Act IVScene IV
The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage
Enter Florizel and Perdita.
Florizel
These your unusual weeds to each part of youDo give a life, no shepherdess, but FloraPeering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearingIs 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’dWith a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,Most goddess-like prank’d up. But that our feastsIn every mess have folly, and the feedersDigest it with a custom, I should blushTo see you so attir’d; swoon, I think,To show myself a glass.
Florizel
I bless the timeWhen my good falcon made her flight acrossThy father’s ground.
Perdita
Now Jove afford you cause!To me the difference forges dread. Your greatnessHath not been us’d to fear. Even now I trembleTo 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 howShould I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, beholdThe sternness of his presence?
Florizel
ApprehendNothing but jollity. The gods themselves,Humbling their deities to love, have takenThe shapes of beasts upon them. JupiterBecame a bull and bellow’d; the green NeptuneA ram and bleated; and the fire-rob’d god,Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,As I seem now. Their transformationsWere never for a piece of beauty rarer,Nor in a way so chaste, since my desiresRun not before mine honour, nor my lustsBurn hotter than my faith.
Perdita
O, but, sir,Your resolution cannot hold when ’tisOppos’d, as it must be, by the power 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 notThe mirth o’ th’ feast. Or I’ll be thine, my fair,Or not my father’s. For I cannot beMine own, nor anything to any, ifI be not thine. To this I am most constant,Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle.Strangle such thoughts as these with anythingThat you behold the while. Your guests are coming:Lift up your countenance, as it were the dayOf celebration of that nuptial whichWe 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, uponThis 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 hereAt upper end o’ th’ table, now i’ th’ middle;On his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fireWith labour, and the thing she took to quench itShe would to each one sip. You are retired,As if you were a feasted one, and notThe hostess of the meeting: pray you, bidThese unknown friends to ’s welcome, for it isA way to make us better friends, more known.Come, quench your blushes, and present yourselfThat 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 meThe hostess-ship o’ the day.
To Camillo.
You’re welcome, sir.Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keepSeeming 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 agesWith flowers of winter.
Perdita
Sir, the year growing ancient,Not yet on summer’s death nor on the birthOf trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ th’ seasonAre our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,Which some call nature’s bastards: of that kindOur rustic garden’s barren; and I care notTo get slips of them.
Polixenes
Wherefore, gentle maiden,Do you neglect them?
Perdita
For I have heard it saidThere is an art which, in their piedness, sharesWith great creating nature.
Polixenes
Say there be;Yet nature is made better by no meanBut nature makes that mean. So, over that artWhich you say adds to nature, is an artThat nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marryA gentler scion to the wildest stock,And make conceive a bark of baser kindBy bud of nobler race. This is an artWhich does mend nature, change it rather, butThe 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 putThe dibble in earth to set one slip of them;No more than, were I painted, I would wishThis youth should say ’twere well, and only thereforeDesire to breed by me. Here’s flowers for you:Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,The marigold, that goes to bed with th’ sunAnd with him rises weeping. These are flowersOf middle summer, and I think they are givenTo men of middle age. You’re 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 JanuaryWould blow you through and through.
To Florizel
Now, my fair’stfriend,I would I had some flowers o’ th’ spring, that mightBecome your time of day; and yours, and yours,That wear upon your virgin branches yetYour maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fallFrom Dis’s waggon! daffodils,That come before the swallow dares, and takeThe winds of March with beauty; violets dim,But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyesOr Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses,That die unmarried ere they can beholdBright Phoebus in his strength (a maladyMost incident to maids); bold oxlips andThe crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,The flower-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 flowers.Methinks I play as I have seen them doIn Whitsun pastorals. Sure this robe of mineDoes change my disposition.
Florizel
What you doStill 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 youA wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever doNothing 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 unstained shepherd,With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,You woo’d me the false way.
Florizel
I think you haveAs little skill to fear as I have purposeTo put you to ’t. But, come; our dance, I pray.Your hand, my Perdita. So turtles pairThat never mean to part.
Perdita
I’ll swear for ’em.
Polixenes
This is the prettiest low-born lass that everRan on the green-sward. Nothing she does or seemsBut smacks of something greater than herself,Too noble for this place.
Camillo
He tells her somethingThat makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she isThe 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 thisWhich dances with your daughter?
Shepherd
They call him Doricles; and boasts himselfTo have a worthy feeding. But I have itUpon 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 moonUpon 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 chooseWho loves another best.
Polixenes
She dances featly.
Shepherd
So she does anything, though I report itThat should be silent. If young DoriclesDo light upon her, she shall bring him thatWhich 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-mouthed 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 a 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.
Autolycus
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 stomachersFor 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 enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.
Mopsa
I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.
Dorcas
He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.
Mopsa
He hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe 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 of 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.
Mopsa
I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet gloves.
Clown
Have I not told thee how I was cozened 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 alife, 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 longed to eat adders’ heads and toads carbonadoed.
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 more 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 turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved 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
We 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 goWhere it fits not you to know.
Dorcas
Whither?
Mopsa
O, whither?
Dorcas
Whither?
Mopsa
It becomes thy oath full wellThou 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
Aside.
And you shall pay well for ’em.
Song
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 meddlerThat doth utter all men’s ware-a.
Exit.
Enter Servant.
Servant
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 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.
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 danced before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th’ square.
Shepherd
Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.
Servant
Why, they stay at door, sir.
Exit.
Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.
Polixenes
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 takeYour mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was youngAnd handed love, as you do, I was wontTo load my she with knacks: I would have ransack’dThe pedlar’s silken treasury and have pour’d itTo her acceptance. You have let him go,And nothing marted with him. If your lassInterpretation should abuse, and call thisYour lack of love or bounty, you were straitedFor a reply, at least if you make a careOf happy holding her.
Florizel
Old sir, I knowShe prizes not such trifles as these are:The gifts she looks from me are pack’d and lock’dUp in my heart, which I have given already,But not deliver’d. O, hear me breathe my lifeBefore this ancient sir, who, 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 boltedBy th’ northern blasts twice o’er.
Polixenes
What follows this?How prettily the young swain seems to washThe hand was fair before! I have put you out.But to your protestation. Let me hearWhat you profess.
Florizel
Do, and be witness to ’t.
Polixenes
And this my neighbour, too?
Florizel
And he, and moreThan 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 youthThat ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledgeMore than was ever man’s, I would not prize themWithout 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 speakSo well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:By th’ pattern of mine own thoughts I cut outThe 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 makeHer portion equal his.
Florizel
O, that must beI’ 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 fatherIs at the nuptial of his son a guestThat best becomes the table. Pray you once more,Is not your father grown incapableOf reasonable affairs? is he not stupidWith 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 nothingBut what he did being childish?
Florizel
No, good sir;He has his health, and ampler strength indeedThan most have of his age.
Polixenes
By my white beard,You offer him, if this be so, a wrongSomething unfilial: reason my sonShould choose himself a wife, but as good reasonThe father, all whose joy is nothing elseBut fair posterity, should hold some counselIn such a business.
Florizel
I yield all this;But for some other reasons, my grave sir,Which ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaintMy 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 grieveAt 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 baseTo be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir,That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,I am sorry that, by hanging thee, I canBut shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh pieceOf excellent witchcraft, whom of force must knowThe royal fool thou cop’st with,—
Shepherd
O, my heart!
Polixenes
I’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and madeMore homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,If I may ever know thou dost but sighThat thou no more shalt see this knack (as neverI 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 theeFrom the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him tooThat makes himself, but for our honour therein,Unworthy thee. If ever henceforth thouThese rural latches to his entrance open,Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,I will devise a death as cruel for theeAs thou art tender to ’t.
Exit.
Perdita
Even here undone.I was not much afeard, for once or twiceI was about to speak, and tell him plainlyThe selfsame sun that shines upon his courtHides not his visage from our cottage, butLooks 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. 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 nowSome hangman must put on my shroud and lay meWhere no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,That knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventureTo mingle faith with him! Undone, undone!If I might die within this hour, I have liv’dTo 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 followingMy leash unwillingly.
Camillo
Gracious my lord,You know your father’s temper: at this timeHe will allow no speech (which I do guessYou do not purpose to him) and as hardlyWill 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 lastBut till ’twere known!
Florizel
It cannot fail but byThe violation of my faith; and thenLet nature crush the sides o’ th’ earth togetherAnd mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.From my succession wipe me, father; IAm heir to my affection.
Camillo
Be advis’d.
Florizel
I am, and by my fancy. If my reasonWill 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 mayBe thereat glean’d; for all the sun sees orThe close earth wombs, or the profound seas hidesIn unknown fathoms, will I break my oathTo 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 notTo see him any more,—cast your good counselsUpon his passion: let myself and fortuneTug for the time to come. This you may know,And so deliver, I am put to seaWith her whom here I cannot hold on shore;And, most opportune to her need, I haveA vessel rides fast by, but not prepar’dFor this design. What course I mean to holdShall nothing benefit your knowledge, norConcern 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 ifHis going I could frame to serve my turn,Save him from danger, do him love and honour,Purchase the sight again of dear SiciliaAnd that unhappy king, my master, whomI so much thirst to see.
Florizel
Now, good Camillo,I am so fraught with curious business thatI leave out ceremony.
Camillo
Sir, I thinkYou have heard of my poor services, i’ th’ loveThat I have borne your father?
Florizel
Very noblyHave you deserv’d: it is my father’s musicTo speak your deeds, not little of his careTo 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 isYour gracious self, embrace but my direction,If your more ponderous and settled projectMay suffer alteration. On mine honour,I’ll point you where you shall have such receivingAs shall become your highness; where you mayEnjoy 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 absenceYour discontenting father strive to qualifyAnd 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 onA place whereto you’ll go?
Florizel
Not any yet.But as th’ unthought-on accident is guiltyTo what we wildly do, so we professOurselves to be the slaves of chance, and fliesOf 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 becomesThe partner of your bed. Methinks I seeLeontes opening his free arms and weepingHis welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness,As ’twere i’ th’ father’s person; kisses the handsOf your fresh princess; o’er and o’er divides him’Twixt his unkindness and his kindness. Th’ oneHe chides to hell, and bids the other growFaster than thought or time.
Florizel
Worthy Camillo,What colour for my visitation shall IHold up before him?
Camillo
Sent by the king your fatherTo greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,The manner of your bearing towards him, withWhat 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 sittingWhat you must say; that he shall not perceiveBut that you have your father’s bosom thereAnd speak his very heart.
Florizel
I am bound to you:There is some sap in this.
Camillo
A course more promisingThan a wild dedication of yourselvesTo unpath’d waters, undream’d shores, most certainTo miseries enough: no hope to help you,But as you shake off one to take another:Nothing so certain as your anchors, whoDo their best office if they can but stay youWhere you’ll be loath to be. Besides, you knowProsperity’s the very bond of love,Whose fresh complexion and whose heart togetherAffliction 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 yearsBe born another such.
Florizel
My good Camillo,She is as forward of her breeding asShe is i’ th’ rear our birth.
Camillo
I cannot say ’tis pityShe lacks instructions, for she seems a mistressTo most that teach.
Perdita
Your pardon, sir; for thisI’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 fortunesDo all lie there: it shall be so my careTo have you royally appointed as ifThe scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,That you may know you shall not want,—one word.
They talk aside.
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 remembered. 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 pinched a placket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have filed 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 picked and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with a whoobub against his daughter and the king’s son, and scared 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 thereSo 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; omitNothing may give us aid.
Autolycus
Aside.
If they have overheard me now,—why, hanging.
Camillo
How now, good fellow! why shakest 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 flayed already.
Autolycus
Are you in earnest, 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 prophecyCome home to you!—you must retire yourselfInto some covert. Take your sweetheart’s hatAnd pluck it o’er your brows, muffle your face,Dismantle you; and, as you can, dislikenThe truth of your own seeming; that you may(For I do fear eyes over) to shipboardGet undescried.
Perdita
I see the play so liesThat 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 kingOf this escape, and whither they are bound;Wherein my hope is I shall so prevailTo force him after: in whose companyI shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sightI have a woman’s longing.
Florizel
Fortune speed us!Thus we set on, Camillo, to the 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 the 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.
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 punished 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 the 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, or 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 thee 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 bless’d 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 beest 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 removed 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 stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheepcote! 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 flayed 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 recovered again with aqua-vitæ 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 smiled 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 considered, 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 “flayed 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 flayed 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 blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed.
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.