Peering in April's front. This your sheep-fhearing

Is as a meeting of the petty gods,

And you the Queen on't.

:

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Per. Sir, my gracious Lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me: Oh pardon that I name them! your high felf, The gracious mark o'th' land, you have obscur'd With a fwain'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 Digest it with a custom, I should blush To fee you fo attired; fworn, I think, To shew myself a glass.

Flo. I bless 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: oh, the fates!
How would he look to fee his work fo noble,
Vildly bound up! what would he fay! or how
Should I in these my borrow'd flaunts behold
The sternness of his prefence !

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 feem now. Their transformations.

Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
Nor in a way so chaste: fince my defires
Run not before mine honour, nor my lufts
Burn hotter than my faith.

Per. O but, dear Sir,

:

Your refolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' power o' th' King.
One of thefe two must be necessities,

-d'i

1

7

1

Which Which then will speak, that you must change this pur

Or I my life.

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita,

Epofer

birA

۴

With these force'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, 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,N
Though destiny fay No. Be merry, (Gentle), M
Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing.ol
That 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 fworn shall come.

Par. O Lady Fortune,

Stand you auspicious!

SCENE

V.

Γ

Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopfa, Dorcas, Servants; with Polixenes and Camillo difguis'd.

Flo. See, your guests approach;
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
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,

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Both dame and servant; welcom'd all, ferv'd all; Would fing her fong, 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 the took to quench it,

She would to each one sip." 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 yourself, q
That which you are, mistress o'th' feast. Come on,

r

And bid us welcome to your sheep-fhearing,

As your good flock shall profper.

Per. Sirs, welcome.

[To Pol. and Cam.

It is my father's will I should take on me

The

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. Shepherdefs,

(A fair one are you), well you fit our ages • With flowers of winter.

Per. "Sir, the year growing ancient, "Not yet on fummer's death, nor on the birth "Of crembling winter, the faireft flowers o' th' feafon "Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers, "Which fome call Nature's baftards: of that kind "Our ruftic garden's barren, and I care not "To get flips of them.

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,

Do you neglect them?

Per. "

For I have heard it faid,

"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; fo over that art,

"Which you say adds to Nature, is an art

"That nature makes; you fee, sweet maid, we marry

A gentle fcyon to the wildest stock;

And make conceive a bark of bafer kind

By bud of nobler race.

This is an art

Which does mend nature, change it rather; but

"The art itself is nature.

Per. So it is.

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly-flowers,

And do not call them baftards.

Per."

I'll not put

"The dibble in earth, to fet one flip of them:

"No more than, were I painted, I would with

"This youth should say, 'Twere well; and only there

"fore.

"Defire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you;

Hot lavender, mints, favoury, marjoram,

The mary-gold, that goes to bed with th' fun..

" And

And with him rises, weeping: these are flowers
Of middle fummer, and I think, they are given
To men of middle age." Y'are very welcome."
Cam. I should leave grafing, were I of your flock,

And only live by gaving.
Out, alas!

Per."

"You'd be so lean, that blafts of January

Would blow you through and through. Now, my

"fairest friend,

" I would I had fome flowers o' th' spring, that might Become your time of day; and your's, and your's,

"That wear upon your virgin-branches yet

Your maiden-heads growing: O Proferpina, " For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall "From Dis's waggon! daffadils,

"That come before the fwallow dares, and take "The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,

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But fweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,

"Or Cytherea's breath; pale primrofes,
"That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phœbus in his strength, (a malady
Most incident to maids); gold oxlips, and
"The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
"The flower-de-lis being one. 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 coarfe ?

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 feen them do

In Whitsund' pastorals: fure, this robe of mine

Does change my difpofition.

Flo. What you do,

Still betters what is done. When you speak, (fweet),

I'd have you do it ever; when you fing,

I'd have you buy and fell fo; fo give alms;

Pray fo; and for the ord'ring your affairs,
To fing them too. When you do dance, I wish you

A wave o' th' fea, that you might ever do

Nothing but that; move still, still fo,

And own no other function. Each your doing,

So

So fingular in each particular,
Crowns what you're doing in the prefent 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 thro' 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 swear for 'em.

Pol.

"This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever "Ran on the green ford; nothing she does, or feems, Put smacks of something greater than herself,

Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her fomething,

That makes her blood look out: good footh, she is The Queen of curds and cream.

Clo. Come on, strike up.

Dor. Mopfa must be your mistress; marry, garlic

to mend her kissing with----

Mop. Now, in good time!

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our man

ners; come, strike up.

Here a dance of shepherds and shepherdesses.

Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Who dances with your daughter?

Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself
To have a worthy breeding; 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.

2

Shep.

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