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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 burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump |
her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd 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, 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 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 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 scurrilous words in's tunes. |
Exit SERVANT |
CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd |
think, sister. |
PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. |
Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing |
Lawn as white as driven snow; |
Cypress 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 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 no |
money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the |
bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. |
MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too |
late now. |
DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. |
MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd 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 whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and |
not a word more. |
MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair |
of sweet gloves. |
CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd 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 a-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 burden, and how she |
long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd. |
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 Taleporter, |
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 fourscore 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 turn'd into a cold |
fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd 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 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. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; |
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