With labour; and the thing she took to quench it,
She would 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 friends to us 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' the feast: Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,

PER.

POL.

As your good flock shall prosper.

Sir, welcome a!

It is my father's will I should take on me
The hostess-ship o' the day :-You 're welcome, sir!
Give me those 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 to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!

PER.

POL.

PER.

POL.

Shepherdess, (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages With flowers of winter.

Sir, the year growing ancient,-
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth

Of trembling winter,-the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyvors,

Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind

Our rustic garden 's barren; and I care not

To get slips of them.

Do you neglect them?

Wherefore, gentle maiden,

For I have heard it said,

There is an art which, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature.

Say, there be;

Yet nature is made better by no mean,

But nature makes that mean: so, over that art,

Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art

That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry

A gentler scion to the wildest stock;

And make conceive a bark of baser kind

By bud of nobler race: This is an art

Which does mend nature,-change it rather: but

a The modern reading is, Welcome, sir.

[TO POL.

[TO CAMILLO.

b Gillyvors. Some of the old authors write gillyflower, some gillofre. Gillyvor is an old form of the word. The folio gives it as a contraction-gilly'vor.

POL. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,
And do not call them bastards.

PER.

I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them:

No more than, were I painted, I would wish

This youth should say, 't were well; and only therefore
Desire to breed by me.-Here 's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ;

The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle age: You are very welcome.
CAM. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.

You'd be so lean, that blasts of January

Would blow you through and through.-Now, my fairest friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring, that might

Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;

That wear upon your virgin branches yet

Your maidenheads growing:-0, Proserpina 12,

For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fall

From Dis's waggon! daffodils,

That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one! O! these I lack,
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er.

FLO.

What! like a corse?

PER. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;

FLO.

Not like a corse: 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,

In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine

Does change my disposition.

What you do

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,

PER.

FLO.

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

I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,

To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so,

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

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

O Doricles,

Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
And the true blood which peeps fairly through 't,
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,

You woo'd me the false way.

a

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: so turtles pair,

That never mean to part.

PER.

I'll swear for 'em.

POL. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever

Ran on the green sward: nothing she does or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself;

Too noble for this place.

CAM. He tells her something

CLO.

That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.

Come on, strike up.

CLO. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.—

Come, strike up.

Here a Dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.

POL. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this

Which dances with your daughter?

[Music.

a Skill. Warburton explains skill to mean reason. Mr. Dyce supports this by a quotation from Warner's Continuance of Albion's England.'

Look out. The original has look on 't. We are not quite sure that Theobald's correction is necessary. The idea reminds one of the fine lines in Donne:

"Her pure and eloquent blood

Spoke in her veins, and such expression wrought,
You might have almost said her body thought."

SHEP. They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding: but I have it

Upon his own report, and I believe it;

He looks like sooth b: He says, he loves my daughter;

I think so too for never gaz'd the moon

Upon the water, as he 'll stand, and read,

As 't were, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,

SERV. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes.

CLO. He could never come better: he shall come in: I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably.

SERV. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burthens of "dildos and fadings:" "13"jump her and thump her;" and where some stretchmouth'd rascal 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 man;" puts him off, slights him, with "Whoop, do me no harm, good man." POL. This is a brave fellow.

CLO. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

SERV. He hath ribands of all the colours i' the rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why, he sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel: he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the square on 't. CLO. Prithee, bring him in; and let him approach singing.

PER. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes.

CLO. You have of these pedlars, that have more in them than you'd think, sister.

PER. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

a

Feeding-pasture.

Sooth-truth.

Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing.
Lawn, as white as driven snow;
Cyprus, black as e'er was crow:
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces, and for noses;
Bugle-bracelet, necklace-amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber:
Golden quoifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins, and poking-sticks of steel1,

What maids lack from head to heel:

Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: Come, buy.

CLO. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands and gloves.

Mop. I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DOR. He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.

MOP. He hath paid you all he promised you: may be, he has paid you more; which will shame you to give him again.

CLO. Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets, where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of a these secrets; but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? "T is well they are whispering: Clamour your tongues, and not a word more.

MOP. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves 15.

CLO. Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way, and lost all my money?

AUT. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to

be wary.

CLO. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.

AUT. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.

CLO. What hast here? ballads?

Mop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true.

AUT. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a usurer's wife was brought to bed

a Whistle of. So the original. The modern editions read whistle off.

Clamour your tongues. Gifford maintains that this is a misprint for charm your tongues. We have in Henry VI., Part III.,'

But the word charm in the text before us was not likely to be mistaken for clamour. Nares says the "expression is taken from bell-ringing; it is now contracted to clam, and in that form is common among ringers. The bells are said to be clam'd, when, after a course of rounds or changes, they are all pulled off at once, and give a general clash or clam, by which the peal is concluded. This is also called firing, and is frequently practised on rejoicing days. As this clam is succeeded by a silence, it exactly suits the sense of the passage in which the unabbreviated word occurs."