Mop. We can both fing it; if thou'lt bear a part, thou halt hear, 'tis in three parts.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month a-go.

Aut. I can bear my part, you must know 'tis my occu pation: have at it with you.

SONG.

Mop. It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy fecrets tell.

Dor. Me too, let me go thither:

Mop. Or thou goeft to th' grange, or mill,
Dor. If to either, thou doft ill:

Aut. Neither.

Dor. What neither?

Aut. Neither.

Dor. Thou baft fworn my love to be,

Mop. Thou haft fworn it more to me:

Then whither goeft? fay whither?

Clo. We'll have this fong out anon by our felves: my father and the gentlemen are in fad talk, and we'll not trouble them: come bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both; pedlar, let's have the firft choice; follow me, girls.

Aut. And you fhall pay well for 'em.

SONG.

Will you buy any tape, or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?

Any filk, any thread, any toys for your head
Of the new'ft, and fin'ft, fin't wear-a?
Come to the pedler, mony's a medler,

That doth utter all mens ware-a.

[Exe. Clown, Autolicus, Dorcas, and Mopfa, SCENE VII. Enter a Servant.

Ser. Mafter, there are three goat-herds, three fhepherds, three neat-herds, and three fwine-herds that have made themselves all men of hair, they call themselves fal

tiers.

tiers, and they have a dance, which the wenches fay is a gallymaufry of gambols, because they are not in't: but they themselves are o'th' mind, if it be not too rough for fome that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully.

Shep. Away; we'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, Sir, we weary you.

Pol. You weary thofe that refresh us: 'pray let's fee thefe four threes of herdsmen.

Ser. One three of them, by their own report, Sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and half by th' fquare.

Shep. Leave your prating; fince thefe good men are pleas'd, let them come in, but quickly now.

Flo. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.
Here a Dance of twelve Satyrs.

Pol. Is it not too far gone? 'tis time to part them;
He's fimple, and tells much. How now, fair fhepherd ?
Your heart is full of fomething that does take

Your mind from feafting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont

To load my the with knacks: I would have ranfack'd
The pedler's filken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your lafs
Interpretation fhould abuse, and call this
Your lack of love or bounty, you were ftraited
For a reply at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.

Flo. Old Sir, I know

She prizes not fuch trifles as thefe are ;

The gifts fhe looks from me, art packt and lockt
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 fometime lov'd. I take thy hand, this hand,
As foft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd fnow
That's bolted by the northern blaft twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this?

How

How prettily the young fwain feems to wash
The hand was fair before! I've put you out ;
But to your proteftation: let me hear
What you profefs.

Ro. Do, and be witness to't,

Pol. And this my neighbour too?

Flo. And he, and more

Than he, and men; the earth, and heav'ns, and all;
That were I crown'd the moft imperial Monarch
Thereof moft worthy, were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye fwerve, had force and knowledge
More than was ever man's, would not prize them
Without her love; for her imploy them all,
Commend thera, and condemn them to her fervice,
Or to their own perdition.

Pol. Fairly offer'd.

Cam. This fhews a found affection.

Shep. But, my daughter,

Say yon the like to him?

Per. I cannot fpeak

So well, nothing fo well, no, nor mean better.
By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

Shep. Take hands, a bargain;

And, friends unknown! you fhall bear witness to't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make

Her portion equal his..

Flo. O, that must be

I'th' virtue of your daughter; one being dead,
I fhall have more than you can dream of yet,
Enough then for your wonder: but come on,
Contract us 'fore thefe witneffes.

Shep. Come, your hand;

And, daughter, yours.

Pol. Soft, fwain, a while; 'befeech you,

Have you a father?

Flo. I have; but what of him?

Pol. Knows he of this?

Flo. He neither does nor fhall.

Pol. Methinks a father

Is at the nuptial of his fon a gueft

That beft becomes the table: 'pray you once more,
Is not your father grown incapable

Of reasonable affairs? is he not ftupid

With age, and alt'ring rheums? can he fpeak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own eftate?

Lyes he not bed-rid?, and again does nothing
But what he did being childish?

Flo. No, good Sir;

He has his health, and ampler ftrength indeed
Than moft have of his age.

Pol. By my white beard,

You offer him, if this be fo, a wrong
Something unfilial: reafon my fon

Should chufe himself a wife, but as good reafon
The father (all whofe joy is nothing else
But fair pofterity) fhould hold fore counfel

In fuch a business.

Flo. I yield all this;

But for fome other reasons, my grave Sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.

Pol. Let him know't.
Flo. He fhall not.

Pol. Pr'ythee let him.

Flo. No; he must not.

Shep. Let him, my fon, he fhall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.

Flo. Come, come, he muft not s

Mark our contract.

Pol. Mark your divorce, young Sir, [Discovering himself. Whom fon I dare not call: thou art too base

To be acknowledg'd. Thou a fcepter's heir,

That thus affect'ft a fheep-hook! Thou old traytor,

I'm forry that by hanging thee I can

But fhorten thy life one week. And thou fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force muft know
The royal fool thou coap'ft with

Shep. Oh my heart!

Pol, I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made

More

More homely than thy ftate. For thee, fond boya
If I may ever know thou doft but figh

That thou no more fhalt fee this knack, (as never
I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from fucceffion,
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Lefs than Deucalion off: mark thou my words;
Follow us to the Court, Thou churl, for this time,
Tho' full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it: and you, enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdfman, yea, him too
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee; if ever, henceforth, thou
Thefe rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoope his body more with thy embraces,
I will devife a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to it.

SCENE VIII.

Per. Even here undone :

I was not much afraid; for once or twice
I was about to fpeak, and tell him plainly,
The felf-fame fun that fhines upon his Court,
Hides not his vifage from our cottage, but

[Exit

Looks on alike. Will't pleafe you, Sir, be gone? [To Flo I told you what would come of this.

Befeech you,

Of your own ftate take care: from this my dream

Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,

But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam. Why, how now, father?

Speak ere thou diest.

Shep. I cannot fpeak, nor think,

Nor dare to know that which I know. O Sir, [To Flax

You have undone a man of fourscore three,

That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,

To die upon the bed my father dy'd,

To lye close by his honeft bones; but now

Some hangman muft put on my fhroud, and lay me
Where no prieft fhovels in duft. Oh curfed wretch!

[To Perdita That knew'ft this was the Prince, and would'ft adventure" To mingle faith with him. Undone, undone!

If