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penitent, as thou call'ft him, and reconciled King my brother, whofe loss of his most precious Queen and chil.dren are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when faw'st thou the Prince Florizel my fon? Kings are no less unhappy, their iffue not being gracious, than they are in lafing them, when they have approved their virtues.

Gam. Sir, it is three days fince I saw the Prince ; what his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I have (miffingly) noted, he is of late much retired from court, and is lefs frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appear'd.

Pol. I have confider'd, fo much, Camillo, and with fome care so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is feldom from the house of a most homely fhepherd; a man, they fay, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unfpeakable eftate.

Cam. I have heard, Sir, of fuch a man, who hath a daughter of moft rare note; the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from fuch a cottage.

Pol. (12) That's likewife a part of my intelligence; and, I fear, the Engle that plucks our fon thither. Thou fhalt accompany us to the place, where we will (not ap

(12) That's likewife part of my Intelligence; but, I fear the Angle that plucks our Son thither.] The disjunctive here, I think, makes ftark Nonfenfe of the Context: and the Editors have palm'd an Allufion in the Word Angle, which feems foreign to the Senfe of the Paffage. As, before, in the Taming of the Sbrew, Angel is mistakenly put for Engle: fo I fufpe&t, Angle, by the fame eafy Corruption, is here. I have there prov'd the Ufe and Meaning of the Word. I'll proceed briefly to juftify the Emendation I have here made, by fhewing how naturally it falls in with the Sense we should expect. Camillo had just told the King, he had heard of fuch a Shepherd, and of a Daughter he had of moft rare Note. Ay, replies the King, that's a Part of my Intelligence too; and, I fear, [that Daughter is] the Siren, the Decoy, the Invitation, that plucks our Son thither.

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pearing what we are) have fome queftion with the shepherd; from whose fimplicity, I think it not uneafie to get the cause of my fon's refort thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this bufinefs, and lay afide the thoughts of Sicilia.

Cam. I willingly obey your command.

Pol. My beft Camille-we muft disguise ourselves.

SCENE changes to the Country.
Enter Autolicus finging.

WWith, beigh! the doxy over the dale,

HEN daffadils to peere,

Why, then comes in the fweet o' th' year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,

[Exeunt.

With, hey! the fweet birds, O how they fing! Doth fet my pugging tooth on edge:

For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

The lark, that tirra lyra chaunts,

With, bey! with, bey! the thrush and the jay:
Are fummer Songs for me and my aunts,

While we lie tumbling in the bay.

I have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now I am out of fervice.

But fhall I go mourn for that, my dear?
The pale moon fhines by night a

And when I wander here and there,
I then do go most right.

If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the fow-skin budget;
Then my account I well may give,
And in the flocks avouch it.

My traffick is sheets; when the kite builds, look to leffer
linnen. My father nam'd me Autolicus, being litter'd
under Mercury; who, as I am, was likewife a fnapper-
up of unconfider'd trifles with die and drab, I pur-
chas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the filly cheat.
Gallows, and knock, are too powerful on the high way;
VOL. III.
N
beating

beating and hanging are terrors to me

for the life to

come, I fleep out the thought of it.A prize! a prize!

Enter Clown.

Clo. Let me fee, -Every eleven weather tods, every tod yields pound and odd fhilling; fifteen hundred fhorn, what comes the wool too?

Aut. If the fprindge hold, the cock's mine.

She

[Afide. Clo. I cannot do't without compters. Let me fee, what am I to buy for our fheep-fhearing feaft, three -what pound of fugar, five pound of currants, ricewill this fifter of mine do with rice ? but my father hath made her mistress of the feaft, and fhe lays it on. hath made me four and twenty nofe-gays for the fhearers; three-man fong-men all, and very good ones, but they are most of them means and bafes; but one Puritan among them, and he fings pfalms to horn-pipes. I must have faffron to colour the warden pies, mace

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none that's out of my note: nutmegs, feven; a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many raifins o' th' fun. Aut. Oh, that ever I was born!

Clo. I' th' name of me

[Groveling on the Ground.

Aut. Oh, help me, help me : pluck but off these rags, and then death, death

Clo. Alack, poor foul, thou haft need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.

Aut. Oh, Sir, the loathfomnefs of them offends me, more than the ftripes I have receiv'd, which are mighty ones, and millions.

Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.

Aut. I am robb'd, Sir, and beaten; my mony and apparel ta'en from me, and these deteftable things put upon me.

Clo. What, by a horfeman, or a footman?
Aut. A footman, fweet Sir, a footman.

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Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the ments he hath left with thee; if this be a horfe-man's coat, it hath feen very hot fervice. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand.

Aut. Oh, good Sir, tenderly, oh!

Clo. Alas, poor foul.

[Helping him up.

Aut. O good Sir, foftly, good Sir: I fear, Sir, my fhoulder-blade is out.

Clo. How now, canft ftand?

Aut. Softly, dear Sir; good Sir, softly; you ha' done me a charitable office.

Clo. Doft lack any mony? I have a little mony for thee.

Aut. No, good fweet Sir; no, I beseech you, Sir; I have a kinfman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I fhall there have mony, or any thing I want: offer me no mony, I pray you; that kills my heart.

Clo. What manner of fellow was he, that robb'd you? Aut. A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about with trol-my-dames: I knew him once a fervant of the prince; I cannot tell, good Sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipp'd out of the

court.

Clo. His vices, you would fay; there's no virtue whipp'd out of the court; they cherish it to make it stay there, and yet it will no more but abide.

Aut. Vices I would fay, Sir. I know this man well, he hath been fince an ape-bearer, then a procefs ferver, a bailiff; then he compafs'd a motion of the prodigal fon, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lyes; and having flown over many knavish profeffions, he fettled only in a rogue; fome call him Autolicus.

Cle. Out upon him, prig! for my life, prig; he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.

Aut. Very true, Sir; he, Sir, he; that's the rogue, that put me into this apparel.

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Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big, and spit at him, he'd have run. Aut. I must confefs to you, Sir, I am no fighter; [ am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him.

Clo. How do you now?

Aut. Sweet Sir, much better than I was: I can stand, and walk; I will even take my leave of you, and pace foftly towards my kinfman's.

Clo. Shall I bring thee on thy way?

Aut. No, good-fac'd Sir; no, fweet Sir.

Clo. Then, farewel, I muft go to buy spices for our fheep fhearing.

[Exit. Aut. Profper you, fweet Sir! Your purfe is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your fheep-fhearing too: If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the fhearers prove fheep, let me be unroll'd, and my name put into the book of virtue !

SONG.

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the file-a.

A merry heart goes all the day,

Your fad tires in a mile-a.

[Exit.

SCENE, the Profpect of a Shepherd's Cotte, Enter Florizel and Perdita.

Flo.THESE your unufual weeds to each part of you Do give a

no fhepherdefs, but

Peering in April's front. This your sheep-fhearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,

And you the Queen on't.

Per. Sir, my gracious lord,

To chide at your extreams it not becomes me:
Oh pardon, that I name them: your high self,
The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd
With a fwain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Moft goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feafts

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