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.

Your resolution cannot hold, when 't is

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 purpose, Or I my life.

With these forc'd 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 anything 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 anything
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.

Per.

Stand you auspicious!

O lady fortune,

Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO disguised ; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and others.

Flo.

See, your guests approach:

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,

And let's be red with mirth.

Shep. 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:
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 retir'd
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us 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.

Per.

Sir, welcome! a

[ To POL.

It is my father's will I should take on me
The hostess-ship o' the day :-You're welcome, sir!

[To CAMILLO.

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 to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!

Shepherdess,

Pol. (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages With flowers of winter.

Per.

Sir, the year growing ancient,-
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth

Of trembling winter,—the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly'vors,b
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.

Pol.

Wherefore, gentle maiden,

Do you neglect them?

Per.

For I have heard it said,

There is an art which, in their piedness, shares

With great creating nature.

Pol.

Say, there be;

Yet nature is made better by no mean,

a The modern reading is, Welcome, sir.

omit

b Gilly'vors. We print this word as it is twice printed in the original. Some of the old authors write gillyflower, some gillofre. Gilly'vor is perhaps a contraction of gillyflower.

уто

#

But nature makes that mean: so, over that art,
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art

That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock;

And make conceive a bark of baser kind

By bud of nobler race: This is an art

Which does mend nature,-change it rather: but
The art itself is nature.

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly'vors,
And do not call them bastards.

Per.

I'll not put

The dibble in earth to set one slip of them:

No more than, were I painted, I would wish

This youth should say, 't were well; and only therefore
Desire to breed by me.-Here 's flowers for you;

Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ;

The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle
age: You are very
welcome.
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of

And only live by gazing.

Per.

Out, alas!

You'd be so lean, that blasts of January

your flock,

Would blow you through and through.-Now, my fairest
friend,

I would I had some flowers o' the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing:0, Proserpina,”
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils,

That come before the swallow dares, and take

The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's

eyes,

Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phœbus in his strength, a malady

Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
The 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.

Flo.

What! like a corse?

Per. 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 do,

In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.

Flo.

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' the 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 are doing in the present deeds,
That all
acts are queens.
your

Per.

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 unstain'd shepherd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,

You woo'd me the false way.

Flo.

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.

Per.

I'll swear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green sward: nothing she does or seems,

But smacks of something greater than herself;
Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her something

That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.

Clo.
Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,
To mend her kissing with.

Mop.

Come on, strike up.

Now, in good time!

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.— Come, strike up.

Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter?

Shep. They call him Doricles; and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding: but I have it

Upon his own report, and I believe it;

[Music.

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 't were, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think there is not half a kiss to choose

Who loves another best.

Pol.

She dances featly.

Shep. So she does anything; though I report it, That should be silent: if young Doricles

Do light upon her, she shall bring him that

Which he not dreams of.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the

a Look out. The original has look on 't. We are not quite sure that Theobald's correction is necessary. The idea reminds one of the fine lines in Donne :

"Her pure and eloquent blood

Spoke in her veins, and such expression wrought,

You might have almost said her body thought."

b Feeding-pasture.

c Sooth-truth.