men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly

now.

Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir.

[Exit. Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rusticks habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.

Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.

Is it not too far gone?-'Tis time to part them.He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.]-How now, fair shepherd?

Your heart is full of something, that does take Your mind froin feasting. Sooth, when I was young,

And handed love, as you do, I was wont

To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd

The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him: if your lass
Interpretation should abuse; and call this
Your lack of love, or bounty: you were straited
For a reply, at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.

Flo.
Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and
lock'd

Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd.-O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this?

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 mo

narch,

Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve; had force, and knowledge,

[them, More than was ever man's,-I would not prize Without her love: for her, employ them all; Commend them, and condemn them, to her service,

Or to their own perdition.

Pol.

Fairly offer'd.

Cam. This shows a sound affection.

Shep.

Say you the like to him?

Per.

But, my daughter,

I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: By the pattern of my 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
Her portion equal his.

Flo.
O, that must be
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.

Shep.

And, daughter, yours.

Come, your hand

Pol. Soft, swain, a while, 'beseech you; Have you a father?

Flo.

I have: But what of him?

He neither does, nor shall.

Pol. Knows he of this?
Flo.

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?

VOL. III.

Q

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 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.

Pol.

Let him know 't.

Flo. He shall not.

Pol.

Pr'ythee, let him.

Flo.

No, he must not.

Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to

grieve

At knowing of thy choice.

Flo.

Come, come, he must not :

Mark our contract.

Pol.

Mark your divorce, young sir, [Discovering himself. Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base. To be acknowledg'd: Thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!-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 fool 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 see this knack, (as

never

I mean thou shalt), we'll bar thee from succes

sion;

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.

[Exit.
Per.
Even here undone !
I was not much afeard: for once, or twice,
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly,
The selfsame sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.-Will 't please you, sir, be gone?
[To FLORIZEL.

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.

Cam.

Why, how now, father?

Speak, ere thou diest.
Shep.
I cannot speak, nor think,
Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir,
[To FLORIZEL.
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
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 would'st adventure

To mingle faith with him.-Undone! undone ! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire.

[Exit.

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 foi

lowing

My leash unwillingly.

Gracious my lord,

Cam. 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.

Flo.

I think, Camillo.

Cam.

I not purpose it.

Even he, my lord.

Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be

thus?

How often said, my dignity would last
But till 'twere 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.

Cam.

Be advis'd.

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

With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd