and they have a dance, which the wenches fay is a gallymaufry of gambols, because they are not in't: but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough for fome, that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully.

SHEP. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, Sir, we weary you.

POL. You weary thofe, that refresh us. Pray, let's fee thefe four threes of herdsmen.

SER. One three of them, by their own report, Sir, hath danc'd before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the fquare.

SHEP. Leave your prating; fince these good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now.

Here a dance of twelve fatyrs.

POL. [afide.] O, father, you'll know more of that hereIs it not too far gone? 'tis time to part them. [after. He's fimple, and tells much- How now, fair fhepherd ? Your heart is full of fomething, that doth take

Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont

To load my fhe with knacks; I would have ranfack'd
The pedler's filken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your lafs
Interpretation should abuse, and call this

Your lack of love of bounty; you were straited
For a reply, at least, if you make care

Of happy holding her.

FLO. Old Sir, I know,

She prizes not fuch trifles as these are;

The gifts, the looks from me, art packt and lockt

Up in my heart, which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my love
Before this ancient Sir, who, it should seem,
Hath fometime lov'd. I take thy hand, this hand,
As foft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd fnow
That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er.
POL. What follows this?

How prettily the young swain seems to wash

The hand, was fair before! I've put you out
But, to your proteftation: let me hear

Than he, and men; the earth, and heav'ns, and all,
That were I crown'd the most imperial monarch
Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve, and force and knowledge
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
Without her love; for her imploy them all;

Commend them, and condemn them, to her service,
Or to their own perdition.

POL. Fairly offer'd.

CAM. This fhews a found affection.

SHEP. But my daughter,

Say you the like to him?

PER. I cannot fpeak

So well, nothing fo well, no, nor mean better.
By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

SHEP. Take hands, a bargain;

And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.

FLO. O, that must be

I' th' virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I fhall have more than you can dream of yet,
Enough then for your wonder. But come on,
Contract us 'fore thefe witnesses.

FLO. Come, your hand,

And, daughter, yours.

POL. Soft, fwain, a while; 'beseech you,

Have you a father?

FLO. I have; but what of him?

POL. Knows he of this?

FLO. He neither does nor fhall,

POL. Methinks, a father

Is, at the nuptial of his fon, a guest

That best becomes the table: 'pray you once more,

Is not your father grown incapable

Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid

With age, and alt'ring rheums? can he speak? hear? Know man from man? difpute his own estate?

Lies he not bed-rid? and, again, does nothing,

But what he did being childish?

FLO. No, good Sir;

He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,

Than most have of his age.

POL. By my white beard,

You offer him, if this be fo, a wrong

Something unfilial: Reafon, my fon

Should chufe himself a wife; but as good reason,

The father (all whose joy is nothing else

But fair pofterity) should hold fome counsel}
In fuch a business.

FLO. I yield all this;

But for fome other reafons, my grave Sir,

Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint

My father of this business.

POL. Let him know't.

FLo. He fhall not.

POL. Pr'ythee, let him.

FLO. No; he must not :

SHEP. Let him, my fon; he fhall not need to grieve

At knowing of thy choice.

FLO. Come, come, he must not.

Mark your contract.

POL. Mark your divorce, young fir, [Discovering himself.

Whom fon I dare not call: thou art too base

To be acknowledg'd. Thou a fcepter's heir,
That thus affect'ft a sheep-hook! Thou old traytor,
I'm forry, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week. And thou fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
The royal fool thou cop'ft with-

SHEP. O my heart!

POL. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made More homely than thy ftate. For thee, fond boy,

If I may ever know thou doft but figh

That thou no more fhalt fee this knack, as never
I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from fucceffion;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,

Far than Deucalion off.
Follow us to the court.

Mark thou my words:

Thou churl, for this time,

Tho' full of our displeasure, yet we free thee

From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdfman; yea him to,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee; if ever, henceforth, thou
Thefe rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devife a death as cruel for thee,

As thou art tender to it.

SCENE

PER. Even here, undone :

[Exit.

VIII.

I was not much afraid; for once or twice

I was about to speak, and tell him plainly,

The self-fame fun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his vifage from our cottage, but

Looks on alike. Wilt please you, fir, begone? [To Floriz.
I told you, what would come of this. 'Beseech you,
Of your own state take care:-this dream of mine,-
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,

But milk my ewes and weep.

ĆAM. Why, how now, father?

Speak, ere thou diest.

SHEP, I cannot speak, nor think,

Nor dare I know that which I know. O fir, [To Florizel.

You have undone a man of fourscore three,

That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea
To die upon the bed my father dy'd,

To lie close by his honest bones; but now

Some hangman must put on my fhrowd, and lay me
Where no priest shovels in duft, O curfed wretch! [To Perd.
That knew'ft this was the prince; and would'st adventure
To mingle faith with him. Undone, undone !