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Mistress Tale-porter, 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.
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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
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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.
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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
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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.
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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.
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D. Whither? M. O whither? D. Whither?
MOPSA It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell:
D. Me too: let me go thither.
MOPSA Or thou goest to th’ grange or mill:
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DORCAS If to either, thou dost ill.
A. Neither. D. What neither? A. Neither.
DORCAS Thou hast sworn my love to be;
MOPSA Thou hast sworn it more to me:
Then whither goest? say whither?
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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.
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Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa.
AUTOLYCUS 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,
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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. Exit.
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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 a dance which the wenches say
is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in’t:
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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
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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
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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.
[Here a dance of twelve Satyrs.]
POLIXENES
O, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.
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[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
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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
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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
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Up in my heart, which I have given already,
But not deliver’d. O hear me breathe my life
Before 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,
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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
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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
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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.
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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!
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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;
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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 hi
m?
POLIXENES Knows he of this?
FLORIZEL He neither does nor shall.
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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 Mark your divorce, young sir,
[discovering himself]
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
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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
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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
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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
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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,
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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,
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The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike. 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 –
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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,
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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. O cursed wretch,
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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.
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works Page 571
