ACT IV. SCENE I.  Enter TIME, the CHORUS    TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror     Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,     Now take upon me, in the name of Time,     To use my wings. Impute it not a crime     To me or my swift passage that I slide     O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried     Of that wide gap, since it is in my pow'r     To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour     To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass     The same I am, ere ancient'st order was     Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to     The times that brought them in; so shall I do     To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale     The glistering of this present, as my tale     Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,     I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing     As you had slept between. Leontes leaving-     Th' effects of his fond jealousies so grieving     That he shuts up himself- imagine me,     Gentle spectators, that I now may be     In fair Bohemia; and remember well     I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel     I now name to you; and with speed so pace     To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace     Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues     I list not prophesy; but let Time's news     Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter,     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     He wishes earnestly you never may.                      Exit     SCENE II. Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES  Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO    POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis     a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this.   CAMILLO. 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.   POLIXENES. As thou lov'st 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, prithee,     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.   CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his     happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly     noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent     to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared.   POLIXENES. 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     neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.   CAMILLO. 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.   POLIXENES. 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. Prithee be my     present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of     Sicilia.   CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command.   POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.                                                           Exeunt     SCENE III. Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage  Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing        When daffodils begin to peer,         With heigh! the doxy over the dale,       Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year,         For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.        The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,         With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!       Doth set my pugging 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,       Are summer songs for me and my aunts,         While we lie tumbling in the hay.      I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile;     but now I am out of service.        But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?         The pale moon shines by night;       And when I wander here and there,         I then do most go right.        If tinkers may have leave to live,         And bear the sow-skin budget,       Then my account I well may give         And in the stocks avouch it.      My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen.     My father nam'd me Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under     Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With     die and drab I purchas'd 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    CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound     and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?   AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  If the springe hold, the cock's mine.   CLOWN. 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;     nutmegs, seven; race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four     pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun.   AUTOLYCUS.  [Grovelling on the ground]  O that ever I was born!   CLOWN. I' th' name of me!   AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then,     death, death!   CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on     thee, rather than have these off.   AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the     stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.   CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great     matter.   AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en     from me, and these detestable things put upon me.   CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman?   AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman.   CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left     with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot     service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy     hand.                                       [Helping him up]   AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O!   CLOWN. Alas, poor soul!   AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder     blade is out.   CLOWN. How now! Canst stand?   AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir  [Picks his pocket];  good sir, softly.     You ha' done me a charitable office.   CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.   AUTOLYCUS. 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 anything I want. Offer me no     money, I pray you; that kills my heart.   CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you?   AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with     troll-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 whipt out of the court.   CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt out of the     court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no     more but abide.   AUTOLYCUS. 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 compass'd 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.   CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig! He haunts wakes,     fairs, and bear-baitings.   AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put     me into this apparel.   CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but     look'd big and spit at him, he'd have run.   AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false     of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him.   CLOWN. How do you now?   AUTOLYCUS. 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.   CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way?   AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir.   CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our     sheep-shearing.   AUTOLYCUS. 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 unroll'd,     and my name put in the book of virtue!                                                          [Sings]             Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,               And merrily hent the stile-a;             A merry heart goes all the day,               Your sad tires in a mile-a.                   Exit     SCENE IV. Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage  Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA    FLORIZEL. 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     Is as a meeting of the petty gods,     And you the Queen on't.   PERDITA. Sir, 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' th' 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     Digest it with a custom, I should blush     To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think,     To show myself a glass.   FLORIZEL. I bless the time     When my good falcon made her flight across     Thy father's ground.   PERDITA. 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!     How would he look to see his work, so noble,     Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how     Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold     The sternness of his presence?   FLORIZEL. 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 in a way so chaste, since my desires     Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts     Burn hotter than my faith.   PERDITA. O, but, sir,     Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis     Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King.     One of these two must be necessities,     Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,     Or I my life.   FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita,     With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not     The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair,     Or not my father's; for I cannot be     Mine own, nor anything to any, if     I be not thine. To this I am most constant,     Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;     Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing     That you behold the while. Your guests are coming.     Lift up your countenance, as it were the day     Of celebration of that nuptial which     We two have sworn shall come.   PERDITA. O Lady Fortune,     Stand you auspicious!   FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach.     Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,     And let's be red with mirth.          Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised;                  CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS    SHEPHERD. 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' th' table, now i' th' 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 retired,     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' th' Feast. Come on,     And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,     As your good flock shall prosper.   PERDITA.  [To POLIXENES]  Sir, welcome.     It is my father's will I should take on me     The hostess-ship o' th' day.  [To CAMILLO]     You're welcome, sir.     Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,     For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep     Seeming and savour all the winter long.     Grace and remembrance be to you both!     And welcome to our shearing.   POLIXENES. Shepherdess-     A fair one are you- well you fit our ages     With flow'rs of winter.   PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient,     Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth     Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season     Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,     Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind     Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not     To get slips of them.   POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden,     Do you neglect them?   PERDITA. For I have heard it said     There is an art which in their piedness shares     With great creating nature.   POLIXENES. Say there be;     Yet nature is made better by no mean     But nature makes that mean; so over that art     Which you say adds to nature, is an art     That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry     A gentler scion to the wildest stock,     And make conceive a bark of baser kind     By bud of nobler race. This is an art     Which does mend nature- change it rather; but     The art itself is nature.   PERDITA. So it is.   POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,     And do not call them bastards.   PERDITA. I'll not put     The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;     No more than were I painted I would wish     This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore     Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you:     Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;     The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun,     And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs     Of middle summer, and I think they are given     To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome.   CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,     And only live by gazing.   PERDITA. Out, alas!     You'd be so lean that blasts of January     Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend,     I would I had some flow'rs o' th' spring that might     Become your time of day- and yours, and yours,     That wear upon your virgin branches yet     Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,     From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall     From Dis's waggon!- daffodils,     That come before the swallow dares, and take     The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim     But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes     Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,     That die unmarried ere they can behold     Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady     Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and     The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,     The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack     To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend     To strew him o'er and o'er!   FLORIZEL. What, like a corse?   PERDITA. 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 flow'rs.     Methinks I play as I have seen them do     In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine     Does change my disposition.   FLORIZEL. 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 ord'ring your affairs,     To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you     A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do     Nothing but that; move still, still so,     And own no other function. Each your doing,     So singular in each particular,     Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,     That all your acts are queens.   PERDITA. O Doricles,     Your praises are too large. But that your youth,     And the true blood which peeps fairly through't,     Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,     With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,     You woo'd me the false way.   FLORIZEL. I think you have     As little skill to fear as I have purpose     To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray.     Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair     That never mean to part.   PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em.   POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever     Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems     But smacks of something greater than herself,     Too noble for this place.   CAMILLO. He tells her something     That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is     The queen of curds and cream.   CLOWN. Come on, strike up.   DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic,     To mend her kissing with!   MOPSA. Now, in good time!   CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.     Come, strike up.                                     [Music]            Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES    POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this     Which dances with your daughter?   SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself     To have a worthy feeding; but I have it     Upon his own report, and I believe it:     He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter;     I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon     Upon the water as he'll stand and read,     As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain,     I think there is not half a kiss to choose     Who loves another best.   POLIXENES. She dances featly.   SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it     That should be silent. If young Doricles     Do light upon her, she shall bring him that     Which he not dreams of.                        Enter a SERVANT    SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar 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.   CLOWN. 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.   SERVANT. 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-mouth'd rascal would, as it were,     mean mischief, and break a foul gap into 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.'   POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow.   CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow.     Has he any unbraided wares?   SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points,     more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though     they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics,     lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you     would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the     sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.   CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.   PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes.                                                     Exit SERVANT   CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd     think, sister.   PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.                     Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing             Lawn as white as driven snow;            Cypress black as e'er was crow;            Gloves as sweet as damask roses;            Masks for faces and for noses;            Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,            Perfume for a lady's chamber;            Golden quoifs and stomachers,            For my lads to give their dears;            Pins and poking-sticks of steel-            What maids lack from head to heel.            Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;            Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry.            Come, buy.    CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no     money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the     bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.   MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too     late now.   DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars.   MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you     more, which will shame you to give him again.   CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their     plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not     milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle     off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our     guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and     not a word more.   MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair     of sweet gloves.   CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost     all my money?   AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it     behoves men to be wary.   CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here.   AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of     charge.   CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads?   MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for     then we are sure they are true.   AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife     was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she     long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd.   MOPSA. Is it true, think you?   AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old.   DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer!   AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter,     and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I     carry lies abroad?   MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it.   CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll     buy the other things anon.   AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the     coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom     above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of     maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold     fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her.     The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.   DORCAS. Is it true too, think you?   AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my     pack will hold.   CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another.   AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.   MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones.   AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune     of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but     she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.   MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear;     'tis in three parts.   DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago.   AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation.     Have at it with you.                          SONG    AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go              Where it fits not you to know.   DORCAS.    Whither?   MOPSA.       O, whither?   DORCAS.        Whither?   MOPSA.     It becomes thy oath full well              Thou to me thy secrets tell.   DORCAS.    Me too! Let me go thither   MOPSA.     Or thou goest to th' grange or mill.   DORCAS.    If to either, thou dost ill.   AUTOLYCUS. Neither.   DORCAS.    What, neither?   AUTOLYCUS. Neither.   DORCAS.    Thou hast sworn my love to be.   MOPSA.     Thou hast sworn it more to me.              Then whither goest? Say, whither?    CLOWN. 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   AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em.                                          Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing               Will you buy any tape,              Or lace for your cape,            My dainty duck, my dear-a?              Any silk, any thread,              Any toys for your head,            Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?              Come to the pedlar;              Money's a meddler            That doth utter all men's ware-a.                     Re-enter SERVANT    SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three     neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men     of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which     the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not     in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough     for some that know little but bowling, it will please     plentifully.   SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely     foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.   POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these     four threes of herdsmen.   SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd     before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve     foot and a half by th' squier.   SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let     them come in; but quickly now.   SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir.                     Exit                      Here a dance of twelve SATYRS    POLIXENES.  [To SHEPHERD]  O, father, you'll know more of that       hereafter.     [To CAMILLO]  Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them.     He's simple and tells much.  [To FLORIZEL]  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     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     Of happy holding her.   FLORIZEL. 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,     But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life     Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem,     Hath sometime lov'd. 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 th' northern blasts twice o'er.   POLIXENES. 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.   FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't.   POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too?   FLORIZEL. 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.   POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd.   CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection.   SHEPHERD. But, my daughter,     Say you the like to him?   PERDITA. I cannot speak     So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better.     By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out     The purity of his.   SHEPHERD. 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.   FLORIZEL. O, that must be     I' th' 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.   SHEPHERD. Come, your hand;     And, daughter, yours.   POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you;     Have you a father?   FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him?   POLIXENES. Knows he of this?   FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall.   POLIXENES. 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 alt'ring 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?   FLORIZEL. No, good sir;     He has his health, and ampler strength indeed     Than most have of his age.   POLIXENES. 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.   FLORIZEL. 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.   POLIXENES. Let him know't.   FLORIZEL. He shall not.   POLIXENES. Prithee let him.   FLORIZEL. No, he must not.   SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve     At knowing of thy choice.   FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not.     Mark our contract.   POLIXENES.  [Discovering himself]  Mark your divorce, young sir,     Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base     To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir,     That thus affects 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-   SHEPHERD. O, my heart!   POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd 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 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,     Farre 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 honour therein,     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.                                Exit   PERDITA. Even here undone!     I was not much afeard; for once or twice     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.  [To FLORIZEL]  Will't please you, sir, be gone?     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 farther,     But milk my ewes and weep.   CAMILLO. Why, how now, father!     Speak ere thou diest.   SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think,     Nor dare to know that which I know.  [To FLORIZEL]  O sir,     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. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch,     That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure     To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone!     If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd     To die when I desire.                                   Exit   FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me?     I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,     But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am:     More straining on for plucking back; not following     My leash unwillingly.   CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord,     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.   FLORIZEL. I not purpose it.     I think Camillo?   CAMILLO. Even he, my lord.   PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus!     How often said my dignity would last     But till 'twere known!   FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by     The violation of my faith; and then     Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together     And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.     From my succession wipe me, father; I     Am heir to my affection.   CAMILLO. Be advis'd.   FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason     Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;     If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,     Do bid it welcome.   CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir.   FLORIZEL. 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 glean'd, for all the sun sees or     The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides     In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath     To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you,     As you have ever been my father's honour'd 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     Tug for the time to come. This you may know,     And so deliver: I am put to sea     With her who here I cannot hold on shore.     And most opportune to her need I have     A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd     For this design. What course I mean to hold     Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor     Concern me the reporting.   CAMILLO. O my lord,     I would your spirit were easier for advice.     Or stronger for your need.   FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita.                     [Takes her aside]     [To CAMILLO]  I'll hear you by and by.   CAMILLO. He's irremovable,     Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if     His going I could frame to serve my turn,     Save him from danger, do him love and honour,     Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia     And that unhappy king, my master, whom     I so much thirst to see.   FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo,     I am so fraught with curious business that     I leave out ceremony.   CAMILLO. Sir, I think     You have heard of my poor services i' th' love     That I have borne your father?   FLORIZEL. Very nobly     Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music     To speak your deeds; not little of his care     To have them recompens'd as thought on.   CAMILLO. Well, my lord,     If you may please to think I love the King,     And through him what's nearest to him, which is     Your gracious self, embrace but my direction.     If your more ponderous and settled project     May suffer alteration, on mine honour,     I'll point you where you shall have such receiving     As shall become your Highness; where you may     Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see,     There's no disjunction to be made but by,     As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her;     And with my best endeavours in your absence     Your discontenting father strive to qualify,     And bring him up to liking.   FLORIZEL. How, Camillo,     May this, almost a miracle, be done?     That I may call thee something more than man,     And after that trust to thee.   CAMILLO. Have you thought on     A place whereto you'll go?   FLORIZEL. Not any yet;     But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty     To what we wildly do, so we profess     Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies     Of every wind that blows.   CAMILLO. Then list to me.     This follows, if you will not change your purpose     But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia,     And there present yourself and your fair princess-     For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes.     She shall be habited as it becomes     The partner of your bed. Methinks I see     Leontes opening his free arms and weeping     His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!'     As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands     Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him     'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one     He chides to hell, and bids the other grow     Faster than thought or time.   FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo,     What colour for my visitation shall I     Hold up before him?   CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father     To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,     The manner of your bearing towards him, with     What you as from your father shall deliver,     Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down;     The which shall point you forth at every sitting     What you must say, that he shall not perceive     But that you have your father's bosom there     And speak his very heart.   FLORIZEL. I am bound to you.     There is some sap in this.   CAMILLO. A course more promising     Than a wild dedication of yourselves     To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain     To miseries enough; no hope to help you,     But as you shake off one to take another;     Nothing so certain as your anchors, who     Do their best office if they can but stay you     Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know     Prosperity's the very bond of love,     Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together     Affliction alters.   PERDITA. One of these is true:     I think affliction may subdue the cheek,     But not take in the mind.   CAMILLO. Yea, say you so?     There shall not at your father's house these seven years     Be born another such.   FLORIZEL. My good Camillo,     She is as forward of her breeding as     She is i' th' rear o' our birth.   CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity     She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress     To most that teach.   PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this     I'll blush you thanks.   FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita!     But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo-     Preserver of my father, now of me;     The medicine of our house- how shall we do?     We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son;     Nor shall appear in Sicilia.   CAMILLO. My lord,     Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes     Do all lie there. It shall be so my care     To have you royally appointed as if     The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,     That you may know you shall not want- one word.                                                [They talk aside]                       Re-enter AUTOLYCUS    AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn     brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery;     not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch,     table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet,     horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should     buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a     benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse was     best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My     clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in     love with the wenches' song that he would not stir his pettitoes     till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the     herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might     have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a     codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys off that hung in     chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring     the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and     cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come     in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and     scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in     the whole army.                CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward    CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there     So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.   FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes?   CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father.   PERDITA. Happy be you!     All that you speak shows fair.   CAMILLO.  [seeing AUTOLYCUS]  Who have we here?     We'll make an instrument of this; omit     Nothing may give us aid.   AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  If they have overheard me now- why, hanging.   CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so?     Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.   AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir.   CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee.     Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange;     therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a     necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though     the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's     some boot.  [Giving money]   AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir.  [Aside]  I know ye well     enough.   CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd     already.   AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir?  [Aside]  I smell the trick     on't.   FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee.   AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience     take it.   CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle.               FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments      Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy     Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself     Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat     And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face,     Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken     The truth of your own seeming, that you may-     For I do fear eyes over- to shipboard     Get undescried.   PERDITA. I see the play so lies     That I must bear a part.   CAMILLO. No remedy.     Have you done there?   FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father,     He would not call me son.   CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat.                                           [Giving it to PERDITA]     Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.   AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir.   FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot!     Pray you a word.                       [They converse apart]   CAMILLO.  [Aside]  What I do next shall be to tell the King     Of this escape, and whither they are bound;     Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail     To force him after; in whose company     I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight     I have a woman's longing.   FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us!     Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side.   CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better.                            Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO   AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open     ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a     cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for     th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth     thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot     is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive     at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is     about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his     clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to     acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more     knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my     profession.                     Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD      Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's     end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man     work.   CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but     to tell the King she's a changeling and none of your flesh and     blood.   SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me.   CLOWN. Nay- but hear me.   SHEPHERD. Go to, then.   CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood     has not offended the King; and so your flesh and blood is not to     be punish'd by him. Show those things you found about her, those     secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done,     let the law go whistle; I warrant you.   SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's     pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his     father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's     brother-in-law.   CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have     been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer by I know     how much an ounce.   AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  Very wisely, puppies!   SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel     will make him scratch his beard.   AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  I know not what impediment this complaint may     be to the flight of my master.   CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace.   AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  Though I am not naturally honest, I am so     sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement.     [Takes off his false beard]  How now, rustics! Whither are you     bound?   SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship.   AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of     that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages,     of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be     known- discover.   CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir.   AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it     becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the     lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing     steel; therefore they do not give us the lie.   CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not     taken yourself with the manner.   SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?   AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou     not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in     it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour     from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st     thou, for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I     am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe, and one that     will either push on or pluck back thy business there; whereupon I     command the to open thy affair.   SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King.   AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him?   SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you.   CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none.   SHEPHERD. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.   AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men!     Yet nature might have made me as these are,     Therefore I will not disdain.   CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier.   SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.   CLOWN. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical.     A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth.   AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that     box?   SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which     none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this     hour, if I may come to th' speech of him.   AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour.   SHEPHERD. Why, Sir?   AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new     ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st     capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of     grief.   SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have     married a shepherd's daughter.   AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the     curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the     back of man, the heart of monster.   CLOWN. Think you so, sir?   AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and     vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though     remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the hangman- which,     though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old     sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his     daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that     death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a     sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.   CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you,     sir?   AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed     over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand     till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again     with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is,     and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set     against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon     him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But     what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be     smil'd at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem     to be honest plain men, what you have to the King. Being     something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard,     tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs;     and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here     is man shall do it.   CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him     gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led     by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the     outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd     alive.   SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us,     here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more, and leave     this young man in pawn till I bring it you.   AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised?   SHEPHERD. Ay, sir.   AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this     business?   CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I     hope I shall not be flay'd out of it.   AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him,     he'll be made an example.   CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our     strange sights. He must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my     sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this     old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he     says, your pawn till it be brought you.   AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on     the right-hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you.   CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest.   SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us     good.                              Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN   AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not     suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a     double occasion- gold, and a means to do the Prince my master     good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I     will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he     think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they     have to the King concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for     being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and     what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There     may be matter in it.                                    Exit