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I be not thine: to this I am most constant,
O lady fortune.
Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; Clown, MopsĂ, 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, 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 us 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.
Welcome, sir! [To Pol. It is my
father's will, I should take on me The hostesship o'the day :-You're welcome, sir!
[To CAMILLO. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.-Reverend sirs, For you
there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Shepherdess, (A fair one are you,) well you
fit With flowers of winter. 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 Our rustick garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. Pol.
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
For! I have heard it said,
Say, there be;
9 Likeness and smell.
I Because that.
By bud of nobler race; This is an art
So it is.
I'll not put
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
What? like a corse?
What you do,
And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it,
I think, you have
I'll swear for 'em.
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 The queen
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
Come, strike up.
[Musick. Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter? Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts him.
s Green turf.