So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better.
By the pattern of my 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;
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

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?1

Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,

But what he did being childish?

No, good sir;

Flo.
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,

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.

1 i. e. "converse about his own affairs."

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.

Let him know't.

Flo. He shall not.

Pol.

Pr'ythee, let him.

Flo.

No, he must not.

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

[Discovering himself.

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
Of excellent witchcraft; who, of force, must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with ;-

Shep.

O, my heart! Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratched with briers, and

made

More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,— If I may ever know thou dost but sigh,

That thou no more shalt never see this knack, (as

never

I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin;
Far than Deucalion off.-Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court.-Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it.-And you, enchantment,-
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,

That makes himself, but for our honor therein,

1 Far, in the old spelling farre, i. e. farther. The ancient comparative of fer was ferrer.

Unworthy thee,-if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop' his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,

As thou art tender to't.

Per.

Even here undone !

I was not much afeard: for once, or twice,

[Exit.

I was about to speak, and tell him plainly,
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.-Will't please you, sir, be gone?
[TO FLORIZEL.
I told you what would come of this. 'Beseech you,
Of your own state take care. This dream of mine,-
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam.

Why, how now, father!

I cannot speak, nor think,

Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir,

[TO FLORIZEL.

You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,

To lie close by his honest bones; but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels-in dust.2-O, cursed wretch,
[TO PERDITA.
That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adven-

ture

To mingle faith with him.-Undone! undone !
If I might die within this hour, I have lived

To die when I desire.

Flo.

[Exit.

Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afeard! delayed,
But nothing altered! What I

1 The old copy reads hope.

What I was, I am;

2 Before the reform of the burial service, by Edward VI., it was the custom for the priest to throw earth on the body in the form of a cross, and then sprinkle it with holy water.

More straining on, for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly.

Gracious my lord,

Cam.
You know your father's temper. At this time
He will allow no speech,-which, I do guess,
You do not purpose to him;—and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear.
Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
Come not before him.

Flo.

I think, Camillo.

Cam.

I not purpose it.

Even he, my lord.

Per. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said, my dignity would last

But till 'twere known!

Flo.

It cannot fail, but by

The violation of my faith; and then

Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together, And mar the seeds within!-Lift up thy looks:From my succession wipe me, father! I

Am heir to my affection.

Cam.

Be advised.

Flo. I am; and by my fancy:1 if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;

If not, my senses, better pleased with madness,
Do bid it welcome.

Cam.

This is desperate, sir. Flo. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat gleaned; for all the sun sees, or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair beloved. Therefore, I pray you, As you have e'er been my father's honored friend, When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,) cast your good counsels Upon his passion. Let myself and fortune

1 Fancy here means love, as in other places already pointed out.

Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver.-I am put to sea

With her whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our1 need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared
For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.

Cam.

O, my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.

Flo.

Hark, Perdita.-[Takes her aside.

[To CAMILLO.

He's irremovable;

I'll hear you by-and-by.
Cam.
Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honor;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.

Flo.

Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business, that

I leave out ceremony.

Cam.

Sir, I think

You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
That I have borne your father?

Flo.
Very nobly
Have you deserved. It is my father's music
To speak your deeds; not little of his care
To have them recompensed as thought on.
Cam.

[Going.

Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the king; And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self; embrace but my direction, (If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration,) on mine honor

I'll point you where you shall have such receiving

1 "Our need." The old copy reads her. The emendation is Theobald's.