualify,
And bring him up to liking.

Flo. How, Camillo,

May this, almost a miracle, be done?

That I may call thee something more than man,
And, after that, trust to thee.

« 上一頁繼續 »

圖書

The Dramatic Works of Shakespeare, 第 1 篇