Aut. Vices I would fay, Sir. I know this man well, he hath been fince an ape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compafs'd a motion of the prodigal fon, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavifh profeffions, he fettled only in rogue; fome 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. Cla. 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 confefs 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 F was; I can ftand, and walk; I will even take my leave of you, and pace foftly towards my kinfman's. Clo. Shall I bring thee on thy way? Aut. No, good-fac'd Sir; no, fweet Sir. Clo. Then, farewel, I must go to buy spices for our fheep-fhearing. · [Exit. Aut. Profper you, fweet Sir! your purfe is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your fheep-fhearing too: if I make not this cheat bringout another, and the fhearers prove fheep (25) let me be unroll'd, and my name put into the book of virtue ! S O N G. Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, Your fad tires in a mile-a. [Exit.. (25) Let me be unroll'd, and my name put in the book of virtue.] Be ging gypfies, &c. in the time of our Author were in gangs, that had fomething of the regularity of an incorporated body. This is alhuded to here. From this noble fociety he wishes he may be unroll'd, he does not do so, and fo, Mr. Warburton. SCENE SCENE, the prospect of a Shepherd's Cott. Enter Florizel and Perdita. Flo. Do give a life: no fhepherdefs, but Flora HESE your unusual weeds to each part of you Peering in April's front. This your fheep-fhearing 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: Flo. I blefs the time, When my good falcon made her flight a-cros Per. Now Jove afford you caufe! To me the difference forges dread; (your greatness Should pass this way, as you did: oh, the fates! Flo. Apprehend Nothing but jollity: the gods themselves, Nor Nor in a way fo chafte: fince my defires Run not before mine honour, nor my lufts Per. O, but, dear Sir, Your refolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos'd, as it muft be, by th' power o'th' King. Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Flo. Thou deareft Perdita, With thefe forc'd thoughts, 1 pr'ythee, darken not I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Of celebration of that nuptial, which We two have fworn fhall come. Per. O lady Fortune, Stand you aufpicious! Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopfa, Dorcas, Servants; with Polixenes and Camillo disguis'd. Flo. See, your guests approach; Addrefs yourself to entertain them sprightly, Shep. Fy, daughter; when my old wife liv'd, upon A A way to make us better friends, more known. As your good flock fhall profper. Per. Sirs, welcome. [To Pol. and Cam. It is my father's will, I should take on me The hoftefsfhip o'th' day; you're welcome, Sirs. 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 fummer's death, nor on the birth To get flips of them. Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect, them? Per. For I have heard it said, There is an art, which in their pideness shares Pol. Say, there be; Yet Nature is made better by no mean, But Nature makes that mean; fo over that art, Which, you fay, adds to Nature, is an art That Nature makes; you fee, fweet maid, we marry And make conceive a bark of bafer kind The art itfelf is Nature Per. So it is. change it rather; but Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly-flowers, And And do not call them baftards. Per. I'll not put The dibble in earth, to set one flip of them: Per. Out, alas! You'd be fo lean, that blafts of January [friend,. Would blow you through and through. Now, my faireft I would, I had fome flowers o'th' fpring, that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin-branches yet Your maiden-heads growing: Proferpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'ft fall From Dis's waggon! daffadils, That come before the swallow dares, and take 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; In Whitfun paftorals: fure, this robe of mine |