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.

Her natural loftiness of spirit breaks out where she is menaced and reviled by the King as one whom his son has degraded himself by merely looking on; she bears the royal frown without quailing; but the moment he is gone, the immediate recollection of herself, and of her humble state, of her hapless love, is full of beauty, tenderness, and nature:

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
Looks all 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-
Being now awake—I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

How often have I told you 'twould be thus!

How often said, my dignity would last

But till 't were known!

FLORIZEL.

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.

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 thee, my fair beloved!

Perdita has another characteristic, which lends to the poetical delicacy of the delineation a certain strength and moral elevation, which is peculiarly striking. It is that sense of truth and rectitude, that upright simplicity of mind which disdains all crooked and indirect means, which would not stoop for an instant to dissemblance, and is mingled with a noble confidence in her love and in her lover. In this spirit is her answer to Camillo, who says, courtier-like,

missed to happiness;" but notwithstanding the clever defence that has been made for him, he has our pardon rather than our sympathy; and for mine own part, I could find it easier to love Bertram as Helena does, than to excuse him: her love for him is his best excuse.

IN Viola and Perdita the distinguishing traits are the same-sentiment and elegance: thus we associate them together, though nothing can be more distinct to the fancy than the Doric grace of Perdita, compared to the romantic sweetness of Viola. They are created out of the same materials, and are equal to each other in the tenderness, delicacy, and poetical beauty of the conception. They are

PERDITA.

So it is.

POLIXENES.

Then make your garden rich in gilliflowers

And do not call them bastards.

PERDITA.

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 'twere well.

It has been well remarked of this passage, that Perdita does not attempt to answer the reasoning of Polixenes: she gives up the argument, but, woman-like, retains her own opinion, or rather, her sense of right, unshaken by his sophistry. She goes on in a strain of poetry, which comes over the soul like music and fragrance mingled: we seem to inhale the blended odours of a thousand flowers, till the sense faints with their sweetness : and she concludes with a touch of passionate sentiment, which melts into the very heart :

O Proserpina !

For the flowers now, that frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils