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twg_000000029100 | my son come; he halloed but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa! Enter Clown. CLOWN. Hilloa, loa! SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thoult see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ailst thou, man? CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it is a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029101 | sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkins point. SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it? CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! But thats not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! sometimes to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029102 | see em, and not to see em. Now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as youd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cried to me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029103 | nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragond it: but first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them, and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather. SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? CLOWN. Now, now. I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029104 | not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman. Hes at it now. SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have helped the old man! CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029105 | SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou metst with things dying, I with things new-born. Heres a sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squires child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; opent. So, lets see. It was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029106 | some changeling: opent. Whats within, boy? CLOWN. Youre a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you, youre well to live. Gold! all gold! SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and twill prove so. Up with it, keep it close: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still requires nothing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029107 | but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next way home. CLOWN. Go you the next way with your findings. Ill go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, Ill bury it. SHEPHERD. Thats | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029108 | a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to th sight of him. CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i th ground. SHEPHERD. Tis a lucky day, boy, and well do good deeds on t. [_Exeunt._] ACT IV SCENE I. Enter Time, the Chorus. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029109 | TIME. I that please some, try all: both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage, that I slide Oer sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap, since | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029110 | it is in my power To oerthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plant and oerwhelm custom. Let me pass The same I am, ere ancientst order was Or what is now received. I witness to The times that brought them in; so shall I do To th freshest things now reigning, and make stale The glistering of this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029111 | present, as my tale Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing As you had slept between. Leontes leaving Th effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving That he shuts up himself, imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia, and remember well, I mentioned a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029112 | son o th kings, which Florizel I now name to you; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wondering. What of her ensues I list not prophesy; but let Times news Be known when tis brought forth. A shepherds daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is th argument of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029113 | Time. Of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never, yet that Time himself doth say He wishes earnestly you never may. [_Exit._] SCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes. Enter Polixenes and Camillo. POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: tis a sickness denying thee anything; a death | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029114 | to grant this. CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I oerween to think so,which is another spur to my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029115 | departure. POLIXENES. As thou lovst me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made; better not to have had thee than thus to want thee. Thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029116 | or take away with thee the very services thou hast done, which if I have not enough considered (as too much I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029117 | as thou callst him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. CAMILLO. Sir, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029118 | it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown, but I have missingly noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029119 | have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd, a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029120 | a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. POLIXENES. Thats likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029121 | shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my sons resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command. POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. The same. A Road near the Shepherds cottage. Enter Autolycus, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029122 | singing. AUTOLYCUS. _When daffodils begin to peer, With, hey! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o the year, For the red blood reigns in the winters pale._ _The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029123 | is a dish for a king._ _The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay._ I have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now I am out of service. _But shall I go mourn for that, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029124 | my dear? The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right._ _If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give And in the stocks avouch it._ My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029125 | named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029126 | it. A prize! a prize! Enter Clown. CLOWN. Let me see: every leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS. [_Aside._] If the springe hold, the cocks mine. CLOWN. I cannot dot without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029127 | sugar, five pound of currants, ricewhat will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one puritan amongst them, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029128 | he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates, none, thats out of my note; nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o th sun. AUTOLYCUS. [_Grovelling on the ground._] O that ever I was born! CLOWN. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029129 | th name of me! AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029130 | CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. AUTOLYCUS. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel taen from me, and these detestable things put upon me. CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman? AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029131 | he has left with thee: if this be a horsemans coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, Ill help thee: come, lend me thy hand. [_Helping him up._] AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O! CLOWN. Alas, poor soul! AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out. CLOWN. How now! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029132 | canst stand? AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir! [_Picks his pocket._] good sir, softly. You ha done me a charitable office. CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past three-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029133 | have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029134 | was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court. CLOWN. His vices, you would say; theres no virtue whipped out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. AUTOLYCUS. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an ape-bearer, then a process-server, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029135 | a bailiff. Then he compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinkers wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029136 | he, sir, he; thats the rogue that put me into this apparel. CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and spit at him, hed have run. AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him. CLOWN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029137 | How do you now? AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsmans. CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way? AUTOLYCUS. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. AUTOLYCUS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029138 | Prosper you, sweet sir! [_Exit Clown._] Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. Ill be with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name put in the book of virtue! [_Sings._] _Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029139 | merrily hent the stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a._ [_Exit._] SCENE IV. The same. A Shepherds Cottage. Enter Florizel and Perdita. FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life, no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in Aprils front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029140 | petty gods, And you the queen on t. PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me; O, pardon that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o th land, you have obscurd With a swains wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prankd up. But that our feasts In every mess | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029141 | have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attird; swoon, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL. I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy fathers ground. PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread. Your greatness Hath not been usd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029142 | to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did. O, 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 borrowd flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029143 | The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter Became a bull and bellowd; the green Neptune A ram and bleated; and the fire-robd 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029144 | my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA. O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold when tis Opposd, as it must be, by the power of the king: One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL. Thou dearest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029145 | Perdita, With these forcd thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o th feast. Or Ill be thine, my fair, Or not my fathers. For I cannot be Mine own, nor anything to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle. Strangle such thoughts as these with anything That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029146 | you 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. PERDITA. O lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And lets be red with mirth. Enter Shepherd with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029147 | Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas with others. SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife livd, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook, Both dame and servant; welcomd all; servd all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here At upper end o th table, now i th middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o fire With | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029148 | labour, and the thing she took to quench it She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid These unknown friends to s welcome, for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029149 | That which you are, mistress o th feast. Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA. [_To Polixenes._] Sir, welcome. It is my fathers will I should take on me The hostess-ship o the day. [_To Camillo._] Youre welcome, sir. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you theres rosemary | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029150 | and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you both! And welcome to our shearing! POLIXENES. Shepherdess A fair one are youwell you fit our ages With flowers of winter. PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summers death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029151 | th season Are our carnations and streakd gillyvors, Which some call natures bastards: of that kind Our rustic gardens barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA. For I have heard it said There is an art which, in their piedness, shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES. Say there | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029152 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029153 | Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature. PERDITA. So it is. POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA. Ill 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 twere well, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029154 | and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Heres flowers for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram, The marigold, that goes to bed with th sun And with him rises weeping. These are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. Youre very welcome. CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029155 | flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA. Out, alas! Youd be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. [_To Florizel_] Now, my fairst friend, I would I had some flowers o th spring, that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029156 | Proserpina, From the flowers now that, frighted, thou letst fall From Diss waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Junos eyes Or Cythereas breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength (a malady Most incident to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029157 | 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 oer and oer! 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029158 | 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, Id have you do it ever. When you sing, Id have you buy and sell | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029159 | so, so give alms, Pray so; and, for the ordring your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o th 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029160 | present deeds, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA. 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 unstained shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You wood me the false way. FLORIZEL. I think you have As little skill to fear | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029161 | 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. Ill 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029162 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029163 | [_Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses._] 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029164 | too; for never gazd the moon Upon the water as hell stand and read, As twere, my daughters eyes. And, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES. She dances featly. SHEPHERD. So she does anything, though I report it That should be silent. If young Doricles Do light upon | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029165 | her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Enter a Servant. SERVANT. 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 youll tell money. He utters them as he had eaten | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029166 | ballads, and all mens 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029167 | his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids, so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, jump her and thump her; and where some stretch-mouthed 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029168 | good man; puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, good man. 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 all the colours i th rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029169 | come to him by th 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 sleeve-hand and the work about the square on t. CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029170 | scurrilous words in s tunes. [_Exit Servant._] CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than youd think, sister. PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter Autolycus, singing. AUTOLYCUS. _Lawn as white as driven snow, Cypress black as eer was crow, Gloves as sweet as damask roses, Masks for faces and for noses, Bugle-bracelet, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029171 | necklace amber, Perfume for a ladys chamber, Golden quoifs and stomachers For my lads to give their dears, Pins and poking-sticks of steel, 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._ CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029172 | 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. Maybe he has | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029173 | 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 of these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? Tis well they are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029174 | whispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more. 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029175 | 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 alife, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS. Heres one to a very doleful tune. How a usurers wife | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029176 | was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, 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. Heres the midwifes name tot, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives that were present. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029177 | Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and lets first see more ballads. Well buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS. Heres another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029178 | 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. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. DORCAS. Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Five justices hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold. CLOWN. Lay it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029179 | by too: another. AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one. MOPSA. Lets have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of Two maids wooing a man. Theres scarce a maid westward but she sings it. Tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA. We can both sing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029180 | it: if thoult 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. SONG. AUTOLYCUS. _Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know._ DORCAS. _Whither?_ MOPSA. _O, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029181 | 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 th grange 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029182 | to me. Then whither goest? Say, whither?_ CLOWN. Well have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and well not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, Ill buy for you both. Pedlar, lets have the first choice. Follow me, girls. [_Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa._] AUTOLYCUS. [_Aside._] And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029183 | you shall pay well for em. SONG. _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 newst and finst, finst wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Moneys a meddler That doth utter all mens ware-a._ [_Exit._] Enter Servant. SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029184 | three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair. They call themselves saltiers, and they have 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 too rough for some that know little but bowling) it will please | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029185 | plentifully. SHEPHERD. Away! well 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, lets 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029186 | twelve foot and a half by th square. SHEPHERD. Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. [_Exit._] Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. POLIXENES. O, father, youll know more of that hereafter. [_To Camillo._] Is it not too far | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029187 | gone? Tis time to part them. Hes simple and tells much. [_To Florizel._] 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: I would have ransackd The pedlars silken treasury and have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029188 | pourd it To her acceptance. You have let him go, And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse, and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029189 | The gifts she looks from me are packd and lockd Up in my heart, which I have given already, But not deliverd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime lovd. I take thy hand! this hand, As soft as doves down and as white as it, Or Ethiopians tooth, or the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029190 | fannd snow thats bolted By th northern blasts twice oer. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029191 | Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all: That were I crownd 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 mans, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029192 | service, Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES. Fairly offerd. 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 th pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029193 | you shall bear witness tot. I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL. O, that must be I th 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029194 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029195 | affairs? is he not stupid With age and altring rheums? can he speak? hear? Know man from man? dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES. By my white beard, You | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029196 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029197 | I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES. Let him know t. FLORIZEL. He shall not. POLIXENES. Prithee let him. FLORIZEL. No, he must not. SHEPHERD. Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES. [_Discovering himself._] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029198 | son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledged: thou a sceptres heir, That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, whom of force must know The royal fool thou copst with, SHEPHERD. O, my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000029199 | heart! POLIXENES. Ill have thy beauty scratchd with briers and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack (as never I mean thou shalt), well bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Far than | 60 | gutenberg |
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