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Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopfa, Dorcas, Servants; with

Polixenes and Camillo disguis’d.
Flo. See, your guests approach;
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv’d, upon
This day. she was both pantler, butler, cook;
Both dame and servant: welcom'd all; serv'd all :
Would sing her song, and dance her turn; now here

upper end o’th'table; now i'th'middle;
On his shoulder, and his; her face o'fire
With labour; and the things 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’th' feaft: come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheepshearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
Per. Sirs, you're welcome.

[to Pol. and Cam.
It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostessship o’th’day: you're welcome, firs.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend firs,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long :
Grace and remembrance be unto you both,
And welcome to our shearing!

Pol. Shepherdess,
A fair one are you, well you fit our ages

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With Aowers of winter.

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient,
Nor yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairelt flowers o'th' season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustick garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?

Per. For I have heard it said,
There is an art, which, in their pideness, shares
With great creating nature.

Pol. 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.

Per. So it is.

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers,
And do not call them bastards.

Per. I'll not put
The dibble in earth, to set one flip 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 with th' sun,
And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle


welcome. Vol. II.


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

Per. Out, alast
You'd be so lean, that blasts of january
Would blow you through and through. Now, faireft 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 Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis’s wagon! early 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
Bright Phæbus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; gold 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 strow him o'er and o’er.

Flo. What, like a corse?

Per. 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 whitsund' pastorals : sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition,

Flo. What you do,
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever; when you fing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray fo; and for the ord'ring 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're doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.

Per. O Doricles,
Your praises are too large; but that your youth
And the true blood which peeps forth fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unstain’d shepherd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.

Flo. I think, you have
As little skill in 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.

Per. I'll swear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-sword; nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her something
That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is

of curds and cream. Clo. Come on, strike up.

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlick
To mend her kissing with.

Mop. Now, in good time.
Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners: come,


Here a dance of Shepherds and Sbepherdeffes.
Pol. I pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Who dances with your daughter ?

Shep. They call him Doricles; and he boasts himself
To have a worthy breeding: but I have it
Vol. II,

B bbb


The queen

strike up

Upon his own report, and I believe it;
He looks like footh: he says, he loves my daughter,
I think so too; for never gaz'd 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
Which loves the other best.

Pol. She dances featly.

Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it
That Ihould be silent : if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of,

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Enter a Servant. Ser. O, master, if you did but hear the pedler 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 grow to his tunes.

Clo. 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.

Ser. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves : he has the prettiest lovesongs for maids, so without bawdry, (which is strange) with such delicate burdens of dil-do’s and fa-ding's: 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, Nights him, with Whoop! do me no harm, good man.

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited fellow: has he any unbraided wares ?

Ser. He hath ribands of all the colours i'th' rainbow; points,


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