- Per. O but, dear sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king: One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak; that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd* thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not I be not thine: to this I am most constant, We two have sworn shall come. Per. Stand you auspicious! O lady fortune, Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others. Flo. See, your guests approach : Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, Shep. Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook; here, At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle; On his shoulder, and his: her face o'fire With labour; and the thing she took to quench it, * Far-fetched. The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid Per. Welcome, sir! [To Pol. It is my father's will, I should take on me The hostess-ship o'the day:-You're welcome, sir! [To Camillo, Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.-Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep Pol. Per. 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 gillyflowers, Pol. Do you neglect them? Per. Wherefore, gentle maiden, For I have heard it said, There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares With great creating nature. Pol. Say, there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry Likeness and smell. + Because that. And make conceive a bark of baser kind Which does mend nature,-change it rather: but The art itself is nature. Per. So it is. Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, And do not call them bastards. Per. I'll not put The dibble* in earth to set one slip of them: fore Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you; The marigold, that goes to-bed with the sun, Per. Would blow you through and through.-Now, my fairest friend, I would I had some flowers o'the spring, that might That come before the swallow dares, and take 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; 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 Flo. I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, Per. O Doricles, Your praises are too large: but that your youth, And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd; 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: 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; * Living. + Green turf. Cam. He tells her something, That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. Clo. Come on, strike up. Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, gar lick, To mend her kissing with. Mop. Now, in good time! Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up. [Musick. Here a dance of shepherds and shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter? 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 sooth†: He says he loves my daugh ter; I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, Who loves another best. Pol. She dances featly. Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it, That should be silent; if young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Enter a Servant. 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; * A valuable tract of pasturage. VOL. IV. + Truth. ‡ Neatly. G |