then all, and very good ones, but they are most of them means and bafes; but one puritan among them, and he fings pfalms to horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden-pies, mace-dates-none-that's out of my note: nutmegs, feven; a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many raifins o'th' fun. Aut. Oh, that ever I was born! [Groveling on the ground. Clo. I' th' name of me→→

Aut. Oh, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags, and then death, death

Clo. Alack, poor foul, thou haft need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.

Aut. Oh, Sir, the loathfomnefs of them offends me, more than the ftripes I have receiv'd, which are mighty ones, and millions.

Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may come to a great matter.

Aut. I am robb'd,[Sir, and beaten ; my mony and apparel ta'en from me, and thefe deteftable things put upon me. Clo. What, by a horfe-man, or a foot-man?

Aut. A foot-man, fweet Sir, a foot-man.

Clo. Indeed, he fhould be a foot-man, by the garments he has left with thee; if this be a horfe-man's coat, it hath feen very hot fervice. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand. [Helping bim up. Aut. Oh! good Sir, tenderly, oh!

Clo. Alas, poor foul!

Aut. O good Sir, foftly, good Sir: I fear, Sir, my fhoulder-blade is out.

Clo. How now? canft stand?

Aut. Softly, dear Sir; good Sir, foftly; you ha' done me a charitable office.

Clo. Doft lack any mony? I have a little mony for thee. Aut. No, good fweet Sir: no, I befeech you, Sir; I have a kinfman not paft three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I fhall there have mony, or any thing I want: offer me no mony, I pray you; that kills my heart. Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you? Aut. A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about with troll-madams: I knew him once a fervant of the Prince; I

cannot

not tell, good Sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipp'd out of the Court.,

Clo. His vices, you would fay; there's no virtue whipp'd out of the the Court; they cherish it to make it ftay there, and yet it will no more but abide.

I

Aut. Vices I would fay, Sir. I know this man well, he hath been fince an ape-bearer, then a procefs-ferver, a bailiff; then he compaft a motion of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lyes; and having flown over many knavifh profeffions, he fettled 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, Sir; he, Sir, he; that's the that put me into this apparel.

rogue

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bithynia; if you' had but look'd big, and fpit at him, he'd have run.

Aut. I muft confefs to you, Sir, I am no fighter; I am falfe of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him. Clo. How do you do now?

Aut. Sweet Sir, much better than I was; I can ftand, and walk; I will even take my leave of you, and pace foftly towards my kinsman's.

Clo. Shall I bring thee on thy way

?

Aut. No, good-fac'd Sir; no, fweet Sir.

Clo. Then farewel, I muft go to buy fpices for our fheepfhearing.

[Exit. Aut. Profper you, fweet Sir! 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 unroll'd, and my name put into the book of virtue.

And merrily bend the file-a.

A merry beart goes all the day,

Your fad tires in a mile-a,

A Motion is a Word for a Puppet -fbew.

*

[Exit.

+Alluding to the focieties into which the notorious cheats and

gipfies inroll themselves.

SCENE

SCENE IV. The old Shepherd's Houfe.
Enter Florizel and Perdita.

Flo. Thefe your unufual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life: no shepherdefs, 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 feafts
In every mefs have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a cuftom; I fhould blush
To fee you fo attired, fwoon, I think,
To fhew my self a glass.

Flo. I biefs 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 thefe 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 fhapes of beafts 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 fwain,

As I feem now. Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
Nor in a way fo chafte; fince my
defires
Run not before mine honour, nor my lufts

2

Burn

Burn hotter than my faith.

Per. O but, dear Sir,

Your refolution cannot hold, when 'tis

Oppos'd, as it muft be, by th'pow'r o'th'King.
One of these two neceffities muft be,"

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

Flo. Thou dearest 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 moft conftant,
Tho' deftiny fay no. Be merry, gentleft!
Strangle fuch thoughts as thefe with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guefts 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!

SCENE V.

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

Flo. See, your guests approach;

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

Shep. Fie, daughter; when my old wife liv'd, upon
This day the 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 things he took to quench it
She would to each one fip.

You are retired,
and not
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 your self

As if you were a feafted one,
The hoftefs of the meeting:

That

That which you are, miftress o' th' feaft. Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock fhall profper.

Per. Sirs, you're welcome

53

[To Pol. and Cam.

It is my father's will, I should take on me

The hoftefship o'th' day; you're welcome, Sirs.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend Sirs,
For you there's rofemary and
rue, thefe keep

Seeming and favour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be unto 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,

Nor yet on fummer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o'th' feafon
Are our carnations, and freak'd gilly-flowers,
Which fome 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

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; so 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 it felf 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

VOL. IV.