Clo. How now? canst stand? Aut. Softly, dear sir; [Picks his pocket.] good sir, softly: you ha' done me a charitable office. Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. Aut. 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 any thing I want: Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with trol-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 whipped out of the court. Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of the court: they cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. Aut. 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 compassed 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. Clo. Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue, that put me into this apparel. Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd have run. Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him. Clo. How do you now? Aut. 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. Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. Clo. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. Aut. 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 unrolled, and my name put in the book of virtue ! Jog on, jog on, the foot path way, Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. SCENE III.-The same. A Shepherd's Cottage. Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA. Flo. 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 And you the queen on't. Per. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me; Flo. I bless the time, When my good falcon made her flight across Per. Now Jove afford you cause! To me, the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble To think, your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did: O, the fates! Flo. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. Per. O but, dear sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king: One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak; that you must change this pur pose, Or I my life. Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine: to this I am most constant, Of celebration of that nuptial, which We two have sworn shall come. Per. O lady fortune, Stand you auspicious! Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and Others. Flo. See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 'And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fye, 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, On his shoulder, and his: her face o' fire With labour; and the thing, she took to quench it, As your good flock shall prosper. Per. Welcome, sir! It is my [TO POLIXENES. father's will, I should take on me The hostess-ship o'the day :-You're welcome, sir! [To CAMILLO. Give me these flowers there, Dorcas.-Reverend sirs, Grace, and remembrance, be to you both, Pol. Shepherdess, (A fair one are you,) well With flowers of winter. you fit our ages Per. 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 gillyflowers, Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind |