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.

A C T IV.

Enter Time, as Chorus.

Time. I, that please some, try all, both joy, and
terror,

Of good and bad; that make, and unfold 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 power
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 received: I witness to

The times that brought them in; so shall I do

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 consider-
ed, (as too much I cannot,) to be more thankful to thee,
shall be my study: and my profit therein, the heaping
friensdhips. 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 virtnes.
Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince:
what his happier affair 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 exer-
cises, than formerly he hath appeared.

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far, that I have eyes under my services, which look upon his removednes: 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.

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;

To the freshest things now reigning, and make stale from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get

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
The 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 mentioned a son o'the king's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondring. What of her ensues,
Ilist not prophecy; but let Time's news
Be known, when 'tis brought forth:
daughter,

a shepherd's

And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is the 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.

The same. Aroom in the palace of
Polixenes.

Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO.
Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importu-
nate! '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

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.

Pol. My best Camillo!-We must disguise ourselves. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same. 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, hey! 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 chaunts,

With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay: Are summer songs for me and my aunts,

While we lie tumbling in the hay.

I have served 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 account I well may give,

my

And in the stocks arouch it.

Barn

Per.

Your

Oppos

Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man well: he
hath been since an ape-bearer; then process-server,

song, 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.

My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to les-a bailif'; then he compassed a motion of the prodigal
ser 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.

tods; fifteen

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, l.'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. Let me see! - Every 'leven wether
every tod yields— pound and odd shilling:
hundred shorn, -
what comes the wool to?
Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. [Aside.
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 thein means and bases: but one
[Exit Clown.] Your
Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to horn-purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be
pipes. I must have saffron, to colour the warden pies; with you at your sheep-shearing too: If I make not this
mace,—dates,-none; that's out of my note; nutmegs, cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep,
seven; arace, or two, of ginger; but that I may beg: let me be unrolled, and my name put in the book of
-four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o'the virtue!

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 offend me more than the stripes, I have received, which are mighty ones, and millions.

Clo. Alas, poor mau! 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. Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir!
Clo. Then fare thee well! I must go buy spices for our
sheep-shearing.

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 gar-
ment 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![Helping him up.
Aut. O! good sir, tenderly, oh!

Ant. Prosper you, sweet sir!

Aut. Softly, dear sir; [Picks his pocket.] good sir, softly; you ha' done me a charitable office. Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thec:

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:

A merry heart goes all the day,

Your sad tires in a mile-a.
SCENE III.-The same. A shepherd's cottage.

Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA.

[Exit.

On

S

A

T

TI A

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
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
Per. Sir, my gracious lord,

Aut. 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 any thing I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart.

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
Digest it with a custom, I should blush,
To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To show myself a glass.

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 virtue it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court. Clo.His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of court: they cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.

Flo. I bless the time,

When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.

Per. Now Jove afford you canse!

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 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 in a way so chaste: since my desires
Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts

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.

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
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function! Each your doing,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
So singular in each particular,
That all your acts are queens.,
Per. O Doricles,

Your praises are too large but that your youth,
And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it,
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd;
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.

Shep. 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.

Serv. Omaster, 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.

Clo. 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 whispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more!

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-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a fonl gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, du me no harm, good man!

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves.

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by the
way, and lost all my money?

Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;
therefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clo.Fear not thou, man, thou shaltlose nothing here.
Ant I hope so, sir; for I have about me many par-
cels of charge.

Clo. What hast here? ballads?

Mop. Pray now, buy some! I love a ballad in print,a'life; for then we are sure they are true. Aut. 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 now she longed to eat adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Very true; and but a month old.
Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer!
Aut. 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?
Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it!

Clo. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see more bal-` lads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut. Here's another ballad, Of a fish that appeared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, Serv.He hath ribands of all the colours i'the rainbow; forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this bal points,more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learn- lad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought,she edly handle, though they come to him by the gross; was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish; for she inkles,caddisses, cambricks, lawns: why, he sings them would not exchange flesh with one that loved her. over,'as they were gods, or goddesses; you would think, a smock were a she-angel; he so chants to the sleevehand, 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 his tunes!

Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em than you'd think, sister.

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing.

Lawn, as white as driven snow;
Cyprus, black as e'er was crow;
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses;

Masks for faces, and for noses;
Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber,

The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.
Dor. Is it true too, think you?

Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, more
than my pack will hold.

Clo. Lay it by too. Another!

to

Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one. Mop. Let's have some merry ones! Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes 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.

Mop. We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear: 'tis in three parts.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.

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

M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill:
D. If to either, thou dost ill.

A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither.
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be;
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me:

Then, whither go'st? 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: pedler, let's have the first choice.-Follow girls! Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em.

[Aside

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 grieve At knowing of thy choice.

Flo. Come, come, he must not: