Aut. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation; have at it with you.

SONG.

A. Get you hence, for I must go
Where it fits not you to know.

D. Whither? M. O, whither? D. Whither?
M. It becomes thy oath full well,

Thou to me thy secrets tell.

D. Me too, let me go thither.

M. Or thou goest to the grange or mill.
D. If to either, thou dost ill.

A. Neither. D. What, neither?

D.

310

A. Neither.

Thou hast sworn my love to be.
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me:

Then whither goest? say, whither?

Clo. 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. Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em.

Will you buy any tape,

Or lace for your cape,

*Serious.

[Follows singing.

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. 330

Re-enter Servant.

*Vend.

Serv. 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. *Satyrs. †Medley. 339

Shep. Away! we'll none on't: here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.

Pol. You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen.

Serv. 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.* *Square.

Shep. Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly

now.

Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir.

Here a dance of twelve Satyrs.

351

[Exit.

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

[To Cam.] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them.

He's simple and tells much. [To Flor.] 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

360 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 *Straitened. Of happy holding her.

Flo.

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, 370
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.

Pol.

*Sifted.

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.

380

Flo. Do, and be witness to 't. Pol. And this my neighbour too? Flo. 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.

Pol.

Cam. This shows a sound affection.

Shep.

Say you the like to him?

Per.

Fairly offer'd.

But, my daughter, 390

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.

Shep

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.

Flo.

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, 400
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

He neither does nor shall.

Pol. Knows he of this?

Flo.

Pol.

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?

Flo.
No, good sir;
He has his health and ampler strength indeed
Than most have of his age.

Pol.

By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong

Something unfilial: reason my son

410

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.

Flo.

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.

Pol.

420

Let him know't.

Flo. He shall not.

Pol.

Prithee, let him.

Flo.

No, he must not.

Shep. Let him, my son: he shall not need to

[Discovering himself.

430

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