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Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now: Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer;
Nor in a way so chaste: since


Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith. .

O but, dear sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos’d, as it must be, by the power o'the king:
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak; that you must change this

purpose, Or I my

life. Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I pr’ythee, darken not The mirth o'the feast: Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's: for I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any,

if I be not thine: to this I am most constant, Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: Lift up your countenance; as it were the day

Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.

O lady fortune,
Stand you auspicious !

Enter Shepherd, with Polirenes, and Camillo, dis

guised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others. Flo.

See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv’d,

This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook;
Both dame and servant: welcom'd all; serv'd all:
Would sing her song, and dance her turn: now here,
At upper end o’the table, now, i'the middle;
On his shoulder, and his: her face o'fire
With labour; and the thing, she took to quench it,
She would to each one sip: You are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us welcome: for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes; and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o’the feast: Come

And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.

Welcome, sir! [To Pol.
It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostessship o'the day:-You're welcome, sir!

[To Camillo

Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend

there's rosemary

and rue; these keep
Seeming, and savour, all the winter long:
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!

(A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.

Sir, the year growing ancient,--
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter,--the fairest flowers o'the

season Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers, Which some call, nature's bastards: of that kind Our rustick garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. Pol.

Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? Per.

For I have heard it said, There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares. With great creating nature. Pol.

Say, there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock; And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: This is an art Which does mend nature,--change it rather: but The art itself is nature.



So it is. Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, And do not call them bastards.

I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them : No more than, were I painted, I would wish This youth should say, 'twere well; and only there.

fore Desire to breed by me.--Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given To men of middle age: You are very welcome.

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. Per.

Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through.-Now, my

fairest friend, I would, I had some flowers o'the spring, that might Become your time of day; and yours,


yours; That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing :-O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phæbus in his strength, a malady

Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o’er.

What? like a corse?
Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corse: or if, not to be buried,
But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your

Methinks, I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.

What you do,
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too; When you do dance, I wish yoų
A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function: Each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.

O Doricles, Your praises are too large; but that your youth, And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd; With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. Flo,

I think, you have

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