Clo. Doft lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUT. No, good sweet fir; no, I beseech you, fir: I have a kinsman not paft three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I fhall 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 rob'd you ? AUT. A fellow, fir, that I have known to go about with trol-madames: I knew him once a fervant of the prince; I cannot tell, good fir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipt out of the court. Clo. His vices, you would fay; there's no virtue whipt out of the court: they cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. Aur. Vices I would say, fir. I know this man well: he hath been fince an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailif; then he compaff'd a motion of the prodigal fon, and marry'd a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish profeffions, he fettl'd 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, fir; he, fir, he; that's the rogue, that put me into this apparel. if Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; you had but look'd big, and spit at him, he'd have run. Aur. I must confefs to you, fir, 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 fir, much better than I was; I can stand, and walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace foftly towards my kinsman's. Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? AUT. No, good-fac'd fir; no, sweet fir. Clo. Then fare thee well; I muft go buy fpices for our sheep-fhearing. AUT. Profper you, fweet fir! [Exit Clown.] Your purfe is not hot enough to purchase your fpice. I'll be with you at your fheep-fhearing too: If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the fhearers prove theep, let me be unrol'd, and my name put in the book of virtue ! [fings. Fog on, jog on, the foot-path way, and merrily bend the ftile-a : a merry heart goes all the day, your fad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. SCENE III. The fame. A Room in the Shepherd's Houfe. Enter FLORIZEL, and PERDITA. FLO. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life: no fhepherdefs; but Flora, Peering in April's front. This your sheep-fhearing And you the queen on't. PER. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extreams, it not becomes me; 16 bent 23 Do's give In every mess have folly, and the feeders FLO. I blefs the time, When my good falcon made her flight across PER. Now Jove afford you cause! To me, the difference forges dread; your greatness Should pass this way, as you did: O the fates! FLO. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, As I feem now: Their tranfformations PER. O but, dear fir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king: One of these two must be neceffities, 3 fworne I Which then will speak; that you must change this purOr I my life. FLO. Thou dearest Perdita, [pose, With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine: to this I am most conftant, We two have fworn fhall come. PER. O lady fortune, Stand you aufpicious! FLO. See, your guests approach: Addrefs yourfelf to entertain them sprightly, Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, difguis'd; Clown, MoPSA, DORCAS, and other Company. She. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon This day, fhe was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame, and fervant: welcom'd all; ferv'd all : Would fing her fong, and dance her turn: now here, upper end o'the table; now, i'the middle; At On his fhoulder, and his : her face o' fire With labour; and the thing, fhe took to quench it, These unknown friends to us, welcome; for it is PER. Welcome, fir! It is my father's will, I should take on me POL. Shepherdess, (A fair one are you) well With flowers of winter. you fit our ages PER. Sir, the year growing ancient,— Not yet on fummer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fair'ft flowers o'the feason Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers, Which fome call, nature's bastards: of that kind Our ruftick garden's barren; and I care not To get flips of them. Poz. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PER. For I have heard it faid, 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, o'er that art, 7 fir, welcome: |