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Flo. What

you do,

Still betters what is done. When you fpeak, (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 ftill, ftill fo,
And own no other function.

So fingular in each particular,

Each your doing,

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 through it,
Do plainly give you out an unftain'd fhepherd;
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the falfe way.

Flo. I think, you have

As little skill to fear, as I have purpose

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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 wear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettieft low-born lafs, that ever Ran on the green-ford; nothing fhe does, or feems, But fmacks of fomething greater than herself, Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her something, (26),

(26)

He tells her fomething,

That makes her blood look on't.] Thus all the old editions corruptedly. I dare fay, I have reftor'd the true reading; and the meaning must be this. The Prince tells her fomething, that calls the blood up into her cheeks, and makes ber blush. She, but a little before, ufes a like expreffion to describe the Prince's fincerity, which appear'd in the honest blood rifing on his face.

Your praifes are too large; but that your youth

And the true blood, which peeps forth fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unftain'd shepherd.

I corrected the above paffage, when I publish'd my SHAKESPEARE reflor'd: and Mr. Pope in his laft impretion has thought fit to embrace the correction.

That

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

Clo. Come on, ftrike up.

Dor. Mopfa muft be your miftrefs; marry, garlick to mend her kiffing with.

Mop. Now, in good time!

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners; come, ftrike up.

Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdeffes.

Pol. Pray, good fhepherd, what fair fwain is this Who dances with your daughter?

Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself To have a worthy feeding; but I have it

Upon his own report, and I believe it :

He looks like footh; he fays, he loves my daughter,
I think fo too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll ftand and read

As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kifs to chufe

Who loves another beft,

Pol. She dances featly.

Shep. So fhe does any thing, though I report it
That should be filent; if
young Doricles
Do light upon her, fhe fhall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. O mafter, 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 feveral tunes, fafter 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 fhall come in; 1 love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily fet 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

has the prettieft love-fongs for maids, fo without bawdry, (which is ftrange) with fuch delicate burdens of dil-do's and fa-ding's: jump her and thump her: and where fome ftretch-mouth'd rafcal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to anfwer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts him off, flights him, with Whoop, de me no harm, good man.

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Clo. Believe me, thou talkeft of an admirable-conceited 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, tho' they come to him by the grofs; inkles, caddiffes, cambricks, lawns; why, he fings 'em over, as they were gods and goddeffes; you would think a fmock were a fhe-angel, he fo chants to the fleeve-hand, and the work about the fquare on't.

Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach, finging.

Per. Forewarn him, that he ufe no fcurrilous words in's tunes.

Clo. You have of thefe pedlers that have more in them than you'd think, fifter.

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

Enter Autolicus finging.

Lawn as white as driven fnow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as fweet as damask roses,
Mafks for faces and for noses;
Bugle-bracelets, neck-lace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber:
Golden quoifs, and ftomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins, and poaking fticks of fteel,
What maids lack from head to heel:

Come buy of me, come: come buy, come buy,.
Buy, lads, or elfe your laffes cry.

Come buy,

c.

Clo.

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopfa, thou should' take no money 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 againft the feaft, but they

come not too late now.

Dor. He hath 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 fhame you to give him again.

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 kill-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you muft be tittle-tatling before all our guefts? 'tis well, they are whispring: clamour your tongues, and not a word more. Mop. I have done: come, you promis'd me a tawdry lace, and a pair of fweet gloves.

Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and loft all my money?

Aut. And, indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad, therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou fhalt lofe nothing here. Aut. I hope fo, Sir, for I have about me many par cels 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 fure, they are true.

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's wife was brought to bed with twenty money bags at a burden; and how the long'd to eat adder's heads, and toads carbonado'd.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Very true, and but a month old.

Dor. Blefs me from marrying a usurer !

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress Tale-porter, and five or fix honeft wives that were prefent. Why should I carry lies abroad?

Mop. Pray you now, buy it.

Clo

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

Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appear'd upon the coaft, on Wednesday the fourfcore of April, forty thousand fadom above water, and fung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids; it was thought, she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish, for fhe would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

Dor. Is it true, too, think you ?

Aut. Five juftices hands at it; and witneffes, 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 fome merry ones.

Aut. Why, this is a paffing merry one, and goes to the tune of two maids wooing a man; there's scarce a maid weftward, but the fings it: 'tis in request, I can tell you. Mop. We can both fing it; if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear, 'tis in three parts.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month a-go.

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis my Occupation have at it with youe

Aut. Get you hence, for I must go,
Where it fits not you to know.

Dor. Whither?

Mop. O whither ?

Dor. Whither?

Mop. It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy fecrets tell.

Dor. Me too, let me go thither:

Mop. Or thou goeft to th' grange, or mill,
Dor. If to either, thou dost ill :

Aut. Neither.

Dor. What neither?

Aut. Neither.

Dor. Thou haft fworn my love to be;
Mop. Thou haft fworn it more to me:
Then whither goeft? fay, whither ?

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