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Per. Out, alas!

You'd be fo lean, that blafts of January

Would blow you through and through. Now, my 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! daffadils,

That come before the swallow 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 primrofes,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his ftrength; (a malady
Most incident to maids ;) bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lillies of all kinds,
The flower-de-lis being one. O, thefe I lack
To make you garlands of, and, my fweet friend,
To ftrow him o'er and o'er.

Flo. What? like a coarse?

Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on; Not like a coarse; 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

n whitfon pastorals: fure, this robe of mine Does change my difpofition.

Fla. What you do,

Still betters what is done. When you speak, (fweet)
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. Each your doing,
So fingular in each particular,

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

Per.

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 wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.

Flo. I think, you have

As little skill to 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 prettieft 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, (13)

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

Clo. Come on, strike up.

Dor. Mopfa must be your mistrefs; 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. Pray, good shepherd, what fair fwain is this, Who dances with your daughter?

(13)

He tells her Something,

That makes her Blood look on't.] Thus all the old Edftions corruptedly I dare fay, I have reftor'd the true Reading; and the Meaning must be this. The Prince tells her Something, that calls the Blood up into her Cheeks, and makes her blush. She, but a little before, ufes a like Expreffion to defcribe the Prince's Sincerity, which appear'd in the honeft Blood rifing on his Face. Tour Praises are too large; but that your Touth

And the true Blood, which peeps forth fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unftain'd Shepherds

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Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding; but I have it
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 daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kiss to chuse
Who loves another best.

Pol. She dances featly.

Shep. So fhe does any thing, tho' I report it
That should be filent; if young Doricles

Do light upon her, fhe fhall bring him That
Which he not dreams of.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. O mafter, if you did but hear the pedler 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 grew 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 pleafant thing indeed, and fung lamentably.

Ser. He hath fongs 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 strange) with fuch delicate barthens of dil-do's and fa-ding's jump her and thump her: and where fome stretch-mouth'd rafcal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good mans 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-concited fellow; has he any unbraided wares ?

Ser. He hath ribbons of all the colours i'th' rainbow

points,

points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the grofs; inkles, caddiffes, cambricks, lawns; why, he fings them over, as they were Gods and Goddeffes; you would think a fmock were a fhe-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the fquare on't.

Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach, finging.

Per. Forewarn him, that he use no fcurrilous words in's tunes.

Clo. You have of these pedlers that have more in 'em 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,
Masks for faces and for nofes;
Bugle bracelets, necklace 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 else your laffes cry.

Come buy, &c.

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 also 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 fhame you to give him again.

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Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets, where they should wear their faces? is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kill-hole, to whittle of thefe fecrets, but you muft be tittle tattling before all our guests? 'tis well, they are whifpring clamour 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.

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.

Dar. Blefs me from marrying a usurer!

Aut. Here's the widwife's name to't, one mistress Tale porter, and five or fix honeft wives that were present. Why fhould I carry lies abroad?

Mop. Pray you now, buy it.

Clo. Come on, lay it by; and let's firft fee 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 thousand fadom above water, and fung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids; it was thought, fhe was a wo man, and was turn'd into a cold fish, for fhe would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

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