The dibble in earth, to set one flip of them:
No more than were I painted, I would wish
This youth fhall 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 flock,
And only live by gazing.

Per. Out, alas !

You'd be fo lean, that blafts of January

Would blow you through and through. Now, faireft friend,
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! early daffadils,

That come before the fwallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But fweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes.
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phebus in his ftrength, a malady
Most incident to maids; gold oxflips, and
The crown-imperial: lillies of all kinds,
The flower-de-lis being one. O, these I lack
To make you garlands of, and my fweet friend
To ftrow him o'er and o'er.

Flo. What? like a Coarfe?

Per. No, like a bank, for love to lye and play on 3 Not like a Coarfe; 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 Whitfund' paftorals: fure this robe of mine

Does change my difpofition.

Flo. What you do,

Still betters what is done, When you speak, sweet,

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.

So fingular in each particular,

Each your doing,

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 false way.

Flo. I think you have

As little skill in fear, as I 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 prettiest low-born lafs that ever
Ran on the green-ford; nothing fhe does, or feems,
But fmacks of fomething greater than her self,
Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her fomething

That makes her blood look out: good footh she is
The Queen of curds and cream.

Clo. Come on, ftrike up.

Dor. Mopfa muft be your mistress marry, garlick To mend her kiffing with.

Mop. Now in good time.

Clo. Not a word, a word, we ftand upon our manners, come ftrike up.

Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdeffes.

Pol. I pray, good fhepherd, what fair fwain is this Who dances with your daughter?

Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boafts himself To have a worthy breeding; but I have it

F 2

Upon

Upon his own report, and I believe it :

He looks like footh; he fays he loves my daughter,
I think fo too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll ftand and read

As 'twere my daughters eyes; and, to be plain,
I think there is not half a kifs to chufe
Which loves the other beft.
Pol. She dances featly.

Shep. So the does any thing, tho' I report it
That should be filent; if young Doricles
Do light upon her, the fhall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.

SCENE VI Enter a Servant.. Ser. O mafter, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe no, the bag-pipe could not move you; he fings feveral tunes fafter than you'll tell mony; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens ears grow to his tunes.

Clo. He could never come better; he fhall come in ; I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily fet down; or a very pleasant thing indeed, and fung lamentably.

Ser. He hath Tongs for man or woman of all fizes; no milliner can fo fit his cuftomers with gloves: he has the prettieft love-fongs for maids, fo without bawdry, (which is ftrange) with fuch delicate burthens of dil-do's. and fading's jump her and thump her: and where fome ftretchmouth'd rafcal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to anfwer, Whoop! do me no barm, good man; puts him off, flights him, with Whoop! do me no harm, good man. Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Clo. Believe me, thou talkeft of an admirable-conceited fellow; has he any unbraided wares?

Ser. He hath ribbons of all the colours i'th' rainbow points, more than all the lawyers in Bithynia can learnedly handle, tho' they come to him by the grofs; inkles,' caddiffes, cambricks, lawns; why, he fings 'em over, as they wereGods or Goddeffes ; you would think a smock were a she

angelf

angel, he fo chants to the sleeve-band, and the work about the fquare on't.

Clo. Pr'ythee bring him in, and let him approach fing ing.

Per. Forewarn hith that he ufe no fcurrilous words in's tunes.

Clo. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd think, fifter.

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolicus finging.

Lawn as white as driven fnow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as fweet as damask rofes
Mafks for faces, and for nofes;
Bugle-bracelets, neck-lace amber,
Perfume for a Lady's chamber:
Golden quoifs, and ftomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins, and poaking-flicks of feel,
What maids lack from head to heel:

Come buy of me, come: come buy, come buy,
Buy, lads, or elfe your laffes cry: come buy..

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopfa, thou fhould't take no mony of me: but being enthrall'd as I am, it will alfo be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

Mop. I was promis'd them against the feaft, but they come not too late now.

Dor. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars.

Mop. He hath paid you all he promis'd you: 'may be he has paid you more, which will thame 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 kill-hole, to whistle off these fecrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests; 'tis well they are whifpering: charm your tongues, and not a word more.

Mop. I have done: come, you promis'd me a tawdry lace, and a pair of fweet gloves.

C

Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and loft all my mony?

Aut. And indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad, therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou fhalt lofe nothing here. Aut. I hope fo, Sir, for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clo. What haft here? ballads?

Mop. Pray now buy fome, I love a ballad in print, or a life, for then we are fure they are true.

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a ufurer's wife was brought to bed with twenty mony bags at a burthen, and how the long'd to eat adders heads, and toads carbonado'd.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Very true, and but a month old.

Dor. 'Blefs me from marrying a usurer!

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Miftrefs Taleporter, and five or fix honeft wives that were prefent. Why fhould I carry lies abroad?

Mop. Pray you now buy it.

Clo. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon..

Aut. Here's another ballad of a fish that appear'd upon the coaft, on Wednesday the fourfcore of April, forty thoufand fadom above water, and fung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids; it was thought he was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish, for the would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

Dor. It is true too, think you?

Aut. Five juftices hands at it; and witneffes more than my pack will hold.

Clo. Lay it by too: another.

Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Mop. Let's have some merry ones.

Aut. Why, this is a paffing merry one, and goes to the tune of Two maids wooing a man; there's fcarce a maid weftward but the fings it: 'tis in request, I can tell you.

Мор.