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nutmegs, seven; 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' 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 offend me more than the
stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.
CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great
matter.
AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en
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 he has left
with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot
service. Lend me thy hand, I'll 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! 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 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 robb'd 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 was, but he was
certainly whipt out of the court.
CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt 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, a bailiff; then
he compass'd a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
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; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put
me into this apparel.
CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but
look'd big and spit at him, he'd 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. 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
kinsman's.
CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way?
AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir.
CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our
sheep-shearing.
AUTOLYCUS. Prosper you, sweet sir! Exit CLOWN
Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll 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 unroll'd,
and my name put in the book of virtue!
[Sings]
Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
And merrily hent the stile-a;
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit
SCENE IV.
Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S 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 April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the 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 obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think,
To show myself a glass.
FLORIZEL. I bless the time
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.
PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause!