The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him: if your lass
Interpretation should abuse; and call this

Your lack of love, or bounty: you were straited t
For a reply, at least, if you make a care

Of happy holding her.

Flo.

Old sir, I know

She prizes not such trifles as these are:

The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd.-O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this?-

How prettily the young swain seems to wash

The hand, was fair before !-I have put you out:But to your protestation; let me hear

What you profess.

Flo.

Do, and be witness to't.

Pol. And this my neighbour too? Flo. And he, and more Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve; had force, and know.

ledge,

More than was ever man's,-I would not prize them, Without her love: for her, employ them all;

Commend thein, and condemn them, to her service, Or to their own perdition.

Pol.

Fairly offer'd.

Cam. This shows a sound affection.

*Bought, trafficked.

+ Put to difficulties.

The sieve used to separate flour from bran is

called a bolting-cloth.

<Shep.

But, my daughter,

Say you the like to him?

I cannot speak

Per.

So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out

The purity of his.

Take hands, a bargain;

--

Shep. And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make

Her portion equal his.

Flo.

O, that must be

I'the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder: But, come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

Shep.

And, daughter, yours.

Pol.

Come, your hand ;

Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you;

Have you a father?

Flo.

I have: But what of him?

Pol. Knows he of this?
Flo.

He neither does, nor shall.

Pol. Methinks, a father

Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest

That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more; Is not your father grown incapable

Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid

With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak?

hear?

Know man from man? dispute his own estate*?
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,

But what he did being childish?

No, good sir;

Flo.
He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,
Than most have of his age.

By my white beard,

Pol.
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: Reason, my son

VOL. III.

*Talk over his affairs.

N

Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason,
The father (all whose joy is nothing else

But fair posterity), should hold some counsel
In such a business.

Flo.

I yield all this;

But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint

My father of this business.

Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.

Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledg'd: Thou a sceptre's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!-Thou old traitor,
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week.-And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft; who, of force, must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with ;-

Shep.

O, my heart! Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars,

and made

More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,-
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh,

That thou no more shalt see this knack (as never
I mean thou shalt), we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin,

Far than Deucalion off:-Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court.-Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it.-And
you, enchantment-
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,

Further,

That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee,-if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to't.

[Exit.

Per. Even here undone! I was not much afeard: for once, or twice, I was about to speak; and tell him plainly, The selfsame sun, that shines upon his court, Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike.-Will't please you, sir, be gone? [To Florizel. I told you, what would come of this: 'Beseech you, Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further, But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam.

Speak, ere thou diest.

Why, how now, father?

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir,

[To Florizel.

You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones: but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels-in dust.-O cursed wretch!
[To Perdita.
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st ad-

venture

To mingle faith with him.-Undone! undone !
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire.

Flo.

[Exit.

Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,

But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am :

More straining on, for plucking back; not following

* Doors.

My leash unwillingly.

Cam.

Gracious my lord, You know your father's temper: at this time He will allow no speech,-which, I do guess, You do not purpose to him ;-and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him.

Flo.

I think, Camillo.

Cam.

I not purpose it.

Even he, my lord.

Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus? How often said, my dignity would last

But till 'twere known?

Flo.

It cannot fail, but by

The violation of my faith; And then

Let Nature crush the sides o'the earth together,
And mar the seeds within!-Lift up thy looks:-
From my succession wipe me, father! I

Am heir to my affection.

Cam.

Be advis'd.

Flo. I am; and by my fancyt: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;

If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.

Cam.

This is desperate, sir. Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd: Therefore, I pray you, As you have e'er been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me (as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more), cast your good counsels Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, + Love.

* A leading string.