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I bless the time,
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.

Now Jove afford


cause! To me, the difference® forges dread'; your great


Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble
To think, your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way, as you did: 0, the fates!
How would he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up?" What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now: Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer;
Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires
Run not before mine honour; nor my

lusts Burn hotter than


faith. Per.

O but, dear sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos’d, as it must be, by the power o'the Which then will speak; that you must change this

king: One of these two must be necessities,

* To me, the difference -] i. e. between his rank and hers.

his work, so noble, Vilely bound up?] It is impossible for any man to rid his mind of his profession. The authorship of Shakspeare has supplied him with a metaphor, which, rather than he would lose it, he has put with no great propriety into the mouth of a country maid. Thinking of his own works, his mind passed naturally to the binder. I am glad that he has no hint at an editor. JOHNSON.

purpose, Or I my life.

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I pr’ythee, darken not The mirth o'the feast: Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's: for I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine: to this I ain most constant, Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing

behold the while. Your guests are coming: Lift up your countenance; as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial, which We two have sworn shall come. Per.

O lady fortune, Stand you auspicious !

That you

Enter Shepherd, with POLIxenes and CAMILLO dis

guised; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and Others. Flo.

See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd,

upon This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame and servant: welcom'd all; serv'd all: Would sing her song, and dance her turn: now 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, 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,
As your good flock shall prosper.

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

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!

(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 sea-


Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustick garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.

Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?

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, Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry


For I have ) For, in this place, signifies-because that,

I'll not put

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
The art itself is nature.

So it is.
Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers,
And do not call them bastards.

Per. The dibble” in earth to set one slip of them: No more than, were I painted, I would wish This youth should say, 'twere well; and only there

fore 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. Per.

Out, alas! 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:-O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis’s waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim,

dibble - ] An instrument used by gardeners to make holes in the earth for the reception of young plants.

But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phæbus 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.

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

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,
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,


violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,] I suspect that our author mistakes Juno for Pallas, who was the goddess of blue eyes. Sweeter than an eye-lid is an odd image, but perhaps he uses sweet in the general sense for delightful. Johnson.

Each your doing, &c.] That is, your manner in each act crowns the act.

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