Act 4 — Scene IV. The Shepherd's cottage.

Enter Florizel and Perdita. Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on't. 5 Per. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me: O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, 10 Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts In every mess have folly and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired, sworn, I think, To show myself a glass. Flo. I bless the time 15 When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. Per. Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, 20 Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates! How would he look, to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? Flo. Apprehend 25 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-robed god, 30 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. 35 Per. O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king: One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. 40 Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forced thoughts, I prithee, 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 45 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 50 Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. Per. O lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! Flo. See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others, with Polixenes and Camillo disguised. 55 Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook, Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here, At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle; 60 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 retired, As if you were a feasted one and not The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid 65 These unknown friends to's 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. 70 Per. [To Pol.] Sir, welcome: It is my father's will I should take on me The hostess-ship o' the day. [To Cam.] You're welcome, sir. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep 75 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, 80 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 gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. 85 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, 90 But nature makes that mean: so, over 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 95 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 gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. Per. I'll not put 100 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 therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 105 The marigold, that goes to bed wi' 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're very welcome. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. 110 Per. Out, alas! You'ld be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, 115 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 120 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 125 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? 130 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. 135 Flo. What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing, I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms, Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs, 140 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, 145 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 peeps fairly through 't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, 150 With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. Flo. I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But come; our dance, I pray: Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair, That never mean to part. 155 Per. I'll swear for'em. Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. Cam. He tells her something 160 That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. Clo. Come on, strike up! Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! Mop. Now, in good time! Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. 165 Come, strike up! [Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? Shep. They call him Doricles; and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding: but I have it 170 Upon his own report and I believe it; He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter: I think so too; for never gazed the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand and read As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, 175 I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. Pol. She dances featly. Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it, That should be silent: if young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 180 Which he not dreams of. Enter Servant. Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had 185 eaten ballads and all men's ears grew to his tunes. Clo. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. 190 Serv. He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her;' and where some stretch-mouthed 195 rascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' Pol. This is a brave fellow. 200 Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? Serv. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' the rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross: inkles, caddisses, 205 cambrics, lawns: why, he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. Clo. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. 210 Per. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. [Exit Servant. Clo. You have of these pedlars, that have more in them than you'ld think, sister. Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter Autolycus, singing. 215 Lawn as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, 220 Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel: 225 Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy. Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also 230 be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. Mop. I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now. Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars. 235 Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you: may be, he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, 240 to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour your tongues, and not a word more. Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves. 245 Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my money? Ant. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shall lose nothing here. 250 Ant. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. Clo. What hast here? ballads? Mop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true. 255 Ant. Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed. Mop. Is it true, think you? 260 Ant. Very true, and but a month old. Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer! Ant. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? 265 Mop. Pray you now, buy it. Clo. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. Ant. Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon, the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand 270 fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true. Dor. Is it true too, think you? 275 Ant. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold. Clo. Lay it by too: another. Ant. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. Mop. Let's have some merry ones. 280 Ant. Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. Mop. We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. 285 Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. Ant. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation: have at it with you. Song. A. Get you hence, for I must go 290 Where it fits not you to know. D.. Whither? M. O, whither? D. Whither? M. It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell: D. Me too, let me go thither. M. Or thou goest to the grange or mill: 295 D. If to either, thou dost ill. A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither. D. Thou hast sworn my love to be; M. Thou hast sworn it more to me: Then whither goest? say, whither? 300 Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my father and the gentlemen are in sad 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 first choice. Follow me, girls. [Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa. 305 Ant. And you shall pay well for 'em. [Follows singing. Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, 310 Any toys for your head, Of the new'st, and finest, finest wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a medler, That doth utter all men's ware-a. [Exit. Re-enter Servant. 315 Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair, they call themselves Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves 320 are o' the mind, if it be not too rough for some 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 those that refresh us: pray, let's see 325 these four threes of herdsmen. Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier. Shep. Leave your prating: since these good men are 330 pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit. Here a dance of twelve Satyrs. Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [To Cam.] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. How now, fair shepherd! 335 Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it 340 To her acceptance; you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. 345 Flo. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are: The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart; which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life 350 Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By the northern blasts twice o'er. Pol. What follows this? 355 How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out: But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. Flo. Do, and be witness to't. Pol. And this my neighbour too? Flo. And he, and more 360 Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them 365 Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. Pol. Fairly offer'd. Cam. This shows a sound affection. Shep. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? Per. I cannot speak 370 So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. Shep. Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. 375 Flo. O, that must be I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But, come on, Contract us 'fore these witnesses. Shep. Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. 380 Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? Flo. I have: but what of him? Pol. Knows he of this? Flo. He neither does nor shall. Pol. Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest 385 That best becomes the table. Pray you once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear? Know man from man? dispute his own estate? 390 Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing But what he did being childish? Flo. No, good sir; He has his health and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. Pol. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 395 Something unfilial: reason my son Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason The father, all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity, should hold some counsel In such a business. Flo. I yield all this; 400 But for some 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 shall not. Pol. Prithee, let him. Flo. No, he must not. Shep. Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. 405 Flo. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, [Discovering himself. Whom son I dare not call; them art too base To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir. That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor, 410 I am sorry that by hanging thee I can But shorten thy life one week. And them, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool them copest with,— Shep. O, my heart! Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made 415 More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know them dost but sigh That them no more shalt see this knack, as never I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, 420 Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words: Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,— Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too, 425 That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee,—if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. [Exit. 430 Per. Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly, The selfsame sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 435 Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this: beseech you, Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,— 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. 440 Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir! You have undone a man of fourscore three, That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea, To die upon the bed my father died, 445 To lie close by his honest bones: but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone! 450 If I might die within this hour, I have lived To die when I desire. [Exit. Flo. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard, delay'd, But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am; More straining on for plucking back, not following My leash unwillingly. 455 Cam. Gracious my lord, You know your father's temper: at this time He will allow no speech, which I do guess You do not purpose to him; and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: 460 Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him. Flo. I not purpose it. I think, Camillo? Cam. Even he, my lord. Per. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known! 465 Flo. It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks: From my succession wipe me, father, I Am heir to my affection. 470 Cam. Be advised. Flo. I am, and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, Do bid it welcome. Cam. This is desperate, sir. 475 Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or The close earth wombs, or the profound sea hides 480 In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me,—as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,—cast your good counsels 485 Upon his passion: let myself and fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know And so deliver, I am put to sea With her whom here I cannot hold on shore; And most opportune to our need I have 490 A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. Cam. O my lord! I would your spirit were easier for advice, Or stronger for your need. 495 Flo. Hark, Perdita. [Drawing her aside. I'll hear you by and by. Cam. He's irremoveable, Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, 500 Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. Flo. Now, good Camillo; I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. Cam. Sir, I think 505 You have heard of my poor services, i' the love That I have borne your father? Flo. Very nobly Have you deserved: it is my father's music To speak your deeds, not little of his care To have them recompensed as thought on. Cam. Well, my lord, 510 If you may please to think I love the king, And through him what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour 515 I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made, but by As heavens forefend! your ruin; marry her, 520 And, with my best endeavours in your absence, Your discontenting father strive to qualify And bring him up to liking. Flo. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man And after that trust to thee. 525 Cam. Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? Flo. Not any yet: But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows. 530 Cam. Then list to me: This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess, For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes: 535 She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness, As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands 540 Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one He chides to hell and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. Flo. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? 545 Cam. Sent by the king your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I 'll write you down: 550 The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say; that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. Flo. I am bound to you: There is some sap in this. Cam. A course more promising 555 Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough: no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another: Nothing so certain as your anchors, who 560 Do their best office, if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. Per. One of these is true: 565 I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. Cam. Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be'born another such. Flo. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' the rear o' our birth. 570 Cam. I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. Per. Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. Flo. My prettiest Perdita! But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo, 575 Preserver of my father, now of me, The medicine of our house, how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son, Nor shall appear in Sicilia. Cam. My lord, Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes 580 Do all lie there: it shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want, one word. [They talk aside. Re-enter Autolycus. Aut. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his 585 sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been 590 hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes till 595 he had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me, that all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have filed keys off that hung-in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's 600 song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. [Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita come forward. 605 Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. Flo. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes— Cam. Shall satisfy your father. Per. Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. Cam. Who have we here? [Seeing Autolycus. 610 We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing may give us aid. Aut. If they have overheard me now, why, hanging. Cam. How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. 615 Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly,—thou must think there's a necessity in't,—and change garments 620 with this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well enough. Cam. Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half 625 flayed already. Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? [Aside] I smell the trick on't. Flo. Dispatch, I prithee. Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with 630 conscience take it. Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. [Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments. Fortunate mistress,—let my prophecy Come home to ye!—you must retire yourself Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat 635 And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming; that you may— For I do fear eyes over—to shipboard Get undescried. Per. I see the play so lies 640 That I must bear a part. Cam. No remedy. Have you done there? Flo. Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. Cam. Nay, you shall have no hat. [Giving it to Perdita. Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. Aut. Adieu, sir. Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! 645 Pray you, a word. Cam. [Aside] What I do next, shall be to tell the king Of this escape and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after: in whose company 650 I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman's longing. Flo. Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. Cam. The swifter speed the better. [Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo. Aut. I understand the business, I hear it: to have an 655 open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the 660 gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do't: I hold it the more knavery 665 to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter Clown and Shepherd. Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. Clo. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no 670 other way but to tell the king she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. Shep. Nay, but hear me. Clo. Nay, but hear me. Shep. Go to, then. 675 Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all but what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle: I 680 warrant you. Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law. 685 Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. Aut. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies! Shep. Well, let us to the king: there is that in this 690 fardel will make him scratch his beard. Aut. [Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. Clo. Pray heartily he be at palace. Aut. [Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am 695 so sometimes by chance: let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard.] How now, rustics! whither are you bound? Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. Aut. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition 700 of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. Aut. A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no 705 lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. 710 Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on thy baseness 715 court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that I insinuate, or toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to open thy affair. 720 Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? Shep. I know not, an't like you. Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant: say you have none. 725 Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. Aut. How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 730 Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth, Aut. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? Wherefore 735 that box? Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box, which none must know but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the speech of him. Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 740 Shep. Why, sir? Aut. The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things serious, thou must know the king is full of grief. 745 Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly: the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. 750 Clo. Think you so, sir? Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman: which though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An 755 old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I: draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't 760 like you, sir? Ant. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; 765 then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, 770 their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the king: being something gently considered, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the king to effect your 775 suits, here is man shall do it. Clo. He seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more 780 ado. Remember 'stoned,' and 'flayed alive.' Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much more and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. Aut. After I have done what I promised? 785 Shep. Ay, sir. Aut. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? Clo. In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 790 Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: hang him, he'll be made an example. Clo. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights: he must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give 795 you as much as this old man does when the business is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right hand: I will but look upon the hedge and 800 follow you. Clo. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. Shep. Let's before as he bids us: he was provided to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. 805 Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion, gold and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two 810 moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to shore them again and that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them: 815 there may be matter in it. [Exit.