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fea-fide, brouzing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the child.] Mercy on's, a bearne! a very pretty bearne ! a boy, or a child, I wonder! a pretty one, a very pretty one; fure, fome 'scape: tho' I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting gentlewoman in the 'fcape. This has been some stair-work, fome trunkwork, fome behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity, yet I'll tarry till my fon come: he hollow'd but even now; Whoa, ho-hoa !

CLO. Hilloa, loa!

Enter Clown.

SHEP. What, art fo near? if thou'lt fee a thing to talk on when thou'rt dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'ft thou, man?

CLO. I have seen two fuch fights, by fea and by land; but I am not to fay, it is a fea; for it is now the fky; betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.

SHEP. Why, boy, how is it?

CLO. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the fhore; but that's not to the point; oh, the most piteous cry of the poor fouls, fometimes to see 'em, and not to fee 'em: now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon swallow'd with yeft and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogfhead. And then for the land fervice,

to fee how the bear tore out his thoulder-bone, how he cry'd to me for help, and faid his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to fee how the fea flap-dragon'd it. But first, how the poor fouls roar'd, and the fea mock'd them. And how the poor gentleman roar'd, and the bear mock'd him; both roaring louder than the fea or weather.

SHEP. Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

CLO. Now, now, I have not wink'd fince I saw these fights; the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on the gentleman; he's at it now.

SHEP. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man. CLO. I would you had been by the ship-fide, to have help'd her; there your charity would have lack'd footing.-[Afide. SHEP. Heavy matters, heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyfelf; thou meet'ft with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a fight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy, open't; fo, let's fee; it was told me, I fhould be rich by the fairies. This is fome changeling : open't; what's within, boy?

CLO. You're a made old man; if the fins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold ! all gold!

SHEP. This is fairy gold, boy, and will prove fo. Up with it, keep it clofe: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be fo ftill, requires nothing but fecrecy. Let my fheep go: come, good boy, the next way home.

CLO. Go you the next way with your findings, I'll go fee if the bear be gone from the gentleman; and how much he hath eaten they are never curft but when they are hungry; if there be any of him left, I'll bury it.

SHEP. That's a good deed. If thou may'st discern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th'sight of him. CLO. Marry, will I; and you fhall help to put him i' th' ground.

SHEP. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't. [Exeunt.

Enter Time, as chorus.

TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror

Of good and bad, that make and unfold error;
Now take upon me, in the name of time,
Toufe my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me, or my fwift paffage, that I flide
O'er fixteen years, and leave the growth untry'd
Of that wide gap; fince it is in my power
To o'erthrow law, and in one felf-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm cuftom. Let me pass
The fame I am, ere ancient'st order was,
Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to

The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The gliftering of this prefent, as my tale
Now feems to it: your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing,
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving
Th' effects of his fond jealoufies, fo grieving
That he shuts up himself; imagine me,
Gentle fpectators, that I now may be

In fair Bohemia; and remember well,

I mention here a fon o' th' king's, whom Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To fpeak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wond'ring. What of her enfues,

I lift not prophecy. But let Time's news

Be known, when 'tis brought forth. A fhepherd's daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after,

Is th' argument of time; of this allow,

If ever you have spent time worse ere now:
If never, yet that Time himself doth fay,

He wishes earnestly, you never may.

[Exit.

I

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The court of Bohemia.

Enter Polixenes and Camillo.

POLIXEN ES.

PRAY thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate; 'tis a ficknefs denying thee any thing, a death to grant this.

CAM. It is fifteen years fince I faw my country; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I defire to lay my bones there. Befides, the penitent king my mafter, hath fent for me; to whofe feeling forrows I might be fome allay, or I o'erween to think fo, which is another spur to my departure.

POL. As thou lov'ft me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy fervices by leaving me now; the need I have of thee, thine own goodne fs hath made: better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee. Thou having made my busineffes, which none, without thee, can fufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyfelf, or take away with thee the very fervices thou haft done; which if I have not enough consider'd, (as too much I cannot) to be more thankful to thee fhall be my study; and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, pr'ythee, speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king my brother, whofe lofs of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when faw'st thou the prince Florizel my fon? kings are no lefs unhappy, their iffue not being gracious, than they are in lofing them, when they have approved their virtues.

CAM. Sir, it is three days fince I faw the prince; what

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his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown; but I have miffingly noted, he is of late much retired from court, and is lefs frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appear'd.

POL. I have confider'd fo much, Camillo, and with some care fo far, that I have eyes under my fervice, which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is feldom from the house of a moft homely, shepherd; a man, they fay, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable

eftate.

CAM. I have heard, Sir, of fuch a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note; the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from fuch a cottage.

POL. That's likewife a part of my intelligence. But, I fear, the angle that plucks our fon thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we will, not appearing what we are, have fome queftion with the fhepherd; from whofe fimplicity, I think it not uneafy to get the cause of my fon's refort thither. Pr'ythee, be my prefent partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

CAM. I willingly obey your command.

POL. My best Camillo-we must disguise ourselves. [Exe.

SCENE VII. Changes to the country.

Enter Autolycus finging.

When daffodils begin to peere,

With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,

Why, then comes in the sweet o'th' year;

For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,

With, hey! the sweet birds, O how they fing!

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