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-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-andtwenty nosegays for the shearers: three-man songmen 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; a race, or two, of ginger;—but that I may beg;-four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o'the sun. Aut. O, that ever I was born!
[Groveling on the ground. Clown. I'the name of me,-Aut. 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.
Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have receiv'd; which are mighty ones, and millions.
Clown. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.
Aut. 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 horse-man, or a foot-man?
Clown. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the garments he hath 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
[Helping him up.
Aut. O! good sir, tenderly; oh!
Clown. Alas, poor soul.
Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my
shoulder-blade is out.
Clown. How now? canst stand?.
Aut. 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.
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.
Clown. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd 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 virtues it was, but he was certainly whipp'd out of the court.
Clown. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipp'd out of the court: they cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.
Aut. 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.
Aut. 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.
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.
Clown. How do
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.
Clown. Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
Clown. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.
Aut. 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!
Jog on, jog on, the footh-path way,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
THE SAME. A SHEPHERD'S COTTAGE.
Enter Florizel and Perdita.
Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of
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, 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 goddesslike 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.
Per. 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
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 Burn hotter than my faith.
Per. O but, dear sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king: One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak; that you must change this
Or I my life.
Thou dearest Perdita,
With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not
I be not thine: to this I am most constant,