Shepherd
Why, boy, how is it?
Clown
I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that’s not the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! sometimes to see ’em, and not to see ’em; now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you’ld thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land-service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather.
Shepherd
Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
Clown
Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman: he’s at it now.
Shepherd
Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!
Clown
I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing.
Shepherd
Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things dying, I with things newborn. 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?
Clown
You’re a made old man: if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you’re well to live. Gold! all gold!
Shepherd
This is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so: up with’t, 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.
Clown
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.
Shepherd
That’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the sight of him.
Clown
Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ the ground.
Shepherd
’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on’t.
Exeunt
ACT IV
Scene I:
Enter Time, the Chorus
Time
I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds 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
To the freshest things now reigning and make stale
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 wondering: what of her ensues
I list not prophecy; but let Time’s news
Be known when ’tis brought forth.
A shepherd’s daughter,
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
SCENE II. BOHEMIA. THE PALACE OF POLIXENES.
Enter Polixenes and Camillo
Polixenes
I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: ’tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to grant this.
Camillo
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 sorrows I might be some allay, or I o’erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure.
Polixenes
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 considered, as too much I cannot, to be more thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou callest 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 sawest 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 virtues.
Camillo
Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs 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 exercises than formerly he hath appeared.
Polixenes
I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; 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.
Camillo
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.
Polixenes
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; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son’s resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.
Camillo
I willingly obey your command.
Polixenes
My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.
Exeunt
SCENE III. A ROAD NEAR THE SHEPHERD’S COTTAGE.
Enter Autolycus, singing
Autolycus
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 heigh! 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-lyra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
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sp; 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 my account I well may, give,
And in the stocks avouch it.
My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser 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
Clown
Let me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn. what comes the wool to?
Autolycus
[Aside]
If the springe hold, the cock’s mine.
Clown
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 nose-gays for the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to horn-pipes. 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.
Autolycus
O that ever I was born!
Grovelling on the ground
Clown
I’ the name of me —
Autolycus
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.
Autolycus
O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.
Clown
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.
Autolycus
I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and these detestable things put upon me.
Clown
What, by a horseman, or a footman?
Autolycus
A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
Clown
Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has 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 hand.
Autolycus
O, good sir, tenderly, O!
Clown
Alas, poor soul!
Autolycus
O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out.
Clown
How now! canst stand?
Autolycus
[Picking his pocket] Softly, dear sir; good sir, softly. You ha’ done me a charitable office.
Clown
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.
Autolycus
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 robbed you?
Autolycus
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-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 whipped out of the court.
Clown
His vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.
Autolycus
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 compassed 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.
Autolycus
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 looked big and spit at him, he’ld have run.
Autolycus
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 you now?
Autolycus
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?
Autolycus
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
Clown
Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.
Autolycus
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 unrolled and my name put in the book of virtue!
[Sings]
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.
Exit
SCENE IV. THE 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 in 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 extremes it not becomes me:
O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self,
The gracious mark o’ the land, you have obscured
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.
Florizel
I bless the time
When my good falcon 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 used 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 my borrow’d flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
Florizel
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-robed god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
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br /> 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.
Perdita
O, but, sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when ’tis
Opposed, 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 forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not
The mirth o’ the 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,
Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;
Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance, as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial which
We 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, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others, with Polixenes and Camillo disguised
Shepherd
Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,
Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all;
Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here,
At upper end o’ the table, now i’ the middle;
On his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fire
With labour and the thing she took to quench it,
She would to each one sip. You are retired,
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’ the 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 me
Complete Plays, The Page 33
