University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A prospect of a 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 it 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 extreams it not becomes me:
O pardon that I name 'em; 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 shou'd blush
To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To shew myself a glass.

Florizel.
I bless the time,
When my good Faulcon 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; ev'n now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Shou'd pass this way, as you did: O the fates!
How wou'd he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up! What wou'd he say! Or how
Shou'd I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?

Florizel.
Apprehend
Nothing but jolity: the gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of Beasts upon 'em—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 honor, nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.

Perdita.
Oh, but dear Sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' power o'th' 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 any thing to any, if
I be not thine. To this, I am most constant,
Tho' destiny say, no. Be merry, gentlest,
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance; as 'twere the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.

Perdita.
O lady fortune,
Stand thou auspicious!

Enter Old Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas; with Polixenes, Camillo, and servants. Polixenes and Camillo, disguis'd.
Florizel.
See your guests approach;
Address yourself to entertain 'em sprightly,—
And let's be red with mirth.

Old 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;
Wou'd 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 wou'd to each one sip: you are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting; pray you, bid
These unknown friends to'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.
Sirs, welcome.
It is my father's will, I shou'd take on me
The hostess-ship o'th' day; you're welcome, sirs.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas; reverend sirs,
For you, there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be unto you both,
[To Polixenes and Camillo.
And welcome to our shearing.

Polixenes.
Shepherdess,
A fair one are you; well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.

Perdita.
Here are flowers for you;
[To others.
Hot lavender, mint, savoury, marjoram,
The mary-gold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer; and I think are given
To men of middle age. You're very welcome.

Camillo.
I shou'd leave grazing were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.

Perdita.
Out, alas
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January,
Wou'd blow you thro' and thro'—now my fairest friend,
I wou'd I had some flowers o'th' spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin-branches, yet
Your maiden honours growing: daffadils,
That come before the swallow dares; and take
The winds of March with beauty; vi'lets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, e're they can behold
Bright Phœbus in his strength; gold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lillies of all kinds
The flower-de-lis being one; o'these, I lack
To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,
[To Flor.
To strow him o'er and o'er.

Florizel.
What? like a coarse?

Perdita.
[Apart to Flo.
No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;
Not like a coarse—come, 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.

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 ordering 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're 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 forth fairly thro' it,
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.

Old Shep.

Come, come, daughter, leave for a while these
private dalliances, and love-whisperings, clear up
your pipes, and call, as custom is, our neighbours to
your shearing.

Perdita.

I will obey you.

SONG.

Polixenes.
This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-ford; 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—our dance—strike up.

Dorcas.
Mopsa must be your mistress, marry, buy some
Garlick to mend her kissing with.

Mopsa.

Now, in good time, musk, will not mend thine.

Dorcas.

Thou art a false man; did'st not thou swear, (it
was but yesternight in the tallet, over the dove house)
how that at your shearing, you wou'd this day shame
Mopsa,—and—

Clown.

Hold ye, maidens, hold ye—not a word—we
stand upon our manners here,—come strike up.

Mopsa.

Here's to do; marry I'll swear he promis'd me
long enough afore that in the hay-field—by the
token, our curate, came by, and whereof all our
folk were gone further a field; he advis'd us to get
up, and go home quickly, for that the dew fell
apace and the ground was dank, and unhealthsome;
more nor that, you promis'd me gloves, and
ribbands, and knacks at the fair,—and more nor
that—

Clown.

Not a word; not a word more, wenches.

Dorcas.

Marry, come up! others have had promises, as
well as some—but I have heard old folks in the parish
say, that some folks have been proud and courtly,
and false-hearted ever since some folk's father found
a pot of money by the sea-side here.—But I say nothing.

Clown.

Come, come, strike up.

A dance of shepherds and shepherdesses.
Polixenes.
I pray good shepherd, what fair swain is this,
Who dances with your daughter.

Old Shep.
They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself
To have a worthy breeding; 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 chuse,
Who loves the other best.

Polixenes.
She dances featly.

Old Shep.
So she does any thing, tho' I report it
That shou'd be silent: if young Doricles,
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that,
Which he not dreams of.

(Polixenes and Old Shepherd talk apart.)
Enter a Servant.
Servant.

O, Master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the
door, you wou'd 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 grow to his tunes.

Clown.

He cou'd 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 fit his customers with gloves; he has the
prettiest love-songs for maids, so without bawdry
(which is strange) with such delicate burthens of
jump her and thump her: and where some stretch-mouth'd

rascal wou'd, 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 talk'st of an admirable conceited
fellow; has he any unbraided wares?

Servant.

He hath ribbands of all colours i'th' rainbow;
points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can
learnedly handle, though they came to him by the
gross; inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns; why,
he sings them over, as they were gods and goddesses;
you would think a smock 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
songs.

Clown.

You have of these pedlars, that have more in 'em
than you think, sister.

Perdita.

Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

Enter Autolicus 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 bracelets, necklace amber,
Perfume, for a lady's chamber;
Golden coifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins, and poaking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heal:
Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy,
Buy lads, or else your lasses cry.
Come buy, &c.

Clown.

If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shou'd'st
take no money of me; but being enthralled as I am,
it will also be the bondage of certain ribbands 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 hath paid you more, which will shame you to
give him again.

Clown.

Is there no manners left among you maids? is
there not milking time, when you are going to bed,
or kill-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you must
be tittle-tattle before all our guests? 'tis well they
are whispering, clamour 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?

Autolicus.

And, indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad;
therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clown.

Fear not, thou, man—thou shalt lose nothing
here.

Autolicus.

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,
Or a life; for then we are sure they are true.

Autolicus.

Here's one, to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's
wife was brought to bed with twenty money bags at
a burthen, and how she long'd to eat adders heads,
and toads carbonado'd.

Mopsa.

Is it true, think you?

Autolicus.

Very true, and but a month old.

Dorcas.

Bless me, from marrying an usurer!

Autolicus.

Here's the midwife's name to it; and five or six
honest wives that were present. Why shou'd I
carry lies abroad?

Mopsa.

Pray, you now, buy it.

Clown.

Come on; lay it by; let's first see more ballads;
We'll buy the other things anon.

Autolicus.

Here's another ballad of a fish, that appear'd
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 turn'd into a cold
fish, for she wou'd not exchange flesh with one that
lov'd her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

Dorcas.

Is it true, too, think you?

Autolicus.

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

Clown.

Lay it by too—Another.

Autolicus.

This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.

Mopsa.

Let's have some merry ones.

Autolicus.

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.

Clown.

Nicholas, Dorcas, and Mopsa can sing that: we
had the tune on't a month ago—Come Nicholas,
strike up.

SONG.
Man.
Get you hence, for I must go,
Where it fits not you to know.

Dor.
Whither?

Mop.
O Whither?

Dor.
Whither?

Mop.
It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell;

Dor.
Me too, let me go thither:

Mop.
Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill,

Dor.
If to either thou do'st ill.

Man.
Neither,

Dor.
what neither?

Man.
neither

Dor.
Thou has sworn my love to be;

Mop.
Thou hast sworn it more to me:

Both.
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
The pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both:
Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls.

Autolicus.
And you shall pay well for 'em.
[Aside.
SONG.

[Ex Aut. Clown, Dor. Mop.
Enter Leontes and Cleomenes, from the farm-house.
Celomines.
Why will you not repose you, Sir? these sports,
The idle merriments of hearts at ease,
But ill will suit the colour of your mind.

Leontes.
Peace—I enjoy them in a better sort—
Cleomines, look on this pretty damsel;
[Pointing to Perdita.
Haply such age, such innocence and beauty,
Had our dear daughter own'd, had not my hand—
O had I not the course of nature stop'd
On weak surmise—I will not think that way—
And yet I must, always, and ever must.

Cleomines.
No more, my liege—

Leontes.
Nay, I will gaze upon her; each salt dropt
That tricles down my cheek, relieves my heart,
Which else wou'd burst with anguish.

Polixenes
(to Camillo.)
Is it not too far gone? 'tis time to part 'em;
He's simple, and tells much—how now, fair shepherd;
[To Flor.
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 pedler'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 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 packt and lockt
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. O hear me breathe my love
Before this ancient Sir; who, it should seem,
Hath some time lov'd. I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or Æthiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er.

Polixenes.
What follows this?

Leontes.
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before?

Polixenes.
You've put him out;
Come 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, and heav'ns, 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 'em
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.

Leontes.
This shews a sound affection.

Old Shep.
But, my daughter
Say you the like to him?

Perdita.
I cannot speak
So well; nothing so well; no, nor mean better.
By the pattern of my own thoughts, I cut out
The purity of his.

Old Shep.
Take hands—a bargain;
And friends, unknown, you shall bear witness to't.
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.

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.

Old Shep.
Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours.

Polixenes.
Soft, swain, a-while; '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?

Leontes.
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: reason my son
Shou'd chuse himself a wife; but as good reason,
The father (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity) shou'd hold some council
In such a business.

Florizel.
I yield all this:
But for some other reasons, my grave Sirs,
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.

Leontes.
O let him.

Florizel.
No; he must not.

Old Shep.
Let him, my son, he shall not heed 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 scepter's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!

Leontes.
(Amaz'd.)
How! Polixenes! what myst'ry is this!
I want the power to throw me at his feet,
Nor can I bear his eyes—

[Leans on Cleomines, and they go apart.
Polixenes.
And thou, old traitor,
(To the Old Shep.
I'm 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—

Old Shep.
O my heart!

Polixenes.
I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, 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;
Far than deucation off: mark thou, my words;
Follow us to the court—thou churl; for this time,
Tho' full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it; and you enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honor therein,
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 it.

[Exit. Pol and Cam.
Perdita.
Ev'n here undone!
I was not much afraid; 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 all alike—wil't please you, Sir, be gone?
[To Flor.
I told you what wou'd hap'—this dream of mine,
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

Leontes.
(Coming forward.)
How now, old father?
Good shepherd, speak.

Old Shep.
I cannot speak, nor think,
Nor dare to know, that which I know—O Sir,
[To Flor.
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father dy'd,
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—O cursed wretch!
[To Per.
Thou knew'st this was the prince, and wou'dst adventure
To mingle faith with him—Undone! undone!
If I might die this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire.

[Exit.
Perdita.
O my poor father!

Leontes.
(To Cleomines.)
The honest wretch, he helpt us at our need—
I will no longer veil me in this cloud,
But plead unmask'd, this good old shepherd's cause
Before my own; ev'n at Bohemia's knees.

Florizel.
(To Perdita.)
Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afraid; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd; what I was, I am,
And ever shall be thine, my Perdita!

Perdita.
Alas, alas! my lord; those hopes are fled!
How often have I told you 'twou'd be thus,
How often said, my dignity wou'd 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.

Leontes.
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.

Leontes.
This is desp'rate, Sir!

Florizel.
So call it; but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty; my heart
Is anchor'd here, as rooted as the rocks,
Who stand the raging of the roaring deep,
Immoveable, and fix'd!—let it come on—
I'll brave the tempest!

Perdita.
Be patient, Doricles.

Leontes.
Passion transports you, prince; be calm a while,
Nor scorn my years and counsel, but attend;—
My lowly seeming, and this outward garment,
But ill denote my quality and office—
Trust to my words, tho' myst'ry obscures 'em—
I know the king your father, and if time,
And many accidents (cease foolish tears)
Have not effac'd my image from his breast,
Perhaps he'll listen to me—I am sorry,
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking,
Where you were ty'd in duty; and as sorry
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
That you might well enjoy her—Prince, 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.

Leontes.
Yea, say you so?
There shall not at your father's house, these sev'n years,
Be born another such.

Florizel.
O reverend Sir!
As you wou'd wish a child of your own youth
To meet his happiness in love, speak for me;
Remember, since you ow'd no more to time
Than I do now; and with thought of like affections,
Step forth my advocate.

Leontes.
You touch me deep,
Deep, to the quick, sweet prince; alas! alas!
I lost a daughter, that 'twixt heav'n and earth
Might thus have stood begetting wonder, as
Yon lovely maiden does—of that no more;—
I'll to the king your father—this our compact,
Your honor not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am friend to them and yo:

[Exit Leon. and Cleom.
Florizel.
Dear, look up;
Tho' fortune, visible an enemy,
Shou'd chace us with my father; power, no jot
Hath she to change our loves.

Perdita.
Alas, my lord,
Bethink yourself, as I do me. Heav'n knows,
All faults I make, when I do come to know 'em,
I do repent—Alas! I've shewn too much
A maiden's simpleness; I have betray'd,
Unwittingly divorc'd a noble prince
From a dear father's love; have caus'd him sell
His present honor, and his hop'd reversion,
For a poor sheep-hook, and its lowly mistress,
Of lesser price than that—beseech you, Sir,
Of your own state take care, drown the remembrance
Of me, my father's cott, and these poor beauties
Wrong'd by your praise too often.

Florizel.
My Perdita,
How sweetly do'st thou plead against thyself?
Let us retire, my love—again I swear,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be there out-glean'd; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath,
To thee, my fair betroth'd—with thee I'll fly
From stormy regions and a low'ring sky;
Where no base views our purer minds shall move;
And all our wealth be innocence and love.