Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > The Winter's Tale > Act IV, scene IV

Jump to: the first appearance of where_you'll_be_loath_to_be:_besides_you_know




	[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' the land, you have obscured
	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 attired, sworn, 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!
	To me the difference forges dread; your greatness
	Hath not been used 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 borrow'd flaunts, behold
	The sternness of his presence?

FLORIZEL: Apprehend
	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-robed 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 my faith.

PERDITA: O, but, sir,
	Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
	Opposed, 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 Perdita,
	With these forced thoughts, I prithee, 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 am most constant,
	Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;
	Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
	That 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 let's be red with mirth.

	[Enter Shepherd, Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and
	others, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO disguised]

Shepherd: Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon
	This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,
	Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served 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 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
	That which you are, mistress o' the 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 father's will I should take on me
	The hostess-ship o' the day.

	[To CAMILLO]

		       You're welcome, sir.
	Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,
	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!

POLIXENES: Shepherdess,
	A fair one are you--well you fit our ages
	With flowers of winter.

PERDITA: Sir, the year growing ancient,
	Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
	Of trembling winter, the fairest
	flowers o' the season
	Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
	Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
	Our rustic garden's 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 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
	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: I'll 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 and only therefore
	Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you;
	Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram;
	The marigold, that goes to bed wi' 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're very welcome.

CAMILLO: I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
	And only live by gazing.

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

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 still, still so,
	And own no other function: each your doing,
	So singular in each particular,
	Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,
	That all your acts are queens.

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!

	[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 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 there is not half a kiss to choose
	Who loves another best.

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.

	[Enter Servant]

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, 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 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 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'ld think, sister.

PERDITA: Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

	[Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing]

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 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 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 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: 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: 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: 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.
	[SONG]

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.

	[Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA]

AUTOLYCUS: And you shall pay well for 'em.

	[Follows singing]

	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.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter Servant]

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 too rough for some that know little but
	bowling, it will please plentifully.

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.

	[Exit]

	[Here a dance of twelve Satyrs]

POLIXENES: O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.

	[To CAMILLO]

	Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them.
	He's 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 ransack'd
	The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd 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:
	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 down and as white as it,
	Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd
	snow that's bolted
	By the northern blasts twice o'er.

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;
	Commend them and condemn them to her service
	Or to their own perdition.

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 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 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.

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:                   Mark your divorce, young sir,

	[Discovering himself]

	Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
	To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir,
	That thus affect'st 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, who of force must know
	The royal fool thou copest with,--

Shepherd: O, my heart!

POLIXENES: I'll have thy beauty scratch'd 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, we'll bar thee from succession;
	Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
	Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words:
	Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
	Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
	From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment.--
	Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too,
	That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
	Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou
	These rural latches to his entrance open,
	Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
	I will devise a death as cruel for thee
	As thou art tender to't.

	[Exit]

PERDITA: Even here undone!
	I was not much afeard; for once or twice
	I was about to speak and tell him plainly,
	The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
	Hides not his visage from our cottage but
	Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone?
	I told you what would come of this: beseech you,
	Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,--
	Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
	But milk my ewes and weep.

CAMILLO: Why, how now, father!
	Speak ere thou diest.

Shepherd: I cannot speak, nor think
	Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir!
	You have undone a man of fourscore three,
	That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,
	To die upon the bed my father died,
	To lie close by his honest bones: but now
	Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me
	Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,
	That knew'st this was the prince,
	and wouldst adventure
	To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone!
	If I might die within this hour, I have lived
	To die when I desire.

	[Exit]

FLORIZEL: Why look you so upon me?
	I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
	But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am;
	More straining on for plucking back, not following
	My leash unwillingly.

CAMILLO: Gracious my lord,
	You know your father's temper: at this time
	He will allow no speech, which I do guess
	You do not purpose to him; and as hardly
	Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear:
	Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
	Come not before him.

FLORIZEL: I not purpose it.
	I think, Camillo?

CAMILLO:                   Even he, my lord.

PERDITA: How often have I told you 'twould be thus!
	How often said, my dignity would last
	But till 'twere known!

FLORIZEL: It cannot fail but by
	The violation of my faith; and then
	Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together
	And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks:
	From my succession wipe me, father; I
	Am heir to my affection.

CAMILLO: Be advised.

FLORIZEL: I am, and by my fancy: if my reason
	Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
	If not, my senses, better pleased with madness,
	Do bid it welcome.

CAMILLO:                   This is desperate, sir.

FLORIZEL: So call it: but it does fulfil my vow;
	I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
	Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
	Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or
	The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides
	In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
	To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you,
	As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
	When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not
	To see him any more,--cast your good counsels
	Upon his passion; let myself and fortune
	Tug for the time to come. This you may know
	And so deliver, I am put to sea
	With her whom here I cannot hold on shore;
	And most opportune to our need I have
	A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared
	For this design. What course I mean to hold
	Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
	Concern me the reporting.

CAMILLO: O my lord!
	I would your spirit were easier for advice,
	Or stronger for your need.

FLORIZEL: Hark, Perdita

	[Drawing her aside]

	I'll hear you by and by.

CAMILLO: He's irremoveable,
	Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if
	His going I could frame to serve my turn,
	Save him from danger, do him love and honour,
	Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
	And that unhappy king, my master, whom
	I so much thirst to see.

FLORIZEL: Now, good Camillo;
	I am so fraught with curious business that
	I leave out ceremony.

CAMILLO: Sir, I think
	You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
	That I have borne your father?

FLORIZEL: Very nobly
	Have you deserved: it is my father's music
	To speak your deeds, not little of his care
	To have them recompensed as thought on.

CAMILLO: Well, my lord,
	If you may please to think I love the king
	And through him what is nearest to him, which is
	Your gracious self, embrace but my direction:
	If your more ponderous and settled project
	May suffer alteration, on mine honour,
	I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
	As shall become your highness; where you may
	Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see,
	There's no disjunction to be made, but by--
	As heavens forefend!--your ruin; marry her,
	And, with my best endeavours in your absence,
	Your discontenting father strive to qualify
	And bring him up to liking.

FLORIZEL: How, Camillo,
	May this, almost a miracle, be done?
	That I may call thee something more than man
	And after that trust to thee.

CAMILLO: Have you thought on
	A place whereto you'll go?

FLORIZEL: Not any yet:
	But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
	To what we wildly do, so we profess
	Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies
	Of every wind that blows.

CAMILLO: Then list to me:
	This follows, if you will not change your purpose
	But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,
	And there present yourself and your fair princess,
	For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes:
	She shall be habited as it becomes
	The partner of your bed. Methinks I see
	Leontes opening his free arms and weeping
	His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness,
	As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands
	Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him
	'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one
	He chides to hell and bids the other grow
	Faster than thought or time.

FLORIZEL: Worthy Camillo,
	What colour for my visitation shall I
	Hold up before him?

CAMILLO: Sent by the king your father
	To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,
	The manner of your bearing towards him, with
	What you as from your father shall deliver,
	Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down:
	The which shall point you forth at every sitting
	What you must say; that he shall not perceive
	But that you have your father's bosom there
	And speak his very heart.

FLORIZEL: I am bound to you:
	There is some sap in this.

CAMILLO: A cause more promising
	Than a wild dedication of yourselves
	To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain
	To miseries enough; no hope to help you,
	But as you shake off one to take another;
	Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
	Do their best office, if they can but stay you
	Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know
	Prosperity's the very bond of love,
	Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
	Affliction alters.

PERDITA:                   One of these is true:
	I think affliction may subdue the cheek,
	But not take in the mind.

CAMILLO: Yea, say you so?
	There shall not at your father's house these
	seven years
	Be born another such.

FLORIZEL: My good Camillo,
	She is as forward of her breeding as
	She is i' the rear our birth.

CAMILLO: I cannot say 'tis pity
	She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress
	To most that teach.

PERDITA: Your pardon, sir; for this
	I'll blush you thanks.

FLORIZEL: My prettiest Perdita!
	But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,
	Preserver of my father, now of me,
	The medicine of our house, how shall we do?
	We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son,
	Nor shall appear in Sicilia.

CAMILLO: My lord,
	Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes
	Do all lie there: it shall be so my care
	To have you royally appointed as if
	The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,
	That you may know you shall not want, one word.

	[They talk aside]

	[Re-enter AUTOLYCUS]

AUTOLYCUS: Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his
	sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold
	all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a
	ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad,
	knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring,
	to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who
	should buy first, as if my trinkets had been
	hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer:
	by which means I saw whose purse was best in
	picture; and what I saw, to my good use I
	remembered. My clown, who wants but something to
	be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the
	wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes
	till he had both tune and words; which so drew the
	rest of the herd to me that all their other senses
	stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it
	was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a
	purse; I could have filed keys off that hung in
	chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song,
	and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this
	time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their
	festival purses; and had not the old man come in
	with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's
	son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not
	left a purse alive in the whole army.

	[CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward]

CAMILLO: Nay, but my letters, by this means being there
	So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.

FLORIZEL: And those that you'll procure from King Leontes--

CAMILLO: Shall satisfy your father.

PERDITA: Happy be you!
	All that you speak shows fair.

CAMILLO: Who have we here?

	[Seeing AUTOLYCUS]

	We'll make an instrument of this, omit
	Nothing may give us aid.

AUTOLYCUS: If they have overheard me now, why, hanging.

CAMILLO: How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear
	not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.

AUTOLYCUS: I am a poor fellow, sir.

CAMILLO: Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from
	thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must
	make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly,
	--thou must think there's a necessity in't,--and
	change garments with this gentleman: though the
	pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee,
	there's some boot.

AUTOLYCUS: I am a poor fellow, sir.

	[Aside]

		   I know ye well enough.

CAMILLO: Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half
	flayed already.

AUTOLYCUS: Are you in earnest, sir?

	[Aside]

		   I smell the trick on't.

FLORIZEL: Dispatch, I prithee.

AUTOLYCUS: Indeed, I have had earnest: but I cannot with
	conscience take it.

CAMILLO: Unbuckle, unbuckle.

	[FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments]

	Fortunate mistress,--let my prophecy
	Come home to ye!--you must retire yourself
	Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat
	And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face,
	Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken
	The truth of your own seeming; that you may--
	For I do fear eyes over--to shipboard
	Get undescried.

PERDITA:                   I see the play so lies
	That I must bear a part.

CAMILLO: No remedy.
	Have you done there?

FLORIZEL: Should I now meet my father,
	He would not call me son.

CAMILLO: Nay, you shall have no hat.

	[Giving it to PERDITA]

	Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.

AUTOLYCUS: Adieu, sir.

FLORIZEL: O Perdita, what have we twain forgot!
	Pray you, a word.

CAMILLO: [Aside]  What I do next, shall be to tell the king
	Of this escape and whither they are bound;
	Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail
	To force him after: in whose company
	I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight
	I have a woman's longing.

FLORIZEL: Fortune speed us!
	Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.

CAMILLO: The swifter speed the better.

	[Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO]

AUTOLYCUS: I understand the business, I hear it: to have an
	open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is
	necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite
	also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see
	this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive.
	What an exchange had this been without boot! What
	a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do
	this year connive at us, and we may do any thing
	extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of
	iniquity, stealing away from his father with his
	clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of
	honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not
	do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it;
	and therein am I constant to my profession.

	[Re-enter Clown and Shepherd]

	Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain:
	every lane's end, every shop, church, session,
	hanging, yields a careful man work.

Clown: See, see; what a man you are now!
	There is no other way but to tell the king
	she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood.

Shepherd: Nay, but hear me.

Clown: Nay, but hear me.

Shepherd: Go to, then.

Clown: She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh
	and blood has not offended the king; and so your
	flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show
	those things you found about her, those secret
	things, all but what she has with her: this being
	done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you.

Shepherd: I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his
	son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man,
	neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make
	me the king's brother-in-law.

Clown: Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you
	could have been to him and then your blood had been
	the dearer by I know how much an ounce.

AUTOLYCUS: [Aside]  Very wisely, puppies!

Shepherd: Well, let us to the king: there is that in this
	fardel will make him scratch his beard.

AUTOLYCUS: [Aside]  I know not what impediment this complaint
	may be to the flight of my master.

Clown: Pray heartily he be at palace.

AUTOLYCUS: [Aside]  Though I am not naturally honest, I am so
	sometimes by chance: let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement.

	[Takes off his false beard]

	How now, rustics! whither are you bound?

Shepherd: To the palace, an it like your worship.

AUTOLYCUS: Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition
	of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your
	names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any
	thing that is fitting to be known, discover.

Clown: We are but plain fellows, sir.

AUTOLYCUS: A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no
	lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they
	often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for
	it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore
	they do not give us the lie.

Clown: Your worship had like to have given us one, if you
	had not taken yourself with the manner.

Shepherd: Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?

AUTOLYCUS: Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest
	thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings?
	hath not my gait in it the measure of the court?
	receives not thy nose court-odor from me? reflect I
	not on thy baseness court-contempt? Thinkest thou,
	for that I insinuate, or toaze from thee thy
	business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier
	cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck
	back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to
	open thy affair.

Shepherd: My business, sir, is to the king.

AUTOLYCUS: What advocate hast thou to him?

Shepherd: I know not, an't like you.

Clown: Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant: say you
	have none.

Shepherd: None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.

AUTOLYCUS: How blessed are we that are not simple men!
	Yet nature might have made me as these are,
	Therefore I will not disdain.

Clown: This cannot be but a great courtier.

Shepherd: His garments are rich, but he wears
	them not handsomely.

Clown: He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical:
	a great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking
	on's teeth.

AUTOLYCUS: The fardel there? what's i' the fardel?
	Wherefore that box?

Shepherd: Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box,
	which none must know but the king; and which he
	shall know within this hour, if I may come to the
	speech of him.

AUTOLYCUS: Age, thou hast lost thy labour.

Shepherd: Why, sir?

AUTOLYCUS: The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a
	new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for,
	if thou beest capable of things serious, thou must
	know the king is full of grief.

Shepard: So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have
	married a shepherd's daughter.

AUTOLYCUS: If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly:
	the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall
	feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster.

Clown: Think you so, sir?

AUTOLYCUS: Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy
	and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to
	him, though removed fifty times, shall all come
	under the hangman: which though it be great pity,
	yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue a
	ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into
	grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death
	is too soft for him, say I	draw our throne into a
	sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.

Clown: Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear. an't
	like you, sir?

AUTOLYCUS: He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then
	'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a
	wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters
	and a dram dead; then recovered again with
	aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as
	he is, and in the hottest day prognostication
	proclaims, shall be be set against a brick-wall, the
	sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he
	is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what
	talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries
	are to be smiled at, their offences being so
	capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain
	men, what you have to the king: being something
	gently considered, I'll bring you where he is
	aboard, tender your persons to his presence,
	whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man
	besides the king to effect your suits, here is man
	shall do it.

Clown: He seems to be of great authority: close with him,
	give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn
	bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show
	the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand,
	and no more ado. Remember 'stoned,' and 'flayed alive.'

Shepherd: An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for
	us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much
	more and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you.

AUTOLYCUS: After I have done what I promised?

Shepherd: Ay, sir.

AUTOLYCUS: Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?

Clown: In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful
	one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.

AUTOLYCUS: O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: hang him,
	he'll be made an example.

Clown: Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show
	our strange sights: he must know 'tis none of your
	daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I
	will give you as much as this old man does when the
	business is performed, and remain, as he says, your
	pawn till it be brought you.

AUTOLYCUS: I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side;
	go on the right hand: I will but look upon the
	hedge and follow you.

Clown: We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest.

Shepherd: Let's before as he bids us: he was provided to do us good.

	[Exeunt Shepherd and Clown]

AUTOLYCUS: If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would
	not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am
	courted now with a double occasion, gold and a means
	to do the prince my master good; which who knows how
	that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring
	these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he
	think it fit to shore them again and that the
	complaint they have to the king concerns him
	nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far
	officious; for I am proof against that title and
	what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present
	them: there may be matter in it.

	[Exit]




	THE WINTER'S TALE






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