than the stripes I have receiv'd; which are mighty ones, and millions

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

Autol. I am robb'd; Sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon

n.e.

Clown. What, by a horseman or a footman?

Autol. A footman, sweet Sir; a footman.

Clown. Indeed he should be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee. If this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. -Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee:

Come, lend me thy hand.

Autol. Oh, good Sir; tenderly-Oh!
Clown. Alas, poor soul !

[Helps bim up.

Autol. O good Sir; softly, good Sir; I fear, Sir my shoulder blade is out.

Clown. How now, can'st stand ?

lutol. Softly, dear Sir; good Sir, softly; you ha' done me a charitable office. [Picks bis pocket. Clown. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for

thee.

Autol. No good, sweet Sir; no, I beseech you, Sir; I have a kinsm an not past three-quarters of a mile hence, un◄ to whom I was going; I shall there have money, or any thing I want- Offer me no money, I pray yɔu, that kills my heart.

Clown. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you? Autol. A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about with tol-my-dames: I knew him once a servant of the prince'; I cannot tell, good Sir, for which of his virtues it was; but he was certainly whipt out of the court.

Clown. His vices, you wou'd say; there is no virtue whipp d out of the court; they cherish it to make it stay there, and yet it will do no more but abide.

Autol. Vices, I would say, Sir.- -I know this man well, he hath been since an ape-bearer, 'then a process-server, a bailiff then he compast a motion of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and having flown over many knavish professiuns, he settled only in rogue; some call him Autolicus.

Clown. Out upon him, prig! for my life, prig; he~~~ baunts wakes, fairs, and bear-beatings.

Autol

Autol. Very true, Sir; he, Sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel.

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

Autol. I must confess to you, Sir, I am no fighter; I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him. Clown. How do you do now?

Autol. Sweet Sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk; I will e'en take my leave of you; and pace softly towards my kinsman's.

Clown. Shall I bring thee on thy way?

Autol. No good fac'd Sir; no good Sir; no, sweet Sir Clown. Then farewelI must go buy spices for out sheep-shearing.

Autol. Prosper you, sweet Sir. Your purse is not hat enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too—If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrol'd and my name put into the book of virtue.

HESE your unusual weeds, to each part of you

TDo go a life; no shepherdess but Flora.

Peering it April's front, this your sheep-shearing
Is a meeting of the petty gods,

And you the queen on't.

Perd. Sir, my gracious lord.

To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:
O pardon that I name 'em; your high self,
The gracious mark o' th' land; you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,

L5

Most

Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I shou'd blush
To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To shew myself a glass.

Flor. I bless the time,

When my good faulcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.

Perd. Now Jove afford you cause!

To ine the difference forges dread: your greatness
Hath not been us'd to fear; ev'n now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,

Shou'd pass this way, as you did: O the fates!
How wou'd he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up! What wou'd he say! or how
Shou'd I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sterness of his presence?

Flor. Apprehend,

Nothing but jollity: the Gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon 'em-

Jupiter

Become a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune

A ram, and bleated; and the fire rob'd God,
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.

Perd Oh, but dear Sir,

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis

Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' power o' th' king:

One of these two must be necessities,

Which then will speak, that thou must change this purpose Or I my

life.

Flor. Thou dearest Perdita;

With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not
The mirth o' th' 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

I be not thine. To this, I am most constan*, 'Tho' destiny say, no. Be merry, gentlest, Strangle fuch thoughts as these, with any thing

That

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 sworn shall come.

Perd. O lady fortune,

Stand thou auspicious!

Enter OLD SHEPHERD, CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS; with

POLIXENES, CAMILLO, and servants.

CA MILLO, disguised.

Flor. See your guests approach;

Address yourself to entertain 'em sprightly,

And let's be red with mirth.

POLIXENES, and

Old Shep. Fie, daughter, when my old wife liv'd, upon This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook,

Both dame and servant; welcom'd all, serv'd all;

Wou'd sing her song, and dance her turn; now here,
At upper end o' th' table; now i' th' middle;
On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire,

With labour; and the thing she took to quench it,
She wou'd to each one sip: you are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid
These unknown friend's 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' th' feast: come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.

Perd. Sir's welcome.

It is my father's will, I'shou'd take on me
The hostess-ship o' th' day; vou're welcome, sirs.
Give me these flowers there, Dorcas; reverend sirs.
For you, there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be unto you both,

And welcome to our shearing.

Polix. Shepherdess,

[To Polixenes and Camillo..

A fair one are you; well you fit our ages

With flowers of winter.

Perd. Here are flowers for you;

Hot lavendar, mint, savoury, marjoram,

L 6

[To olbers.

Polix.

9 Vol. 1

The mary-gold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer; and I think are given
To men of middle age You're very welcome
Cam. I shou'd leave grazing were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.

Perd. Out alas!

You'd be so clean, that blasts of January,

Wou'd blow you thro' and thro'-now my fairest friend,
I wou'd I had some flowers o' th' spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin-branches, yet
Your maiden honours growing, daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares; and take
The winds of March with beauty; vi'lets 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; gold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lillies of all kinds
The flower-de-lis being one; o' these I lack
To make your garland of, and my sweet friend,

To strow him o'er and o'er.

Flor. What? like a coarse ?

To Florizel.

Perd. [apart to Florize] No, like a bank, for love to lie

and play on.

Not like a coarse-come, 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.

Flor. What you do,

Still betters what is done-when you speak, sweet,

I'd have you do it ever; when you sing,

I'd have you buy and sell so; give alms;

Pray, so; and for the ordering your affairs,

To sing them to. When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' th' sea, and you might ever do

Nothing but that; nove still, still so,

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

Crowns what you're doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens,

Perd