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

The sternness of his presence?

Apprehend

Flo. 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 my desires Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts

Burn hotter than my faith.

Per.

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,

1

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

1

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

Per

Stand you auspicious!

O lady fortune,

Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes, and Camillo, disguised; 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,
upon

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

on,

And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,

As your good flock shall prosper.

Per.

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

sirs,

For you there's rosemary, and rue; thèse keep

Seeming, and savour, all the winter long:

Grace, and remembrance, be to you both,

And welcome to our shearing!

Pol.

Shepherdess,

(A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages

With flowers of winter.

Per.

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.

Do you neglect them?

Per.

Wherefore, gentle maiden,

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.

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers,

And do not call them bastards.

Per.

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, and 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 Phœbus 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.

Flo.

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

flowers:

Methinks, I play as I have seen them do

In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine

Does change my disposition.

Flo.

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 you
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.

Per.

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