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Flo. What you do, Still betters what is done. When you speak, (sweet) I'd have you do it ever; when you fing, I'd have you buy and sell fo; so, give alms; Pray, so; 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, ftill 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,
Flo. I think, you have
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 herself, Too noble for this place. Cam. He tells her something, (26)
He tells ber fometbing, That makes ber blood look on't.] Thus all the old editions corr ruptedly. I dare say, I have reftord the true reading; and the meaning must be this. The Prince tells her something, that calls tbe blood up into ber cheeks, and makes her blush. She, but a little before, uses a like expresfion to describe the Prince's fincerity, which appear’d in the honest blood rising on his face.
Your praises are two large; but that your youth
Do plainly give you out an unfain d shepherd. I corrected the above paffage, when I publith'd my SHAKISPEARE refor'd: and Mr. Pope in his last impreffion has thought fit to embrace the correction.
That makes her blood look out: good footh, she is
up Dor. Mopsa must be your miftress; marry, garlick to mend her kissing with.
Mop. Now, in good time!
Clo. N : a word, a word; we stand upon our manners ; come, Atrike up.
Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdefes. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Who dances with your daughter?
Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself
Pol. She dances featly.
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, 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; I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful mate ter merrily set down; or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably.
Ser: He hath songs for man, or woman, of all sizes; no milliner 'can fo fit his customers with gloves : he
has the prettiest love-fongs for maids, so without bawdry, (which is strange) with fuch delicate burdens of dil-do's and fa-ding's : 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, fights him, with Whoop, do 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 gross ; inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns; why, he fings 'em over, as they were gods and goddesses ; you would think a smock were a fe-angel, he fo chants to the fleeve-hand, and the work about the square on't.
Clo. Pr’ythee, bring him in; and let him approach, finging.
Per. Forewarn him, that he use no fcurrilous words in's tunes.
Clo. You have of these pedlers that have more in
Enter Autolicas singing.
my lads to give their dears :
Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou should'N take no money of me; but being enthralld as I am, .it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.
Mop. I was promis'd them against the feast, 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 Thame 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
mut be tittle-tatling before all our guests ? '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 sweet gloves.
Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd 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 lofe nothing here.
Aut. I hope so, Sir, for I have about me many parcels of charge.
Clo. What haft here? ballads !
Mop. Pray now, buy some; 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 usur. er'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. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress Tale-porter, and five or fix honest wives that were prefent. Why should I carry lies abroad?
Mop. Pray you now, buy it.
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 coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fadom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids ; it was thought, fhe was a woman, 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.
Dor. Is it true, too, think you?
Aut. Five justices hands at it; and witnesses, more than my pack will hold.
Clo. Lay it by too ; another.-
Aut. Why, this is a passing merty 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, 'ris in three parts.
Dor. We had the tune on’i a month a-go.
Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tiş my occupation : have at it with you.
Aut. Get you hence, for I muft go,
Where it fits not you to know.
Thou to me thy secrets tell.
Then whither goeft? fay, whither?