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SCENE, the profpect of a Shepherd's Cott.


Enter Florizel and Perdita.

of you

HESE your unufual weeds to each part
Do give a life: no fhepherdefs, but Flora

Peering in April's front. This your sheep-fhearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,

And you the Queen on't.

Per. Sir, my gracious Lord,

To chide at your extreams it not becomes me:
Oh pardon, that I name them: your high felf,
The gracious mark o'th' land, you have obfcur'd
With a fwain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Moft goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feaks
In every mefs have folly, and the feeders
Digeft it with a cuftom, I fhould blush

To fee you fo attired; fworn, I think,
To fhew myself a glass.

Flo. I blefs the time,

When my good falcon made her flight a-cross
Thy father's ground.

Per. Now Jove afford you caufe!

To me the difference forges dread; (your greatnefs
Hath not been us'd to fear;) even now I tremble
To think, your father, by fome accident,

Should pass this way, as you did: oh, the fates!
How would he look, to fee his work, fo noble,
Vilely bound up! what would he fay! or how
Should I in these my borrow'd flaunts behold
The fternness of his prefence?

Flo. Apprehend

Nothing but jollity: the gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beafts upon them. Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptunz
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble fwain,

As I feem now. Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
N 6


Nor in a way so chafte: fince my defires
Run not before mine honour, nor my lufts
Burn hotter than my faith.

Per. O, but, dear Sir,

Your refolution cannot hold, when 'tis

Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' power o'th' King.
One of these two must be neceffities,

Which then will fpeak, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life.

Flo. Thou deareft Perdita,

With thefe forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o'th' feaft; 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,
Tho' deftiny fay no. Be merry, (Gentle,)
Strangle fuch thoughts as thefe, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance, as 'twere the day

Of celebration of that nuptial, which

We two have fworn fhall come.

Per. O lady Fortune,

Stand you aufpicious!

Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopfa, Dorcas, Servants; and Polixenes and Camillo difguis'd.

Flo. See, your guests approach;

Addrefs yourself to entertain them fprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

Shep. Fy, daughter; when my old wife liv'd, upon This day he 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
At upper end o'th' table, now i'th' middle:
On his fhoulder, and his; her face o' fire
With labour; and the thing fhe took to quench it
She would to each one fip. You are retired,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hoftefs of the meeting: pray you, bid
These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is



A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes, and prefent yourself
That which you are, miftrefs o'th' feaft.
Come on,
And bid us welcome to your fheep-fhearing,
As your good flock fhall profper.

Per. Sirs, welcome.

It is

[To Pol. and Cam.

my father's will, I fhould take on me

The hoftefsfhip o'th' day; you're welcome, Sirs.

Give me thofe flowers there, Dorcas.-Reverend Sirs,
For you there's rosemary and rue, these keep

Seeming and favour all the winter long :
Grace and remembrance be unto you both,
And welcome to our shearing!

Pol. Shepherdefs,

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

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient,

Not yet on fummer's death, nor on the birth

Of trembling winter, the faireft flowers o'th' feafon
Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers,
Which some call Nature's baftards: of that kind
Our ruftick garden's barren, and I care not

To get flips of them.

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,

Do you neglect them?

Per. For I have heard it faid,

There is an art, which in their pideness shares
With great creating Nature.

Pol. Say, there be;

Yet Nature is made better by no mean,

But Nature makes that mean; fo over that art,

Which, you fay, adds to Nature, is an art

That Nature makes; you fee, fweet maid, we marry

A gentler fcyon to the wildeft ftock;

And make conceive a bark of bafer kind

By bud of nobler race.

This is an art,

Which does mend Nature, change it rather; but

The art itself is Nature.

Per. So it is.

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly-flowers,


And do not call them baftards,

Per. I'll not put

The dibble in earth, to fet one flip of them:
No more than, were I painted, I would wish
This youth fhould fay, 'twere well; and only therefore
Defire to breed by me.-Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, favoury, marjoram,
The mary-gold, that goes to bed with th' fun,
And with him rifes, weeping: these are flowers
Of middle-fummer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle-age. Y'are very welcome.
Cam. I fhould leave grazing, were I of your
And only live by gazing.

Per. Out, alas!

You'd be fo lean, that blafts of January



Would blow you through and through. Now, my faireft

I would, I had fome flowers o'th' fpring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin-branches yet
Your maiden-heads growing: O Proferpina,

For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'ft fall
From Dis's waggon! daffadils,

That come before the fwallow 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 primrofes,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his ftrength; (a malady
Moft incident to maids ;) bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lillies of all kinds,
The flower-de-lis being one. O, thefe I lack
To make you garlands of, and my fweet friend,
To ftrow him e'er and o'er.

Flo. What? like a coarfe?

Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on ;

Not like a coarse; 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 Whitfun paftorals: fure, this robe of mine
Does change my difpofition.


Flo. What you do,

Still betters what is done. When you fpeak, (fweet)
I'd have you do it ever; when you fing,

I'd have you buy and fell fo; fo, give alms;
Pray, fo; and for the ord'ring your affairs,
To fing 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 fo,

And own no other function. Each your doing,
So fingular in each particular,

Crowns what you're doing in the prefent deeds,
That all your acts are Queens.

Per. O Doricles,

Your praises are too large; but that

your youth

And the true blood, which peeps forth fairly through it, Do plainly give you out an unftain'd fhepherd;

With wifdom I might fear, my Doricles,

You woo'd me the falfe way.

Flo. I think, you have

As little skill to fear, as 1 have purpose

To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray;
Your hand, my Perdita; fo turtles pair,

That never mean to part.

Per. I'll fwear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettieft low-born lafs, that ever
Ran on the green-ford; nothing she does, or feems,
But fmacks of fomething greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her fomething (26),


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He tells her fomething,

That makes her blood look on't.] Thus all the old editions corruptedly. I dare fay, I have reftor'd the true reading; and the meaning must be this. The Prince tells her fomething, that calls the blood up into her cheeks, and makes ber blush. She, but a little before, ufes a like expreffion to defcribe the Prince's fincerity, which appear'd in the honeft blood rifing on his face.

Your praises are too large; but that your youth

And the true blood, which peeps forth fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unflain'd shepherd.

I corrected the above paffage, when I publish'd my SHAKESPEARE reftor'd: and Mr. Pofe in his laft impreffion has thought fit to embrace the correction.


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