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thy-shakespeare

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PERDITA: Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st 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,...
FLORIZEL: What, like a corse?
PERDITA: 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 Does change my disposition.
FLORIZEL: What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet. I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing, I'ld 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 sti...
PERDITA: O Doricles, Your praises are too large: but that your youth, And the true blood which peepeth 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.
FLORIZEL: 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.
PERDITA: I'll swear for 'em.
POLIXENES: 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.
CAMILLO: He tells her something That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream.
Clown: Come on, strike up!
DORCAS: Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with!
MOPSA: Now, in good time!
Clown: Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up!
POLIXENES: Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter?
Shepherd: 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. He says he loves my daughter: I think so too; for never gazed the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain. I think th...
POLIXENES: She dances featly.
Shepherd: 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 Which he not dreams of.
Servant: O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabour 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.
Clown: 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.
Servant: 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, 'jump her and thump her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it were, m...
POLIXENES: This is a brave fellow.
Clown: Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?
Servant: He hath ribbons of an 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 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the slee...
Clown: Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.
PERDITA: Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in 's tunes.
Clown: You have of these pedlars, that have more in them than you'ld think, sister.
PERDITA: Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
AUTOLYCUS: 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 steel, What maids lack from head ...
Clown: 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 ribbons and gloves.
MOPSA: I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.
DORCAS: He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.
MOPSA: He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.
Clown: 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 off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour your tongues, and...
MOPSA: I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves.
Clown: Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my money?
AUTOLYCUS: And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clown: Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.
AUTOLYCUS: I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.
Clown: What hast here? ballads?
MOPSA: Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
AUTOLYCUS: Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed.
MOPSA: Is it true, think you?
AUTOLYCUS: Very true, and but a month old.
DORCAS: Bless me from marrying a usurer!
AUTOLYCUS: Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?
MOPSA: Pray you now, buy it.
Clown: Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.
AUTOLYCUS: Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the four-score of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman and was turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her...
DORCAS: Is it true too, think you?
AUTOLYCUS: Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.
Clown: Lay it by too: another.
AUTOLYCUS: This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
MOPSA: Let's have some merry ones.
AUTOLYCUS: Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.
MOPSA: We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.
DORCAS: We had the tune on't a month ago.
AUTOLYCUS: I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation; have at it with you.
AUTOLYCUS: Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know.
DORCAS: Whither?
MOPSA: O, whither?
DORCAS: Whither?
MOPSA: It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell.
DORCAS: Me too, let me go thither.
MOPSA: Or thou goest to the orange or mill.
DORCAS: If to either, thou dost ill.
AUTOLYCUS: Neither.
DORCAS: What, neither?
AUTOLYCUS: Neither.
DORCAS: Thou hast sworn my love to be.
MOPSA: Thou hast sworn it more to me: Then whither goest? say, whither?
Clown: We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls.
AUTOLYCUS: And you shall pay well for 'em. Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a medler. That doth utter all men's ware-a.
Servant: Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair, they call themselves Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, if it be not t...
Shepherd: Away! we'll none on 't: here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.
POLIXENES: You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen.
Servant: One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier.
Shepherd: Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.
Servant: Why, they stay at door, sir.
POLIXENES: O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks: ...
FLORIZEL: Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are: The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart; which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand, As soft as dove's...
POLIXENES: What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out: But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess.
FLORIZEL: Do, and be witness to 't.
POLIXENES: And this my neighbour too?
FLORIZEL: And he, and more Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Comme...
POLIXENES: Fairly offer'd.
CAMILLO: This shows a sound affection.
Shepherd: But, my daughter, Say you the like to him?
PERDITA: I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his.
Shepherd: 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.
FLORIZEL: O, that must be I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But, come on, Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
Shepherd: Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours.
POLIXENES: Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father?
FLORIZEL: I have: but what of him?
POLIXENES: Knows he of this?
FLORIZEL: He neither does nor shall.
POLIXENES: Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son 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 altering rheums? can he speak? hear? Know man from man? dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid? and again does n...
FLORIZEL: No, good sir; He has his health and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age.
POLIXENES: By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial: reason my son Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason The father, all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity, should hold some counsel In such a business.
FLORIZEL: I yield all this; But for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business.
POLIXENES: Let him know't.