Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring Leon. 1 Lord. Say no more: Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I' the boldness of your speech. Paul. I am sorry for't: All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another; I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd, and so o'er-running: in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay, thrice bow'd before me, And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon Did this break from her:-"Good Antigonus, "Since fate, against thy better disposition, "Hath made thy person for the thrower-out "Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, "Places remote enough are in Bohemia, "There wend, and leave it crying; and, for the babe "Is counted lost for ever, Perdita "I pr'ythee, call't: for this ungentle business, "Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more:"--and so, with shrieks I did in time collect myself, and thought To the noble heart.-What's gone, and what's past help, Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, Should be past grief: do not receive affliction At repetition, I beseech you; rather, Let me be punish'd, that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: The love I bore your queen,—lo, fool again!— Leon. Enter ANTIGONUS, with the Babe; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia? Mar. Ant. Their sacred wills be done!-Go, get aboard; Mar. Make your best haste, and go not Ant. I'll follow instantly. Mar. Go thou away: I am glad at heart To be so rid o' the business. [Exit. Ant. Come, poor babe :I have heard, (but not believ'd) the spirits o' the dead May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream I will be squar'd by this. I do believe, [Laying down a bundle. The heavens so dim by day. [Bear roars.] A savage clamour? Well may I get aboard!-This is the chase; Shep. I would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting. Hark you now!-Would any but these boiled-brains of nineteen, and two-and-twenty, hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my best sheep; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find, than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the Babe.] Mercy on's, a barn; a very pretty barn! A boy, or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure some scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stairwork, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my son come: he hallood but even now.-Whoa, ho hoa! Enter Clown. Clo. Hilloa, loa! Shep. What! art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man? Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by land!—but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust Shep. Why, boy, how is it? Clo. I would, you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em: now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast; and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service :-to see how the bear tore out his shoulder bone; how he cried to me for help, and said, his name was Antigonus, a nobleman.—But to make an end of the ship: -to see how the sea flap-dragoned it;-but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them;and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather. Shep. Name of mercy! when was this, boy? Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at it now. Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the old man! Clo. I would you had been by the ship's side, to have helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing. Enter TIME, the Chorus. Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou met'st with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee: a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! Look thee here: take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see. It was told me, I should be rich by the fairies: this is some changeling.-Open't: what's within, boy? Clo. You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with it, keep it close; home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go.-Come, good boy, the next way home. Clo. Go you the next way with your findings: I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst, but when they are hungry. If there be any of him left, I'll bury it. Shep. That's a good deed. If thou may'st discern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to the sight of him. Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground. Shep. "Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds [Exeunt. on't. ACT IV. Time. I, that please some, try all; both joy, and terror, O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel Be known, when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now: If never, yet that Time himself doth say, [Exit. SCENE I.-The Same. A Room in the Palace of Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO. Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more tunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee any thing, a death to grant this. Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country: though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure. Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services, by leaving me now. The need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made: better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee. Thou, having made me businesses, which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered, (as too much I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit therein, the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more, whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen, and children, are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. Cam. Sir, it is three days, since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown; but I have musingly noted, he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look upon his removedness: from whom I have this intelligence; that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighimpor-bours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such, a cottage. Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence, but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity, I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. Cam. I willingly obey your command. SCENE II.-The Same. A Road near the Shep- Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing. When daffodils begin to peer,— [1 Tune. With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,- The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,— With, heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my prigging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore "nutmegs, seven: a race or two of ginger;" but that I may beg:-"four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' the sun." Aut. O, that ever I was born! [Grovelling on the ground. Clo. I' the name of me!Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags, and then, death, death! Clo. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. Aut. O, sir! the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones, and millions. Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the garments he hath left with thee: if this be a horse-man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: come; lend me thy hand. Aut. O good sir, tenderly, O! [Helping him up. Aut. O, good sir! softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out. Clo. How now? canst stand? Aut. Softly, dear sir: [Cuts his purse.] 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, But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? [2 Tune. unto whom I was going: I shall there have money, or The pale moon shines by night; And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father named me, Autolycus; who, being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die, and drab, I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows, and knock, are too powerful on the highway: beating, and hanging, are terrors to me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. -A prize! a prize! Enter Clown. Clo. Let me see:-Every 'leven wether tods: every tod yields-pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? Aut. [Aside.] If the springe hold, the cock's mine. Clo. I cannot do't without counters.-Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? "Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants; rice"-What will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers; three-man song-men all, and very good ones, but they are most of them means and bases: but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron, to colour the warden pies; mace,-dates, none; that's out of my note: 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 processserver, 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? Clo. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. [Exit Clown. Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir!-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 enrolled, and my name put in the book of virtue ! Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a: 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, This, your sheep-shearing, Is as a meeting of the petty gods, you the queen on't. And Per. Sure, 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 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. Disgest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attir'd, so worn, I think, To show myself a glass. Flo. I bless the time, When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. 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 this pass 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? Flo. 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-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor any way so chaste; since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. Per. O! but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power of the king. One of these two must be necessities, Lift up your countenance, as 'twere the day Per. Stand you auspicious! O, lady fortune, 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. 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, 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 retir'd, 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. Which then will speak-that you must change this Per. [To PoL.] Sir, welcome. It is my father's will, I should take on me The hostess-ship o' the day :-[To CAM.] You're wel Your guests are coming: come, sir. Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, And make conceive a bark of baser kind Per. So it is. I would, I had some flowers o' the spring, that might For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall That come before the swallow dares, and take 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 Whitsun-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 sing, I'd 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 And own no other function: each your doing, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, O Doricles! [Music. Come, strike up. Shep. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself He looks like sooth. He says, he loves my daughter: As 'twere, my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, Serv. O master! if you did but hear the pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor 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. 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. Serv. 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'd-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul jape in 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. Pol. This is a brave fellow. " Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited fellow. Has he any embroided wares? Serv. He hath ribands of all 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 them over, as they were gods or goddesses. You would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-band, and the work about the square on't. Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in, and let him approach singing. Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in them than you'd think, sister. Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. What maids lack from head to heel: Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Come, buy. |