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

What you profess.

Flo.

Do, and be witness to 't.

And he, and more

Pol. And this my neighbour too?
Flo
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

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.

Fairly offer'd.

But, my daughter,

I cannot speak

So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

Shep.

Take hands, a bargain;

And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to 't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make

I' the 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.

Pol. 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 altering 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?

Flo.
No, good sir;
He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,

Than most have of his age.

Pol.

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
But fair posterity) should hold some counsel
In such a business.

Flo.

I yield all this;

But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 't is not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.

Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.

Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base

To be acknowledg'd: Thou a sceptre's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheephook!—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
The royal food thou cop'st with;-

Shep.

O, my heart!

Pol. 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 never seea 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 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
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,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee

As thou art tender to 't.

Per.

Even here undone!
I was not much afeard: 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

[Exit.

Looks on alike.-Will 't please you, sir, be gone? [to FLO. I told you what would come of this: 'Beseech you,

Of

your own state take care: this dream of mine, Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam.

Speak, ere thou diest.

Shep.

Why, how now, father!

I cannot speak, nor think,

[to FLO.

Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir,

You have undone a man of fourscore three,

a The double negative, which is characteristic of Shakspere's time, is corrected

in modern editions by the omission of never.

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!

[to PERDITA. 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.

Flo.

Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,

But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am :

More straining on, for plucking back; not following
My leash unwillingly.

Cam.

Gracious my lord,

You know your father's temper: at this time
He will allow no speech,-which, I do guess,
You do not purpose to him ;—and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear:
Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
Come not before him.

Per. How often have I told you 't would be thus? How often said, my dignity would last

But till 't were known?

Flo.

It cannot fail, but by

The violation of my faith: And then

Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together,
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks:

From my succession wipe me, father! I

Am heir to my affection.

a

Flo. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;

[Exit.

If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.

Cam.
This is desperate, sir.
Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat 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 this my fair belov'd: Therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more,) cast your good counsels
Upon his passion: Let myself and fortune
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver,-I am put to sea

a

With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to her a need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.

I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.

Flo.

I'll hear you by and by.

Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside.
[to CAMILLO.

He's irremoveable,

Cam.
Resolv'd for flight: now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honour;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,

And that unhappy king, my master, whom

I so much thirst to see.

Flo.

Now, good Camillo,

I am so fraught with curious business, that

I leave out ceremony.

Cam.

Sir, I think,

[Going.

Her. So the original, but usually our. Her need is the need we have of her.