feare) the Angle that pluckes our sonne thither. Thou shalt accompany vs to the place, where we will (not appearing what we are) haue some question with the shepheard; from whose simplicity, I thinke it not vneasie to get the cause of my sonnes resort thether. ‘Prethe be my present partner in this busines, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicillia
Cam. I willingly obey your command
Pol. My best Camillo, we must disguise our selues.
Exit
Scena Tertia.
Enter Autolicus singing
When Daffadils begin to peere,
With heigh the Doxy ouer the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o’the yeere, For the red blood raigns in y winters pale. The white sheete bleaching on the hedge, With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing: Doth set my pugging tooth an edge,
For a quart of Ale is a dish for a King. The Larke, that tirra Lyra chaunts,
With heigh, the Thrush and the Iay: Are Summer songs for me and my Aunts
While we lye tumbling in the hay.
I haue seru’d Prince Florizell, and in my time wore three pile, but now I am out of seruice.
But shall I go mourne for that (my deere) the pale Moone shines by night:
And when I wander here, and there
I then do most go right.
If Tinkers may haue leaue to liue,
and beare the Sow-skin Bowget,
Then my account I well may giue,
and in the Stockes auouch-it.
My Trafficke is sheetes: when the Kite builds, looke to lesser Linnen. My Father nam’d me Autolicus, who being (as I am) lytter’d vnder Mercurie, was likewise a snapper-vp of vnconsidered trifles: With Dye and drab, I purchas’d this Caparison, and my Reuennew is the silly Cheate. Gallowes, and Knocke, are too powerfull on the Highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to mee: For the life to come, I sleepe out the thought of it. A prize, a prize.
Enter Clowne.
Clo. Let me see, euery Leauen-weather toddes, euery tod yeeldes pound and odde shilling: fifteene hundred shorne, what comes the wooll too?
Aut. If the sprindge hold, the Cocke’s mine
Clo. I cannot do’t without Compters. Let mee see, what am I to buy for our Sheepe-shearing-Feast? Three pound of Sugar, fiue pound of Currence, Rice: What will this sister of mine do with Rice? But my father hath made her Mistris of the Feast, and she layes it on. Shee hath made-me four and twenty Nose-gayes for the shearers (three-man song-men, all, and very good ones) but they are most of them Meanes and Bases; but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings Psalmes to horne-pipes. I must haue Saffron to colour the Warden Pies, Mace: Dates, none: that’s out of my note: Nutmegges, seuen; a Race or two of Ginger, but that I may begge: Foure pound of Prewyns, and as many of Reysons o’th Sun
Aut. Oh, that euer I was borne
Clo. I’th’ name of me
Aut. Oh helpe me, helpe mee: plucke but off these ragges: and then, death, death
Clo. Alacke poore soule, thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather then haue these off
Aut. Oh sir, the loathsomnesse of them offend mee, more then the stripes I haue receiued, which are mightie ones and millions
Clo. Alas poore man, a million of beating may come to a great matter
Aut. I am rob’d sir, and beaten: my money, and apparrell tane from me, and these detestable things put vpon me
Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? Aut. A footman (sweet sir) a footman
Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee: If this bee a horsemans Coate, it hath seene very hot seruice. Lend me thy hand, Ile helpe thee. Come, lend me thy hand
Aut. Oh good sir, tenderly, oh
Clo. Alas poore soule
Aut. Oh good sir, softly, good sir: I feare (sir) my shoulder-blade is out
Clo. How now? Canst stand?
Aut. Softly, deere sir: good sir, softly: you ha done me a charitable office
Clo. Doest lacke any mony? I haue a little mony for thee
Aut. No, good sweet sir: no, I beseech you sir: I haue a Kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, vnto whome I was going: I shall there haue money, or anie thing I want: Offer me no money I pray you, that killes my heart
Clow. What manner of Fellow was hee that robb’d you?
Aut. A fellow (sir) that I haue knowne to goe about with Troll-my-dames: I knew him once a seruant of the Prince: I cannot tell good sir, for which of his Vertues it was, but hee was certainely Whipt out of the Court
Clo. His vices you would say: there’s no vertue whipt out of the Court: they cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide
Aut. Vices I would say (Sir.) I know this man well, he hath bene since an Ape-bearer, then a Processe-seruer (a Bayliffe) then hee compast a Motion of the Prodigall sonne, and married a Tinkers wife, within a Mile where my Land and Liuing lyes; and (hauing flowne ouer many knauish professions) he setled onely in Rogue: some call him Autolicus
Clo. Out vpon him: Prig, for my life Prig: he haunts Wakes, Faires, and Beare-baitings
Aut. Very true sir: he sir hee: that’s the Rogue that put me into this apparrell
Clo. Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; If you had but look’d bigge, and spit at him, hee’ld haue runne
Aut. I must confesse to you (sir) I am no fighter: I am false of heart that way, & that he knew I warrant him
Clo. How do you now?
Aut. Sweet sir, much better then I was: I can stand, and walke: I will euen take my leaue of you, & pace softly towards my Kinsmans
Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? Aut. No, good fac’d sir, no sweet sir
Clo. Then fartheewell, I must go buy Spices for our sheepe-shearing.
Enter.
Aut. Prosper you sweet sir. Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your Spice: Ile be with you at your sheepe-shearing too: If I make not this Cheat bring out another, and the sheerers proue sheepe, let me be vnrold, and my name put in the booke of Vertue.
Song. Iog-on, Iog-on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the Stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tyres in a Mile-a.
Enter.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Florizell, Perdita, Shepherd, Clowne, Polixenes, Camillo, Mopsa,
Dorcas, Seruants, Autolicus.
Flo. These your vnvsuall weeds, to each part of you Do’s giue a life: no Shepherdesse, but Flora Peering in Aprils front. This your sheepe-shearing, Is as a meeting of the petty Gods,
And you the Queene on’t
Perd. Sir: my gracious Lord,
To chide at your extreames, it not becomes me: (Oh pardon, that I name them:) your high selfe The gracious marke o’th’ Land, you haue obscur’d With a Swaines wearing: and me (poore lowly Maide) Most Goddesse-like prank’d vp: But that our Feasts In euery Messe, haue folly; and the Feeders Digest with a Custome, I should blush
To see you so attyr’d: sworne I thinke, To shew my selfe a glasse
Flo. I blesse the time
When my good Falcon, made her flight a-crosse Thy Fathers ground
Perd. Now Ioue affoord you cause:
To me the difference forges dread (your Greatnesse Hath not beene vs’d to feare:) euen now I tremble To thinke your Father, by some accident
Should passe this way, as you did: Oh the Fates, How would he looke, to see his worke, so noble, Vildely bound vp? What would he say? Or how Should I (in these my borrowed Flaunts) behold The sternnesse of his presence?
Flo. Apprehend
Nothing but iollity: the Goddes themselues (Humbling their Deities to loue) haue taken The shapes of Beasts vpon them. Iupiter, Became a Bull, and bellow’d: the greene Neptune A Ram, and bleated: and the Fire-roab’d-God Golden Apollo, a poore humble Swaine,
As I seeme now. Their transformations, Were neuer for a peece of beauty, rarer, Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires Run not before mine honor: nor my Lusts
Burne hotter then my Faith
Perd. O but Sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when ’tis Oppos’d (as it must be) by th’ powre of the King: One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speake, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life
Flo. Thou deer’st Perdita,
With these forc’d thoughts, I prethee darken not The Mirth o’th’ Feast: Or Ile be thine (my Faire) Or not my Fathers. For I cannot be
Mine owne, nor any thing to any, if 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 comming: Lift vp your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptiall, which
We two haue sworne shall come
Perd. O Lady Fortune,
Stand you auspicious
Flo. See, your Guests approach,
Addresse your selfe to entertaine them sprightly, And let’s be red with mirth
Shep. Fy (daughter) when my old wife liu’d: vpon This day, she was both Pantler, Butler, Cooke, Both Dame and Seruant: Welcom’d all: seru’d all, Would sing her song, and dance her turne: now heere At vpper end o’th Table; now, i’th middle: On his shoulder, and his: her face o’ fire With labour, and the thing she tooke to quench it She would to each one sip. You are retyred, As if you were a feasted one: and not
The Hostesse of the meeting: Pray you bid These vnknowne friends to’s welcome, for it is A way to make vs better Friends, more knowne. Come, quench your blushes, and present your selfe That which you are, Mistris o’th’ Feast. Come on, And bid vs welcome to your sheepe-shearing, As your good flocke shall prosper
Perd. Sir, welcome:
It is my Fathers will, I should take on mee The Hostesseship o’th’ day: you’re welcome sir. Giue me those Flowres there (Dorcas.) Reuerend Sirs, For you, there’s Rosemary, and Rue, these keepe Seeming, and sauour all the Winter long: Grace, and Remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our Shearing
Pol. Shepherdesse,
(A faire one are you:) well you fit our ages With flowres of Winter
Perd. Sir, the yeare growing ancient, Not yet on summers death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fayrest flowres o’th season Are our Carnations, and streak’d Gilly-vors, (Which some call Natures bastards) of that kind Our rusticke Gardens barren, and I care not To get slips of them
Pol. Wherefore (gentle Maiden)
Do you neglect them
Perd. For I haue heard it said,
There is an Art, which in their pidenesse shares With great creating-Nature
Pol. Say there be:
Yet Nature is made better by no meane, But Nature makes that Meane: so ouer that Art, (Which you say addes to Nature) is an Art That Nature makes: you see (sweet Maid) we marry A gentler Sien, to the wildest Stocke,
And make conceyue a barke of baser kinde By bud of Nobler race. This is an Art
Which do’s mend Nature: change it rather, but The Art it selfe, is Nature
Perd. So it is
Pol. Then make you Garden rich in Gilly’ vors, And do not call them bastards
Perd. Ile not put
The Dible in earth, to set one slip of them: No more then were I painted, I would wish This youth should say ‘twer well: and onely therefore Desire to breed by me. Here’s flowres for you: Hot Lauender, Mints, Sauory, Mariorum,
The Mary-gold, that goes to bed with’ Sun, And with him rises, weeping: These are flowres Of middle summer, and I thinke they are giuen To men of middle age. Y’are very welcome
Cam. I should leaue grasing, were I of your flocke, And onely liue by gazing
Perd. Out alas:
You’ld be so leane, that blasts of Ianuary Would blow you through and through. Now (my fairst Friend, I would I had some Flowres o’th Spring, that might Become your time of day: and yours, and yours, That weare vpon your Virgin-branches yet Your Maiden-heads growing: O Proserpina, For the Flowres now, that (frighted) thou let’st fall From Dysses Waggon: Daffadils,
That come before the Swallow dares, and take The windes of March with beauty: Violets (dim, But sweeter then the lids of Iuno’s eyes, Or Cytherea’s breath) pale Prime-roses,
That dye vnmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength (a Maladie Most incident to Maids:) bold Oxlips, and The Crowne Imperiall: Lillies of all kinds, (The Flowre-de-Luce being one.) O, these I lacke, To make you Garlands of) and my sweet friend, To strew him o’re, and ore
Flo. What? like a Coarse?
Perd. No, like a banke, for Loue to lye, and play on: Not like a Coarse: or if: not to be buried, But quicke, and in mine armes. Come, take your flours, Me thinkes I play as I haue seene them do In Whitson-Pastorals: Sure this Robe of mine Do’s change my disposition:
Flo. What you do,
Still betters what is done. When you speake (Sweet) I’ld haue you do it euer: When you sing, I’ld haue you buy, and sell so: so giue Almes, Pray so: and for the ord’ring your Affayres, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A waue o’th Sea, that you might euer do
Nothing but that: moue still, still so: And owne no other Function. Each your doing, (So singular, in each particular)
Crownes what you are doing, in the present deeds, That all your Actes, are Queenes
Perd. O Doricles,
Your praises are too large: but that your youth And the true blood which peepes fairely through’t, Do plainly giue you out an vnstain’d Shepherd With wisedome, I might feare (my Doricles) You woo’d me the false way
Flo. I thinke you haue
As little skill to feare, as I haue purpose To put you to’t. But come, our dance I pray, Your hand (my Perdita:) so Turtles paire That neuer meane to part
Perd. Ile sweare for ’em
Pol. This is the prettiest Low-borne Lasse, that euer Ran on the greene-sord: Nothing she do’s, or seemes But smackes of something greater then her selfe, Too Noble for this place
Cam. He tels her something
That makes her blood looke on’t: Good sooth she is The Queene of Curds and Creame
Clo. Come on: strike vp
Dorcas. Mopsa must be your Mistris: marry Garlick to mend her kissing with
Mop. Now in good time
Clo. Not a word, a word, we stand vpon our manners, Come, strike vp.
Heere a Daunce of Shepheards and Shephearddesses.
Pol. Pray good Shepheard, what faire Swaine is this, Which dances with your daughter?
Shep. They call him Doricles, and boasts himselfe To haue a worthy Feeding; but I haue it
Vpon his owne report, and I beleeue it: He lookes like sooth: he sayes he loues my daughter, I thinke so too; for neuer gaz’d the Moone Vpon the water, as hee’l stand and reade As ’twere my daughters eyes: and to be plaine, I thinke there is not halfe a kisse to choose Who loues another best
Pol. She dances featly
Shep. So she do’s any thing, though I report it That should be silent: If yong Doricles
Do light vpon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreames of.
Enter Seruant.
Ser. O Master: if you did but heare the Pedler at the doore, you would neuer dance againe after a Tabor and Pipe: no, the Bag-pipe could not moue you: hee singes seuerall Tunes, faster then you’l tell money: hee vtters them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens eares grew to his Tunes
Clo. He could neuer come better: hee shall come in: I loue a ballad but euen too well, if it be dolefull matter merrily set downe: or a very pleasant thing indeede, and sung lamentably
Ser. He hath songs for man, or woman, of all sizes: No Milliner can so fit his customers with Gloues: he has the prettiest Loue-songs for Maids, so without bawdrie (which is strange,) with such delicate burthens of Dildo’s and Fadings: Iump-her, and thump-her; and where some stretch-mouth’d Rascall, would (as it were) meane mischeefe, and breake a fowle gap into the Matter, hee makes the maid to answere, Whoop, doe me no harme good man: put’s him off, slights him, with Whoop, doe mee no harme good man
Pol. This is a braue fellow
Clo. Beleeue mee, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow, has he any vnbraided Wares?
Ser. Hee hath Ribbons of all the colours i’th Rainebow; Points, more then all the Lawyers in Bohemia, can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th’ grosse: Inckles, Caddysses, Cambrickes, Lawnes: why he sings em ouer, as they were Gods, or Goddesses: you would thinke a Smocke were a shee-Angell, he so chauntes to the sleeue-hand, and the worke about the square on’t
Clo. Pre’thee bring him in, and let him approach singing
Perd. Forewarne him, that he vse no scurrilous words in’s tunes
Clow. You haue of these Pedlers, that haue more in them, then youl’d thinke (Sister.)
Perd. I, good brother, or go about to thinke. Enter Autolicus singing.
Lawne as white as driuen Snow,
Cypresse blacke as ere was Crow,
Gloues as sweete as Damaske Roses,
Maskes for faces, and for noses:
Bugle-bracelet, Necke-lace Amber,
Perfume for a Ladies Chamber:
Golden Quoifes, and Stomachers
For my Lads, to giue their deers:
Pins, and poaking-stickes of steele. What Maids lacke from head to heele:
Come buy of me, come: come buy, come buy, Buy Lads, or else your Lasses cry: Come buy
Clo. If I were not in loue with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me, but being enthrall’d as I am, it will also be the bondage of certaine Ribbons and Gloues
Mop. I was promis’d them against the Feast, but they come not too late now
Dor. He hath promis’d you more then that, or there be lyars
Mop. He hath paid you all he promis’d you: ‘May be he has paid you more, which will shame you to giue him againe
Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they weare their plackets, where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time? When you are going to bed? Or kill-hole? To whistle of these secrets, but you must be tittle-tatling before all our guests? ‘Tis well they are whispring: clamor your tongues, and not a word more
Mop. I haue done; Come you promis’d me a tawdrylace, and a paire of sweet Gloues
Clo. Haue I not told thee how I was cozen’d by the way, and lost all my money
Aut. And indeed Sir, there are Cozeners abroad, therfore it behooues men to be wary
Clo. Feare not thou man, thou shalt lose nothing here Aut. I hope so sir, for I haue about me many parcels of charge
Clo. What hast heere? Ballads?
Mop. Pray now buy some: I loue a ballet in print, a life, for then we are sure they are true
Aut. Here’s one, to a very dolefull tune, how a Vsurers wife was brought to bed of twenty money baggs at a burthen, and how she long’d to eate Adders heads, and Toads carbonado’d
Mop. Is it true, thinke you?
Aut. Very true, and but a moneth old
Dor. Blesse me from marrying a Vsurer
Aut. Here’s the Midwiues name to’t: one Mist[ris]. Tale-Porter, and fiue or six honest Wiues, that were present. Why should I carry lyes abroad?
Mop. ‘Pray you now buy it
Clo. Come-on, lay it by: and let’s first see moe Ballads: Wee’l buy the other things anon
Aut. Here’s another ballad of a Fish, that appeared vpon the coast, on wensday the fourescore of April, fortie thousand fadom aboue water, & sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a Woman, and was turn’d into a cold fish, for she wold not exchange flesh with one that lou’d her: The Ballad is very pittifull, and as true
Dor. Is it true too, thinke you
Autol. Fiue Iustices hands at it, and witnesses more then my packe will hold
Clo. Lay it by too; another
Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one
Mop. Let’s haue some merry ones
Aut. Why this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of two maids wooing a man: there’s scarse a Maide westward but she sings it: ’tis in request, I can tell you
Mop. We can both sing it: if thou’lt beare a part, thou shalt heare, ’tis in three parts
Dor. We had the tune on’t, a month agoe
Aut. I can beare my part, you must know ’tis my occupation: Haue at it with you:
Song
Get you hence, for I must goe
Aut. Where it fits not you to know
Dor. Whether?
Mop. O whether?
Dor. Whether?
Mop. It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell
Dor: Me too: Let me go thether:
Mop: Or thou goest to th’ Grange, or Mill, Dor: If to either thou dost ill,
Aut: Neither
Dor: What neither?
Aut: Neither:
Dor: Thou hast sworne my Loue to be, Mop: Thou hast sworne it more to mee.
Then whether goest? Say whether?
Clo. Wee’l haue this song out anon by our selues: My Father, and the Gent. are in sad talke, & wee’ll not trouble them: Come bring away thy pack after me, Wenches Ile buy for you both: Pedler let’s haue the first choice; folow me girles
Aut. And you shall pay well for ’em.
Song.
Will you buy any Tape, or Lace for your Cape? My dainty Ducke, my deere-a?
Any Silke, any Thred, any Toyes for your head Of the news’t, and fins’t, fins’t weare-a. Come to the Pedler, Money’s a medler,
That doth vtter all mens ware-a.
Exit
Seruant. Mayster, there is three Carters, three Shepherds, three Neat-herds, three Swine-herds y haue made themselues all men of haire, they cal themselues Saltiers, and they haue a Dance, which the Wenches say is a gally-maufrey of Gambols, because they are not in’t: but they themselues are o’th’ minde (if it bee not too rough for some, that know little but bowling) it will please plentifully
Shep. Away: Wee’l none on’t; heere has beene too much homely foolery already. I know (Sir) wee wearie you
Pol. You wearie those that refresh vs: pray let’s see these foure-threes of Heardsmen
Ser. One three of them, by their owne report (Sir,) hath danc’d before the King: and not the worst of the three, but iumpes twelue foote and a halfe by th’ squire
Shep. Leaue your prating, since these good men are pleas’d, let them come in: but quickly now
Ser. Why, they stay at doore Sir.
Heere a Dance of twelue Satyres.
Pol. O Father, you’l know more of that heereafter: Is it not too farre gone? ‘Tis time to part them, He’s simple, and tels much. How now (faire shepheard) Your heart is full of something, that do’s take Your minde from feasting. Sooth, when I was yong, And handed loue, as you do; I was wont
To load my Shee with knackes: I would haue ransackt The Pedlers silken Treasury, and haue powr’d it To her acceptance: you haue let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your Lasse Interpretation should abuse, and call this Your lacke of loue, or bounty, you were straited For a reply at least, if you make a care Of happie holding her
Flo. Old Sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are: The gifts she lookes from me, are packt and lockt Vp in my heart, which I haue giuen already, But not deliuer’d. O heare me breath my life Before this ancient Sir, whom (it should seeme) Hath sometime lou’d: I take thy hand, this hand, As soft as Doues-downe, and as white as it, Or Ethyopians tooth, or the fan’d snow, that’s bolted By th’ Northerne blasts, twice ore
Pol. What followes this?
How prettily th’ yong Swaine seemes to wash The hand, was faire before? I haue put you out, But to your protestation: Let me heare
What you professe
Flo. Do, and be witnesse too’t
Pol. And this my neighbour too?
Flo. And he, and more
Then he, and men: the earth, the heauens, and all; That were I crown’d the most Imperiall Monarch Thereof most worthy: were I the fayrest youth That euer made eye swerue, had force and knowledge More then was euer mans, I would not prize them Without her Loue; for her, employ them all, Commend them, and condemne them to her seruice, Or to their owne perdition
Pol. Fairely offer’d
Cam. This shewes a sound affection
Shep. But my daughter,
Say you the like to him
Per. I cannot speake
So well, (nothing so well) no, nor meane better By th’ patterne of mine owne thoughts, I cut out The puritie of his
Shep. Take hands, a bargaine;
And friends vnknowne, you shall beare witnesse to’t: I giue my daughter to him, and will make Her Portion, equall his
Flo. O, that must bee
I’th Vertue of your daughter: One being dead, I shall haue more then you can dreame of yet, Enough then for your wonder: but come-on, Contract vs fore these Witnesses
Shep. Come, your hand:
And daughter, yours
Pol. Soft Swaine a-while, beseech you, Haue you a Father?
Flo. I haue: but what of him?
Pol. Knowes he of this?
Flo. He neither do’s, nor shall
Pol. Me-thinkes a Father,
Is at the Nuptiall of his sonne, a guest That best becomes the Table: Pray you once more Is not your Father growne incapeable
Of reasonable affayres? Is he not stupid With Age, and altring Rheumes? Can he speake? heare? Know man, from man? Dispute his owne estate? Lies he not bed-rid? And againe, do’s nothing But what he did, being childish?
Flo. No good Sir:
He has his health, and ampler strength indeede Then most haue of his age
Pol. By my white beard,
You offer him (if this be so) a wrong Something vnfilliall: Reason my sonne
Should choose himselfe a wife, but as good reason The Father (all whose ioy is nothing else But faire posterity) should hold some counsaile In such a businesse
Flo. I yeeld all this;
But for some other reasons (my graue Sir) Which ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My Father of this businesse
Pol. Let him know’t
Flo. He shall not
Pol. Prethee let him
Flo. No, he must not
Shep. Let him (my sonne) he shall not need to greeue At knowing of thy choice
Flo. Come, come, he must not:
Marke our Contract
Pol. Marke your diuorce (yong sir)
Whom sonne I dare not call: Thou art too base To be acknowledge. Thou a Scepters heire, That thus affects a sheepe-hooke? Thou, old Traitor, I am sorry, that by hanging thee, I can
But shorten thy life one weeke. And thou, fresh peece Of excellent Witchcraft, whom of force must know The royall Foole thou coap’st with
Shep. Oh my heart
Pol. Ile haue thy beauty scratcht with briers & made More homely then thy state. For thee (fond boy) If I may euer know thou dost but sigh,
That thou no more shalt neuer see this knacke (as neuer I meane thou shalt) wee’l barre thee from succession, Not hold thee of our blood, no not our Kin, Farre then Deucalion off: (marke thou my words) Follow vs to the Court. Thou Churle, for this time (Though full of our displeasure) yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you Enchantment, Worthy enough a Heardsman: yea him too,
That makes himselfe (but for our Honor therein) Vnworthy thee. If euer henceforth, thou
These rurall Latches, to his entrance open, Or hope his body more, with thy embraces, I will deuise a death, as cruell for thee As thou art tender to’t.
Enter.
Perd. Euen heere vndone:
I was not much a-fear’d: for once, or twice I was about to speake, and tell him plainely, The selfe-same Sun, that shines vpon his Court, Hides not his visage from our Cottage, but Lookes on alike. Wilt please you (Sir) be gone? I told you what would come of this: Beseech you Of your owne state take care: This dreame of mine Being now awake, Ile Queene it no inch farther, But milke my Ewes, and weepe
Cam. Why how now Father,
Speake ere thou dyest
Shep. I cannot speake, nor thinke,
Nor dare to know, that which I know: O Sir, You haue vndone a man of fourescore three, That thought to fill his graue in quiet: yea, To dye vpon the bed my father dy’de,
To lye close by his honest bones; but now Some Hangman must put on my shrowd, and lay me Where no Priest shouels-in dust. Oh cursed wretch, That knew’st this was the Prince, and wouldst aduenture To mingle faith with him. Vndone, vndone: If I might dye within this houre, I haue liu’d To die when I desire.
Enter.
Flo. Why looke you so vpon me?
I am but sorry, not affear’d: delaid, But nothing altred: What I was, I am:
More straining on, for plucking backe; not following My leash vnwillingly
Cam. Gracious my Lord,
You know my Fathers temper: at this time He will allow no speech: (which I do ghesse You do not purpose to him:) and as hardly Will he endure your sight, as yet I feare; Then till the fury of his Highnesse settle Come not before him
Flo. I not purpose it:
I thinke Camillo
Cam. Euen he, my Lord
Per. How often haue I told you ‘twould be thus? How often said my dignity would last
But till ‘twer knowne?
Flo. It cannot faile, but by
The violation of my faith, and then Let Nature crush the sides o’th earth together, And marre the seeds within. Lift vp thy lookes: From my succession wipe me (Father) I
Am heyre to my affection
Cam. Be aduis’d
Flo. I am: and by my fancie, if my Reason Will thereto be obedient: I haue reason: If not, my sences better pleas’d with madnesse, Do bid it welcome
Cam. This is desperate (sir.)
Flo. So call it: but it do’s fulfill my vow: I needs must thinke it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pompe that may
Be thereat gleaned: for all the Sun sees, or The close earth wombes, or the profound seas, hides In vnknowne fadomes, will I breake my oath To this my faire belou’d: Therefore, I pray you, As you haue euer bin my Fathers honour’d friend, When he shall misse me, as (in faith I meane not To see him any more) cast your good counsailes Vpon his passion: Let my selfe, and Fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And so deliuer, I am put to Sea
With her, who heere I cannot hold on shore: And most opportune to her neede, I haue
A Vessell rides fast by, but not prepar’d For this designe. What course I meane to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concerne me the reporting
Cam. O my Lord,
I would your spirit were easier for aduice, Or stronger for your neede
Flo. Hearke Perdita,
Ile heare you by and by
Cam. Hee’s irremoueable,
Resolu’d for flight: Now were I happy if His going, I could frame to serue my turne, Saue him from danger, do him loue and honor, Purchase the sight againe of deere Sicillia, And that vnhappy King, my Master, whom
I so much thirst to see
Flo. Now good Camillo,
I am so fraught with curious businesse, that I leaue out ceremony
Cam. Sir, I thinke
You haue heard of my poore seruices, i’th loue That I haue borne your Father?
Flo. Very nobly
Haue you deseru’d: It is my Fathers Musicke To speake your deeds: not little of his care To haue them recompenc’d, as thought on
Cam. Well (my Lord)
If you may please to thinke I loue the King, And through him, what’s neerest to him, which is Your gracious selfe; embrace but my direction, If your more ponderous and setled proiect May suffer alteration. On mine honor,
Ile point you where you shall haue such receiuing As shall become your Highnesse, where you may Enioy your Mistris; from the whom, I see There’s no disiunction to be made, but by (As heauens forefend) your ruine: Marry her, And with my best endeuours, in your absence, Your discontenting Father, striue to qualifie And bring him vp to liking
Flo. How Camillo
May this (almost a miracle) be done? That I may call thee something more then man, And after that trust to thee
Cam. Haue you thought on
A place whereto you’l go?
Flo. Not any yet:
But as th’ vnthought-on accident is guiltie To what we wildely do, so we professe
Our selues to be the slaues of chance, and flyes Of euery winde that blowes
Cam. Then list to me:
This followes, if you will not change your purpose But vndergo this flight: make for Sicillia, And there present your selfe, and your fayre Princesse, (For so I see she must be) ‘fore Leontes; She shall be habited, as it becomes
The partner of your Bed. Me thinkes I see Leontes opening his free Armes, and weeping His Welcomes forth: asks thee there Sonne forgiuenesse, As ’twere i’th’ Fathers person: kisses the hands Of your fresh Princesse; ore and ore diuides him, ‘Twixt his vnkindnesse, and his Kindnesse: th’ one He chides to Hell, and bids the other grow Faster then Thought, or Time
Flo. Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my Visitation, shall I Hold vp before him?
Cam. Sent by the King your Father
To greet him, and to giue him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you (as from your Father) shall deliuer, Things knowne betwixt vs three, Ile write you downe, The which shall point you forth at euery sitting What you must say: that he shall not perceiue, But that you haue your Fathers Bosome there, And speake his very Heart
Flo. I am bound to you:
There is some sappe in this
Cam. A Course more promising,
Then a wild dedication of your selues To vnpath’d Waters, vndream’d Shores; most certaine, To Miseries enough: no hope to helpe you, But as you shake off one, to take another: Nothing so certaine, as your Anchors, who Doe their best office, if they can but stay you, Where you’le be loth to be: besides you know, Prosperitie’s the very bond of Loue,
Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together, Affliction alters
Perd. One of these is true:
I thinke Affliction may subdue the Cheeke, But not take-in the Mind
Cam. Yea? say you so?
There shall not, at your Fathers House, these seuen yeeres Be borne another such
Flo. My good Camillo,
She’s as forward, of her Breeding, as She is i’th’ reare’ our Birth
Cam. I cannot say, ’tis pitty
She lacks Instructions, for she seemes a Mistresse To most that teach
Perd. Your pardon Sir, for this,
Ile blush you Thanks
Flo. My prettiest Perdita.
But O, the Thornes we stand vpon: (Camillo) Preseruer of my Father, now of me,
The Medicine of our House: how shall we doe? We are not furnish’d like Bohemia’s Sonne, Nor shall appeare in Sicilia
Cam. My Lord,
Feare none of this: I thinke you know my fortunes Doe all lye there: it shall be so my care, To haue you royally appointed, as if
The Scene you play, were mine. For instance Sir, That you may know you shall not want: one word. Enter Autolicus.
Aut. Ha, ha, what a Foole Honestie is? and Trust (his sworne brother) a very simple Gentleman. I haue sold all my Tromperie: not a counterfeit Stone, not a Ribbon, Glasse, Pomander, Browch, Table-booke, Ballad, Knife, Tape, Gloue, Shooe-tye, Bracelet, Horne-Ring, to keepe my Pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first, as if my Trinkets had beene hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer: by which meanes, I saw whose Purse was best in Picture; and what I saw, to my good vse, I remembred. My Clowne (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in loue with the Wenches Song, that hee would not stirre his Petty-toes, till he had both Tune and Words, which so drew the rest of the Heard to me, that all their other Sences stucke in Eares: you might haue pinch’d a Placket, it was sencelesse; ’twas nothing to gueld a Cod-peece of a Purse: I would haue fill’d Keyes of that hung in Chaynes: no hearing, no feeling, but my Sirs Song, and admiring the Nothing of it. So that in this time of Lethargie, I pickd and cut most of their Festiuall Purses: And had not the old-man come in with a Whoo-bub against his Daughter, and the Kings Sonne, and scar’d my Chowghes from the Chaffe, I had not left a Purse aliue in the whole Army
Cam. Nay, but my Letters by this meanes being there So soone as you arriue, shall cleare that doubt
Flo. And those that you’le procure from King Leontes? Cam. Shall satisfie your Father
Perd. Happy be you:
All that you speake, shewes faire
Cam. Who haue we here?
Wee’le make an Instrument of this: omit Nothing may giue vs aide
Aut. If they haue ouer-heard me now: why hanging
Cam. How now (good Fellow)
Why shak’st thou so? Feare not (man) Here’s no harme intended to thee
Aut. I am a poore Fellow, Sir
Cam. Why, be so still: here’s no body will steale that from thee: yet for the out-side of thy pouertie, we must make an exchange; therefore dis-case thee instantly (thou must thinke there’s a necessitie in’t) and change Garments with this Gentleman: Though the penny-worth (on his side) be the worst, yet hold thee, there’s some boot
Aut. I am a poore Fellow, Sir: (I know ye well enough.)
Cam. Nay prethee dispatch: the Gentleman is halfe fled already
Aut. Are you in earnest, Sir? (I smell the trick on’t.) Flo. Dispatch, I prethee
Aut. Indeed I haue had Earnest, but I cannot with conscience take it
Cam. Vnbuckle, vnbuckle.
Fortunate Mistresse (let my prophecie Come home to ye:) you must retire your selfe Into some Couert; take your sweet-hearts Hat And pluck it ore your Browes, muffle your face,
Dis-mantle you, and (as you can) disliken The truth of your owne seeming, that you may (For I doe feare eyes ouer) to Ship-boord Get vndescry’d
Perd. I see the Play so lyes,
That I must beare a part
Cam. No remedie:
Haue you done there?
Flo. Should I now meet my Father,
He would not call me Sonne
Cam. Nay, you shall haue no Hat:
Come Lady, come: Farewell (my friend.) Aut. Adieu, Sir
Flo. O Perdita: what haue we twaine forgot? ‘Pray you a word
Cam. What I doe next, shall be to tell the King Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Wherein, my hope is, I shall so preuaile, To force him after: in whose company
I shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sight, I haue a Womans Longing
Flo. Fortune speed vs:
Thus we set on (Camillo) to th’ Sea-side
Cam. The swifter speed, the better. Enter.
Aut. I vnderstand the businesse, I heare it: to haue an open eare, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a Cut-purse; a good Nose is requisite also, to smell out worke for th’ other Sences. I see this is the time that the vniust man doth thriue. What an exchange had this been, without boot? What a boot is here, with this exchange? Sure the Gods doe this yeere conniue at vs, and we may doe any thing extempore. The Prince himselfe is about a peece of Iniquitie (stealing away from his Father, with his Clog at his heeles:) if I thought it were a peece of honestie to acquaint the King withall, I would not do’t: I hold it the more knauerie to conceale it; and therein am I constant to my Profession.
Enter Clowne and Shepheard.
Aside, aside, here is more matter for a hot braine: Euery Lanes end, euery Shop, Church, Session, Hanging, yeelds a carefull man worke
Clowne. See, see: what a man you are now? there is no other way, but to tell the King she’s a Changeling, and none of your flesh and blood
Shep. Nay, but heare me
Clow. Nay; but heare me
Shep. Goe too then
Clow. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood ha’s not offended the King, and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish’d by him. Shew those things you found about her (those secret things, all but what she ha’s with her:) This being done, let the Law goe whistle: I warrant you
Shep. I will tell the King all, euery word, yea, and his Sonnes prancks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his Father, nor to me, to goe about to make me the Kings Brother in Law
Clow. Indeed Brother in Law was the farthest off you could haue beene to him, and then your Blood had beene the dearer, by I know how much an ounce
Aut. Very wisely (Puppies.)
Shep. Well: let vs to the King: there is that in this Farthell, will make him scratch his Beard
Aut. I know not what impediment this Complaint may be to the flight of my Master
Clo. ‘Pray heartily he be at’ Pallace
Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance: Let me pocket vp my Pedlers excrement. How now (Rustiques) whither are you bound? Shep. To th’ Pallace (and it like your Worship.) Aut. Your Affaires there? what? with whom? the Condition of that Farthell? the place of your dwelling? your names? your ages? of what hauing? breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be knowne, discouer? Clo. We are but plaine fellowes, Sir
Aut. A Lye; you are rough, and hayrie: Let me haue no lying; it becomes none but Trades-men, and they often giue vs (Souldiers) the Lye, but wee pay them for it with stamped Coyne, not stabbing Steele, therefore they doe not giue vs the Lye
Clo. Your Worship had like to haue giuen vs one, if you had not taken your selfe with the manner
Shep. Are you a Courtier, and’t like you Sir? Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a Courtier. Seest thou not the ayre of the Court, in these enfoldings? Hath not my gate in it, the measure of the Court? Receiues not thy Nose Court-Odour from me? Reflect I not on thy Basenesse, Court-Contempt? Think’st thou, for that I insinuate, at toaze from thee thy Businesse, I am therefore no Courtier? I am Courtier Capape; and one that will eyther push-on, or pluck-back, thy Businesse there: whereupon I command thee to open thy Affaire
Shep. My Businesse, Sir, is to the King
Aut. What Aduocate ha’st thou to him? Shep. I know not (and’t like you.)
Clo. Aduocate’s the Court-word for a Pheazant: say you haue none
Shep. None, Sir: I haue no Pheazant Cock, nor Hen
Aut. How blessed are we, that are not simple men? Yet Nature might haue made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdaine
Clo. This cannot be but a great Courtier
Shep. His Garments are rich, but he weares them not handsomely
Clo. He seemes to be the more Noble, in being fantasticall: A great man, Ile warrant; I know by the picking on’s Teeth
Aut. The Farthell there? What’s i’th’ Farthell? Wherefore that Box?
Shep. Sir, there lyes such Secrets in this Farthell and Box, which none must know but the King, and which hee shall know within this houre, if I may come to th’ speech of him
Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour
Shep. Why Sir?
Aut. The King is not at the Pallace, he is gone aboord a new Ship, to purge Melancholy, and ayre himselfe: for if thou bee’st capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of griefe
Shep. So ’tis said (Sir:) about his Sonne, that should haue marryed a Shepheards Daughter
Aut. If that Shepheard be not in hand-fast, let him flye; the Curses he shall haue, the Tortures he shall feele, will breake the back of Man, the heart of Monster
Clo. Thinke you so, Sir?
Aut. Not hee alone shall suffer what Wit can make heauie, and Vengeance bitter; but those that are Iermaine to him (though remou’d fiftie times) shall all come vnder the Hang-man: which, though it be great pitty, yet it is necessarie. An old Sheepe-whistling Rogue, a Ram-tender, to offer to haue his Daughter come into grace? Some say hee shall be ston’d: but that death is too soft for him (say I:) Draw our Throne into a Sheep-Coat? all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easie
Clo. Ha’s the old-man ere a Sonne Sir (doe you heare) and’t like you, Sir?
Aut. Hee ha’s a Sonne: who shall be flayd aliue, then ‘noynted ouer with Honey, set on the head of a Waspes Nest, then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead: then recouer’d againe with Aquavite, or some other hot Infusion: then, raw as he is (and in the hotest day Prognostication proclaymes) shall he be set against a Brick-wall, (the Sunne looking with a South-ward eye vpon him; where hee is to behold him, with Flyes blown to death.) But what talke we of these Traitorly-Rascals, whose miseries are to be smil’d at, their offences being so capitall? Tell me (for you seeme to be honest plaine men) what you haue to the King: being something gently consider’d, Ile bring you where he is aboord, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfes; and if it be in man, besides the King, to effect your Suites, here is man shall doe it
Clow. He seemes to be of great authoritie: close with him, giue him Gold; and though Authoritie be a stubborne Beare, yet hee is oft led by the Nose with Gold: shew the in-side of your Purse to the out-side of his hand, and no more adoe. Remember ston’d, and flay’d aliue
Shep. And’t please you (Sir) to vndertake the Businesse for vs, here is that Gold I haue: Ile make it as much more, and leaue this young man in pawne, till I bring it you
Aut. After I haue done what I promised? Shep. I Sir
Aut. Well, giue me the Moitie: Are you a partie in this Businesse?
Clow. In some sort, Sir: but though my case be a pittifull one, I hope I shall not be flayd out of it
Aut. Oh, that’s the case of the Shepheards Sonne: hang him, hee’le be made an example
Clow. Comfort, good comfort: We must to the King, and shew our strange sights: he must know ’tis none of your Daughter, nor my Sister: wee are gone else. Sir, I will giue you as much as this old man do’s, when the Businesse is performed, and remaine (as he sayes) your pawne till it be brought you
Aut. I will trust you. Walke before toward the Seaside, goe on the right hand, I will but looke vpon the Hedge, and follow you
Clow. We are bless’d, in this man: as I may say, euen bless’d
Shep. Let’s before, as he bids vs: he was prouided to doe vs good
Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer mee: shee drops Booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion: (Gold, and a means to doe the Prince my Master good; which, who knowes how that may turne backe to my aduancement?) I will bring these two Moales, these blind-ones, aboord him: if he thinke it fit to shoare them againe, and that the Complaint they haue to the King, concernes him nothing, let him call me Rogue, for being so farre officious, for I am proofe against that Title, and what shame else belongs to’t: To him will I present them, there may be matter in it.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Leontes, Cleomines, Dion, Paulina, Seruants: Florizel, Perdita.
Cleo. Sir, you haue done enough, and haue perform’d A Saint-like Sorrow: No fault could you make, Which you haue not redeem’d; indeed pay’d downe More penitence, then done trespas: At the last Doe, as the Heauens haue done; forget your euill, With them, forgiue your selfe
Leo. Whilest I remember
Her, and her Vertues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still thinke of The wrong I did my selfe: which was so much, That Heire-lesse it hath made my Kingdome, and Destroy’d the sweet’st Companion, that ere man Bred his hopes out of, true
Paul. Too true (my Lord:)
If one by one, you wedded all the World, Or from the All that are, tooke something good, To make a perfect Woman; she you kill’d, Would be vnparallell’d
Leo. I thinke so. Kill’d?
She I kill’d? I did so: but thou strik’st me Sorely, to say I did: it is as bitter
Vpon thy Tongue, as in my Thought. Now, good now, Say so but seldome
Cleo. Not at all, good Lady:
You might haue spoken a thousand things, that would Haue done the time more benefit, and grac’d Your kindnesse better
Paul. You are one of those
Would haue him wed againe
Dio. If you would not so,
You pitty not the State, nor the Remembrance Of his most Soueraigne Name: Consider little, What Dangers, by his Highnesse faile of Issue, May drop vpon his Kingdome, and deuoure
Incertaine lookers on. What were more holy, Then to reioyce the former Queene is well? What holyer, then for Royalties repayre, For present comfort, and for future good, To blesse the Bed of Maiestie againe
With a sweet Fellow to’t?
Paul. There is none worthy,
(Respecting her that’s gone:) besides the Gods Will haue fulfill’d their secret purposes: For ha’s not the Diuine Apollo said?
Is’t not the tenor of his Oracle,
That King Leontes shall not haue an Heire, Till his lost Child be found? Which, that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our humane reason, As my Antigonus to breake his Graue,
And come againe to me: who, on my life, Did perish with the Infant. ‘Tis your councell, My Lord should to the Heauens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. Care not for Issue, The Crowne will find an Heire. Great Alexander Left his to th’ Worthiest: so his Successor Was like to be the best
Leo. Good Paulina,
Who hast the memorie of Hermione
I know in honor: O, that euer I
Had squar’d me to thy councell: then, euen now, I might haue look’d vpon my Queenes full eyes, Haue taken Treasure from her Lippes
Paul. And left them
More rich, for what they yeelded
Leo. Thou speak’st truth:
No more such Wiues, therefore no Wife: one worse, And better vs’d, would make her Sainted Spirit Againe possesse her Corps, and on this Stage (Where we Offendors now appeare) Soule-vext, And begin, why to me?
Paul. Had she such power,
She had iust such cause
Leo. She had, and would incense me
To murther her I marryed
Paul. I should so:
Were I the Ghost that walk’d, Il’d bid you marke Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in’t You chose her: then Il’d shrieke, that euen your eares Should rift to heare me, and the words that follow’d, Should be, Remember mine
Leo. Starres, Starres,
And all eyes else, dead coales: feare thou no Wife; Ile haue no Wife, Paulina
Paul. Will you sweare
Neuer to marry, but by my free leaue? Leo. Neuer (Paulina) so be bless’d my Spirit
Paul. Then good my Lords, beare witnesse to his Oath
Cleo. You tempt him ouer-much
Paul. Vnlesse another,
As like Hermione, as is her Picture, Affront his eye
Cleo. Good Madame, I haue done
Paul. Yet if my Lord will marry: if you will, Sir; No remedie but you will: Giue me the Office To chuse you a Queene: she shall not be so young As was your former, but she shall be such As (walk’d your first Queenes Ghost) it should take ioy To see her in your armes
Leo. My true Paulina,
We shall not marry, till thou bidst vs
Paul. That
Shall be when your first Queene’s againe in breath: Neuer till then.
Enter a Seruant.
Ser. One that giues out himselfe Prince Florizell, Sonne of Polixenes, with his Princesse (she The fairest I haue yet beheld) desires accesse To your high presence
Leo. What with him? he comes not
Like to his Fathers Greatnesse: his approach (So out of circumstance, and suddaine) tells vs, ‘Tis not a Visitation fram’d, but forc’d By need, and accident. What Trayne?
Ser. But few,
And those but meane
Leo. His Princesse (say you) with him? Ser. I: the most peerelesse peece of Earth, I thinke, That ere the Sunne shone bright on
Paul. Oh Hermione,
As euery present Time doth boast it selfe Aboue a better, gone; so must thy Graue
Giue way to what’s seene now. Sir, you your selfe Haue said, and writ so; but your writing now Is colder then that Theame: she had not beene, Nor was not to be equall’d, thus your Verse Flow’d with her Beautie once; ’tis shrewdly ebb’d, To say you haue seene a better
Ser. Pardon, Madame:
The one, I haue almost forgot (your pardon:) The other, when she ha’s obtayn’d your Eye, Will haue your Tongue too. This is a Creature, Would she begin a Sect, might quench the zeale Of all Professors else; make Proselytes
Of who she but bid follow
Paul. How? not women?
Ser. Women will loue her, that she is a Woman More worth then any Man: Men, that she is The rarest of all Women
Leo. Goe Cleomines,
Your selfe (assisted with your honor’d Friends) Bring them to our embracement. Still ’tis strange, He thus should steale vpon vs.
Enter
Paul. Had our Prince
(Iewell of Children) seene this houre, he had payr’d Well with this Lord; there was not full a moneth Betweene their births
Leo. ‘Prethee no more; cease: thou know’st He dyes to me againe, when talk’d-of: sure When I shall see this Gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that, which may Vnfurnish me of Reason. They are come.
Enter Florizell, Perdita, Cleomines, and others.
Your Mother was most true to Wedlock, Prince, For she did print your Royall Father off, Conceiuing you. Were I but twentie one,
Your Fathers Image is so hit in you, (His very ayre) that I should call you Brother, As I did him, and speake of something wildly By vs perform’d before. Most dearely welcome, And your faire Princesse (Goddesse) oh: alas, I lost a couple, that ‘twixt Heauen and Earth Might thus haue stood, begetting wonder, as You (gracious Couple) doe: and then I lost (All mine owne Folly) the Societie,
Amitie too of your braue Father, whom (Though bearing Miserie) I desire my life Once more to looke on him
Flo. By his command
Haue I here touch’d Sicilia, and from him Giue you all greetings, that a King (at friend) Can send his Brother: and but Infirmitie (Which waits vpon worne times) hath something seiz’d His wish’d Abilitie, he had himselfe
The Lands and Waters, ‘twixt your Throne and his, Measur’d, to looke vpon you; whom he loues (He bad me say so) more then all the Scepters, And those that beare them, liuing
Leo. Oh my Brother,
(Good Gentleman) the wrongs I haue done thee, stirre Afresh within me: and these thy offices
(So rarely kind) are as Interpreters Of my behind-hand slacknesse. Welcome hither, As is the Spring to th’ Earth. And hath he too Expos’d this Paragon to th’ fearefull vsage (At least vngentle) of the dreadfull Neptune, To greet a man, not worth her paines; much lesse, Th’ aduenture of her person?
Flo. Good my Lord,
She came from Libia
Leo. Where the Warlike Smalus,
That Noble honor’d Lord, is fear’d, and lou’d? Flo. Most Royall Sir,
From thence: from him, whose Daughter His Teares proclaym’d his parting with her: thence (A prosperous South-wind friendly) we haue cross’d, To execute the Charge my Father gaue me, For visiting your Highnesse: My best Traine I haue from your Sicilian Shores dismiss’d; Who for Bohemia bend, to signifie
Not onely my successe in Libia (Sir) But my arriuall, and my Wifes, in safetie Here, where we are
Leo. The blessed Gods
Purge all Infection from our Ayre, whilest you Doe Clymate here: you haue a holy Father, A graceful Gentleman, against whose person (So sacred as it is) I haue done sinne,
For which, the Heauens (taking angry note) Haue left me Issue-lesse: and your Father’s bless’d (As he from Heauen merits it) with you,
Worthy his goodnesse. What might I haue been, Might I a Sonne and Daughter now haue look’d on, Such goodly things as you?
Enter a Lord.
Lord. Most Noble Sir,
That which I shall report, will beare no credit, Were not the proofe so nigh. Please you (great Sir) Bohemia greets you from himselfe, by me: Desires you to attach his Sonne, who ha’s (His Dignitie, and Dutie both cast off)
Fled from his Father, from his Hopes, and with A Shepheards Daughter
Leo. Where’s Bohemia? speake:
Lord. Here, in your Citie: I now came from him. I speake amazedly, and it becomes
My meruaile, and my Message. To your Court Whiles he was hastning (in the Chase, it seemes, Of this faire Couple) meetes he on the way The Father of this seeming Lady, and
Her Brother, hauing both their Countrey quitted, With this young Prince
Flo. Camillo ha’s betray’d me;
Whose honor, and whose honestie till now, Endur’d all Weathers
Lord. Lay’t so to his charge:
He’s with the King your Father
Leo. Who? Camillo?
Lord. Camillo (Sir:) I spake with him: who now Ha’s these poore men in question. Neuer saw I Wretches so quake: they kneele, they kisse the Earth; Forsweare themselues as often as they speake: Bohemia stops his eares, and threatens them With diuers deaths, in death
Perd. Oh my poore Father:
The Heauen sets Spyes vpon vs, will not haue Our Contract celebrated
Leo. You are marryed?
Flo. We are not (Sir) nor are we like to be: The Starres (I see) will kisse the Valleyes first: The oddes for high and low’s alike
Leo. My Lord,
Is this the Daughter of a King?
Flo. She is,
When once she is my Wife
Leo. That once (I see) by your good Fathers speed, Will come-on very slowly. I am sorry
(Most sorry) you haue broken from his liking, Where you were ty’d in dutie: and as sorry, Your Choice is not so rich in Worth, as Beautie, That you might well enioy her
Flo. Deare, looke vp:
Though Fortune, visible an Enemie,
Should chase vs, with my Father; powre no iot Hath she to change our Loues. Beseech you (Sir) Remember, since you ow’d no more to Time Then I doe now: with thought of such Affections, Step forth mine Aduocate: at your request, My Father will graunt precious things, as Trifles
Leo. Would he doe so, I’ld beg your precious Mistris, Which he counts but a Trifle
Paul. Sir (my Liege)
Your eye hath too much youth in’t: not a moneth ‘Fore your Queene dy’d, she was more worth such gazes, Then what you looke on now
Leo. I thought of her,
Euen in these Lookes I made. But your Petition Is yet vn-answer’d: I will to your Father: Your Honor not o’re-throwne by your desires, I am friend to them, and you: Vpon which Errand I now goe toward him: therefore follow me, And marke what way I make: Come good my Lord.
Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda.
Enter Autolicus, and a Gentleman.
Aut. Beseech you (Sir) were you present at this Relation? Gent.1. I was by at the opening of the Farthell, heard the old Shepheard deliuer the manner how he found it: Whereupon (after a little amazednesse) we were all commanded out of the Chamber: onely this (me thought) I heard the Shepheard say, he found the Child
Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it
Gent.1. I make a broken deliuerie of the Businesse; but the changes I perceiued in the King, and Camillo, were very Notes of admiration: they seem’d almost, with staring on one another, to teare the Cases of their Eyes. There was speech in their dumbnesse, Language in their very gesture: they look’d as they had heard of a World ransom’d, or one destroyed: a notable passion of Wonder appeared in them: but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, if th’ importance were Ioy, or Sorrow; but in the extremitie of the one, it must needs be.
Enter another Gentleman.
Here comes a Gentleman, that happily knowes more: The Newes, Rogero
Gent.2. Nothing but Bon-fires: the Oracle is fulfill’d: the Kings Daughter is found: such a deale of wonder is broken out within this houre, that Ballad-makers cannot be able to expresse it.
Enter another Gentleman.
Here comes the Lady Paulina’s Steward, hee can deliuer you more. How goes it now (Sir.) This Newes (which is call’d true) is so like an old Tale, that the veritie of it is in strong suspition: Ha’s the King found his Heire? Gent.3. Most true, if euer Truth were pregnant by Circumstance: That which you heare, you’le sweare you see, there is such vnitie in the proofes. The Mantle of Queene Hermiones: her Iewell about the Neck of it: the Letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his Character: the Maiestie of the Creature, in resemblance of the Mother: the Affection of Noblenesse, which Nature shewes aboue her Breeding, and many other Euidences, proclayme her, with all certaintie, to be the Kings Daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two Kings?
Gent.2. No
Gent.3. Then haue you lost a Sight which was to bee seene, cannot bee spoken of. There might you haue beheld one Ioy crowne another, so and in such manner, that it seem’d Sorrow wept to take leaue of them: for their Ioy waded in teares. There was casting vp of Eyes, holding vp of Hands, with Countenance of such distraction, that they were to be knowne by Garment, not by Fauor. Our King being ready to leape out of himselfe, for ioy of his found Daughter; as if that Ioy were now become a Losse, cryes, Oh, thy Mother, thy Mother: then askes Bohemia forgiuenesse, then embraces his Sonne-in-Law: then againe worryes he his Daughter, with clipping her. Now he thanks the old Shepheard (which stands by, like a Weather-bitten Conduit, of many Kings Reignes.) I neuer heard of such another Encounter; which lames Report to follow it, and vndo’s description to doe it
Gent.2. What, ‘pray you, became of Antigonus, that carryed hence the Child?
Gent.3. Like an old Tale still, which will haue matter to rehearse, though Credit be asleepe, and not an eare open; he was torne to pieces with a Beare: This auouches the Shepheards Sonne; who ha’s not onely his Innocence (which seemes much) to iustifie him, but a Hand-kerchief and Rings of his, that Paulina knowes
Gent.1. What became of his Barke, and his Followers? Gent.3. Wrackt the same instant of their Masters death, and in the view of the Shepheard: so that all the Instruments which ayded to expose the Child, were euen then lost, when it was found. But oh the Noble Combat, that ‘twixt Ioy and Sorrow was fought in Paulina. Shee had one Eye declin’d for the losse of her Husband, another eleuated, that the Oracle was fulfill’d: Shee lifted the Princesse from the Earth, and so locks her in embracing, as if shee would pin her to her heart, that shee might no more be in danger of loosing
Gent.1. The Dignitie of this Act was worth the audience of Kings and Princes, for by such was it acted
Gent.3. One of the prettyest touches of all, and that which angl’d for mine Eyes (caught the Water, though not the Fish) was, when at the Relation of the Queenes death (with the manner how shee came to’t, brauely confess’d, and lamented by the King) how attentiuenesse wounded his Daughter, till (from one signe of dolour to another) shee did (with an Alas) I would faine say, bleed Teares; for I am sure, my heart wept blood. Who was most Marble, there changed colour: some swownded, all sorrowed: if all the World could haue seen’t, the Woe had beene vniuersall
Gent.1. Are they returned to the Court? Gent.3. No: The Princesse hearing of her Mothers Statue (which is in the keeping of Paulina) a Peece many yeeres in doing, and now newly perform’d, by that rare Italian Master, Iulio Romano, who (had he himselfe Eternitie, and could put Breath into his Worke) would beguile Nature of her Custome, so perfectly he is her Ape: He so neere to Hermione, hath done Hermione, that they say one would speake to her, and stand in hope of answer. Thither (with all greedinesse of affection) are they gone, and there they intend to Sup
Gent.2. I thought she had some great matter there in hand, for shee hath priuately, twice or thrice a day, euer since the death of Hermione, visited that remoued House. Shall wee thither, and with our companie peece the Reioycing? Gent.1. Who would be thence, that ha’s the benefit of Accesse? euery winke of an Eye, some new Grace will be borne: our Absence makes vs vnthriftie to our Knowledge. Let’s along.
Enter.
Aut. Now (had I not the dash of my former life in me) would Preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his Sonne aboord the Prince; told him, I heard them talke of a Farthell, and I know not what: but he at that time ouer-fond of the Shepheards Daughter (so he then tooke her to be) who began to be much Sea-sick, and himselfe little better, extremitie of Weather continuing, this Mysterie remained vndiscouer’d. But ’tis all one to me: for had I beene the finder-out of this Secret, it would not haue rellish’d among my other discredits. Enter Shepheard and Clowne.
Here come those I haue done good to against my will, and alreadie appearing in the blossomes of their Fortune
Shep. Come Boy, I am past moe Children: but thy Sonnes and Daughters will be all Gentlemen borne
Clow. You are well met (Sir:) you deny’d to fight with mee this other day, because I was no Gentleman borne. See you these Clothes? say you see them not, and thinke me still no Gentleman borne: You were best say these Robes are not Gentlemen borne. Giue me the Lye: doe: and try whether I am not now a Gentleman borne
Aut. I know you are now (Sir) a Gentleman borne
Clow. I, and haue been so any time these foure houres
Shep. And so haue I, Boy
Clow. So you haue: but I was a Gentleman borne before my Father: for the Kings Sonne tooke me by the hand, and call’d mee Brother: and then the two Kings call’d my Father Brother: and then the Prince (my Brother) and the Princesse (my Sister) call’d my Father, Father; and so wee wept: and there was the first Gentleman-like teares that euer we shed
Shep. We may liue (Sonne) to shed many more
Clow. I: or else ’twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are
Aut. I humbly beseech you (Sir) to pardon me all the faults I haue committed to your Worship, and to giue me your good report to the Prince my Master
Shep. ‘Prethee Sonne doe: for we must be gentle, now we are Gentlemen
Clow. Thou wilt amend thy life?
Aut. I, and it like your good Worship
Clow. Giue me thy hand: I will sweare to the Prince, thou art as honest a true Fellow as any is in Bohemia
Shep. You may say it, but not sweare it
Clow. Not sweare it, now I am a Gentleman? Let Boores and Francklins say it, Ile sweare it
Shep. How if it be false (Sonne?)
Clow. If it be ne’re so false, a true Gentleman may sweare it, in the behalfe of his Friend: And Ile sweare to the Prince, thou art a tall Fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunke: but I know thou art no tall Fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunke: but Ile sweare it, and I would thou would’st be a tall Fellow of thy hands
Aut. I will proue so (Sir) to my power
Clow. I, by any meanes proue a tall Fellow: if I do not wonder, how thou dar’st venture to be drunke, not being a tall Fellow, trust me not. Harke, the Kings and Princes (our Kindred) are going to see the Queenes Picture. Come, follow vs: wee’le be thy good Masters.
Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizell, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina: Hermione
(like a Statue:) Lords, &c.
Leo. O graue and good Paulina, the great comfort That I haue had of thee?
Paul. What (Soueraigne Sir)
I did not well, I meant well: all my Seruices You haue pay’d home. But that you haue vouchsaf’d (With your Crown’d Brother, and these your contracted Heires of your Kingdomes) my poore House to visit; It is a surplus of your Grace, which neuer My life may last to answere
Leo. O Paulina,
We honor you with trouble: but we came To see the Statue of our Queene. Your Gallerie Haue we pass’d through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my Daughter came to looke vpon, The Statue of her Mother
Paul. As she liu’d peerelesse,
So her dead likenesse I doe well beleeue Excells what euer yet you look’d vpon,
Or hand of Man hath done: therefore I keepe it Louely, apart. But here it is: prepare
To see the Life as liuely mock’d, as euer Still Sleepe mock’d Death: behold, and say ’tis well. I like your silence, it the more shewes-off Your wonder: but yet speake, first you (my Liege) Comes it not something neere?
Leo. Her naturall Posture.
Chide me (deare Stone) that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she, In thy not chiding: for she was as tender As Infancie, and Grace. But yet (Paulina) Hermione was not so much wrinckled, nothing So aged as this seemes
Pol. Oh, not by much
Paul. So much the more our Caruers excellence, Which lets goe-by some sixteene yeeres, and makes her As she liu’d now
Leo. As now she might haue done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my Soule. Oh, thus she stood, Euen with such Life of Maiestie (warme Life, As now it coldly stands) when first I woo’d her. I am asham’d: Do’s not the Stone rebuke me, For being more Stone then it? Oh Royall Peece: There’s Magick in thy Maiestie, which ha’s My Euils coniur’d to remembrance; and
From thy admiring Daughter tooke the Spirits, Standing like Stone with thee
Perd. And giue me leaue,
And doe not say ’tis Superstition, that I kneele, and then implore her Blessing. Lady, Deere Queene, that ended when I but began, Giue me that hand of yours, to kisse
Paul. O, patience:
The Statue is but newly fix’d; the Colour’s Not dry
Cam. My Lord, your Sorrow was too sore lay’d-on, Which sixteene Winters cannot blow away, So many Summers dry: scarce any Ioy
Did euer so long liue; no Sorrow,
But kill’d it selfe much sooner
Pol. Deere my Brother,
Let him, that was the cause of this, haue powre To take-off so much griefe from you, as he Will peece vp in himselfe
Paul. Indeed my Lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poore Image Would thus haue wrought you (for the Stone is mine) Il’d not haue shew’d it
Leo. Doe not draw the Curtaine
Paul. No longer shall you gaze on’t, least your Fancie May thinke anon, it moues
Leo. Let be, let be:
Would I were dead, but that me thinkes alreadie. (What was he that did make it?) See (my Lord) Would you not deeme it breath’d? and that those veines Did verily beare blood?
Pol. ‘Masterly done:
The very Life seemes warme vpon her Lippe
Leo. The fixure of her Eye ha’s motion in’t, As we are mock’d with Art
Paul. Ile draw the Curtaine:
My Lord’s almost so farre transported, that Hee’le thinke anon it liues
Leo. Oh sweet Paulina,
Make me to thinke so twentie yeeres together: No setled Sences of the World can match
The pleasure of that madnesse. Let’t alone
Paul. I am sorry (Sir) I haue thus farre stir’d you: but I could afflict you farther
Leo. Doe Paulina:
For this Affliction ha’s a taste as sweet As any Cordiall comfort. Still me thinkes There is an ayre comes from her. What fine Chizzell Could euer yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kisse her
Paul. Good my Lord, forbeare:
The ruddinesse vpon her Lippe, is wet: You’le marre it, if you kisse it; stayne your owne With Oyly Painting: shall I draw the Curtaine
Leo. No: not these twentie yeeres
Perd. So long could I
Stand-by, a looker-on
Paul. Either forbeare,
Quit presently the Chappell, or resolue you