The Winter's Tale

1If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on

2the like occasion whereon my services are now on

3foot, you shall see, as I have said, great

4difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.

5I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia

6means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.

7Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be

8justified in our loves; for indeed--

9Beseech you,--

10Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge:

11we cannot with such magnificence--in so rare--I know

12not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks,

13that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience,

14may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse

15us.

16You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.

17Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me

18and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.

19Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia.

20They were trained together in their childhoods; and

21there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,

22which cannot choose but branch now. Since their

23more mature dignities and royal necessities made

24separation of their society, their encounters,

25though not personal, have been royally attorneyed

26with interchange of gifts, letters, loving

27embassies; that they have seemed to be together,

28though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and

29embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed

30winds. The heavens continue their loves!

31I think there is not in the world either malice or

32matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable

33comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a

34gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came

35into my note.

36I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it

37is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the

38subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on

39crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to

40see him a man.

41Would they else be content to die?

42Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should

43desire to live.

44If the king had no son, they would desire to live

45on crutches till he had one.

1Nine changes of the watery star hath been

2The shepherd's note since we have left our throne

3Without a burthen: time as long again

4Would be find up, my brother, with our thanks;

5And yet we should, for perpetuity,

6Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,

7Yet standing in rich place, I multiply

8With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe

9That go before it.

10Stay your thanks a while;

11And pay them when you part.

12Sir, that's to-morrow.

13I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance

14Or breed upon our absence; that may blow

15No sneaping winds at home, to make us say

16'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have stay'd

17To tire your royalty.

18We are tougher, brother,

19Than you can put us to't.

20No longer stay.

21One seven-night longer.

22Very sooth, to-morrow.

23We'll part the time between's then; and in that

24I'll no gainsaying.

25Press me not, beseech you, so.

26There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world,

27So soon as yours could win me: so it should now,

28Were there necessity in your request, although

29'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs

30Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder

31Were in your love a whip to me; my stay

32To you a charge and trouble: to save both,

33Farewell, our brother.

34Tongue-tied, our queen?

35speak you.

36I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until

37You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,

38Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure

39All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction

40The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him,

41He's beat from his best ward.

42Well said, Hermione.

43To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong:

44But let him say so then, and let him go;

45But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,

46We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.

47Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure

48The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia

49You take my lord, I'll give him my commission

50To let him there a month behind the gest

51Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes,

52I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind

53What lady-she her lord. You'll stay?

54No, madam.

55Nay, but you will?

56I may not, verily.

57Verily!

58You put me off with limber vows; but I,

59Though you would seek to unsphere the

60stars with oaths,

61Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,

62You shall not go: a lady's 'Verily' 's

63As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?

64Force me to keep you as a prisoner,

65Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees

66When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?

67My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 'Verily,'

68One of them you shall be.

69Your guest, then, madam:

70To be your prisoner should import offending;

71Which is for me less easy to commit

72Than you to punish.

73Not your gaoler, then,

74But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you

75Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys:

76You were pretty lordings then?

77We were, fair queen,

78Two lads that thought there was no more behind

79But such a day to-morrow as to-day,

80And to be boy eternal.

81Was not my lord

82The verier wag o' the two?

83We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun,

84And bleat the one at the other: what we changed

85Was innocence for innocence; we knew not

86The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd

87That any did. Had we pursued that life,

88And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd

89With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven

90Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clear'd

91Hereditary ours.

92By this we gather

93You have tripp'd since.

94O my most sacred lady!

95Temptations have since then been born to's; for

96In those unfledged days was my wife a girl;

97Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes

98Of my young play-fellow.

99Grace to boot!

100Of this make no conclusion, lest you say

101Your queen and I are devils: yet go on;

102The offences we have made you do we'll answer,

103If you first sinn'd with us and that with us

104You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not

105With any but with us.

106Is he won yet?

107He'll stay my lord.

108At my request he would not.

109Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest

110To better purpose.

111Never?

112Never, but once.

113What! have I twice said well? when was't before?

114I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's

115As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless

116Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.

117Our praises are our wages: you may ride's

118With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere

119With spur we beat an acre. But to the goal:

120My last good deed was to entreat his stay:

121What was my first? it has an elder sister,

122Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!

123But once before I spoke to the purpose: when?

124Nay, let me have't; I long.

125Why, that was when

126Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,

127Ere I could make thee open thy white hand

128And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter

129'I am yours for ever.'

130'Tis grace indeed.

131Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:

132The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;

133The other for some while a friend.

134[Aside] Too hot, too hot!

135To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.

136I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;

137But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment

138May a free face put on, derive a liberty

139From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,

140And well become the agent; 't may, I grant;

141But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,

142As now they are, and making practised smiles,

143As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere

144The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment

145My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,

146Art thou my boy?

147Ay, my good lord.

148I' fecks!

149Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast

150smutch'd thy nose?

151They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,

152We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:

153And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf

154Are all call'd neat.--Still virginalling

155Upon his palm!--How now, you wanton calf!

156Art thou my calf?

157Yes, if you will, my lord.

158Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have,

159To be full like me: yet they say we are

160Almost as like as eggs; women say so,

161That will say anything but were they false

162As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false

163As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes

164No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true

165To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,

166Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!

167Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?--may't be?--

168Affection! thy intention stabs the centre:

169Thou dost make possible things not so held,

170Communicatest with dreams;--how can this be?--

171With what's unreal thou coactive art,

172And fellow'st nothing: then 'tis very credent

173Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost,

174And that beyond commission, and I find it,

175And that to the infection of my brains

176And hardening of my brows.

177What means Sicilia?

178He something seems unsettled.

179How, my lord!

180What cheer? how is't with you, best brother?

181You look as if you held a brow of much distraction

182Are you moved, my lord?

183No, in good earnest.

184How sometimes nature will betray its folly,

185Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime

186To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines

187Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil

188Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd,

189In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled,

190Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,

191As ornaments oft do, too dangerous:

192How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,

193This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,

194Will you take eggs for money?

195No, my lord, I'll fight.

196You will! why, happy man be's dole! My brother,

197Are you so fond of your young prince as we

198Do seem to be of ours?

199If at home, sir,

200He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter,

201Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy,

202My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:

203He makes a July's day short as December,

204And with his varying childness cures in me

205Thoughts that would thick my blood.

206So stands this squire

207Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord,

208And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,

209How thou lovest us, show in our brother's welcome;

210Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:

211Next to thyself and my young rover, he's

212Apparent to my heart.

213If you would seek us,

214We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there?

215To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found,

216Be you beneath the sky.

217I am angling now,

218Though you perceive me not how I give line.

219Go to, go to!

220How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!

221And arms her with the boldness of a wife

222To her allowing husband!

223Gone already!

224Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and

225ears a fork'd one!

226Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I

227Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue

228Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour

229Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play.

230There have been,

231Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now;

232And many a man there is, even at this present,

233Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,

234That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence

235And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by

236Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't

237Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,

238As mine, against their will. Should all despair

239That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind

240Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none;

241It is a bawdy planet, that will strike

242Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it,

243From east, west, north and south: be it concluded,

244No barricado for a belly; know't;

245It will let in and out the enemy

246With bag and baggage: many thousand on's

247Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!

248I am like you, they say.

249Why that's some comfort. What, Camillo there?

250Ay, my good lord.

251Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.

252Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.

253You had much ado to make his anchor hold:

254When you cast out, it still came home.

255Didst note it?

256He would not stay at your petitions: made

257His business more material.

258Didst perceive it?

259They're here with me already, whispering, rounding

260'Sicilia is a so-forth:' 'tis far gone,

261When I shall gust it last. How came't, Camillo,

262That he did stay?

263At the good queen's entreaty.

264At the queen's be't: 'good' should be pertinent

265But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken

266By any understanding pate but thine?

267For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in

268More than the common blocks: not noted, is't,

269But of the finer natures? by some severals

270Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes

271Perchance are to this business purblind? say.

272Business, my lord! I think most understand

273Bohemia stays here longer.

274Ha!

275Stays here longer.

276Ay, but why?

277To satisfy your highness and the entreaties

278Of our most gracious mistress.

279Satisfy!

280The entreaties of your mistress! satisfy!

281Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,

282With all the nearest things to my heart, as well

283My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou

284Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed

285Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been

286Deceived in thy integrity, deceived

287In that which seems so.

288Be it forbid, my lord!

289To bide upon't, thou art not honest, or,

290If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward,

291Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining

292From course required; or else thou must be counted

293A servant grafted in my serious trust

294And therein negligent; or else a fool

295That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,

296And takest it all for jest.

297My gracious lord,

298I may be negligent, foolish and fearful;

299In every one of these no man is free,

300But that his negligence, his folly, fear,

301Among the infinite doings of the world,

302Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,

303If ever I were wilful-negligent,

304It was my folly; if industriously

305I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,

306Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful

307To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,

308Where of the execution did cry out

309Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear

310Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord,

311Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty

312Is never free of. But, beseech your grace,

313Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass

314By its own visage: if I then deny it,

315'Tis none of mine.

316Ha' not you seen, Camillo,--

317But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye-glass

318Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,--or heard,--

319For to a vision so apparent rumour

320Cannot be mute,--or thought,--for cogitation

321Resides not in that man that does not think,--

322My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,

323Or else be impudently negative,

324To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say

325My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name

326As rank as any flax-wench that puts to

327Before her troth-plight: say't and justify't.

328I would not be a stander-by to hear

329My sovereign mistress clouded so, without

330My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart,

331You never spoke what did become you less

332Than this; which to reiterate were sin

333As deep as that, though true.

334Is whispering nothing?

335Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?

336Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career

337Of laughing with a sigh?--a note infallible

338Of breaking honesty--horsing foot on foot?

339Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?

340Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes

341Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,

342That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?

343Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing;

344The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;

345My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,

346If this be nothing.

347Good my lord, be cured

348Of this diseased opinion, and betimes;

349For 'tis most dangerous.

350Say it be, 'tis true.

351No, no, my lord.

352It is; you lie, you lie:

353I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,

354Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,

355Or else a hovering temporizer, that

356Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,

357Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver

358Infected as her life, she would not live

359The running of one glass.

360Who does infect her?

361Why, he that wears her like a medal, hanging

362About his neck, Bohemia: who, if I

363Had servants true about me, that bare eyes

364To see alike mine honour as their profits,

365Their own particular thrifts, they would do that

366Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou,

367His cupbearer,--whom I from meaner form

368Have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see

369Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,

370How I am galled,--mightst bespice a cup,

371To give mine enemy a lasting wink;

372Which draught to me were cordial.

373Sir, my lord,

374I could do this, and that with no rash potion,

375But with a lingering dram that should not work

376Maliciously like poison: but I cannot

377Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,

378So sovereignly being honourable.

379I have loved thee,--

380Make that thy question, and go rot!

381Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,

382To appoint myself in this vexation, sully

383The purity and whiteness of my sheets,

384Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted

385Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps,

386Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son,

387Who I do think is mine and love as mine,

388Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this?

389Could man so blench?

390I must believe you, sir:

391I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;

392Provided that, when he's removed, your highness

393Will take again your queen as yours at first,

394Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing

395The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms

396Known and allied to yours.

397Thou dost advise me

398Even so as I mine own course have set down:

399I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.

400My lord,

401Go then; and with a countenance as clear

402As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia

403And with your queen. I am his cupbearer:

404If from me he have wholesome beverage,

405Account me not your servant.

406This is all:

407Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart;

408Do't not, thou split'st thine own.

409I'll do't, my lord.

410I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me.

411O miserable lady! But, for me,

412What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner

413Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't

414Is the obedience to a master, one

415Who in rebellion with himself will have

416All that are his so too. To do this deed,

417Promotion follows. If I could find example

418Of thousands that had struck anointed kings

419And flourish'd after, I'ld not do't; but since

420Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one,

421Let villany itself forswear't. I must

422Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain

423To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now!

424Here comes Bohemia.

425This is strange: methinks

426My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?

427Good day, Camillo.

428Hail, most royal sir!

429What is the news i' the court?

430None rare, my lord.

431The king hath on him such a countenance

432As he had lost some province and a region

433Loved as he loves himself: even now I met him

434With customary compliment; when he,

435Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling

436A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and

437So leaves me to consider what is breeding

438That changeth thus his manners.

439I dare not know, my lord.

440How! dare not! do not. Do you know, and dare not?

441Be intelligent to me: 'tis thereabouts;

442For, to yourself, what you do know, you must.

443And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,

444Your changed complexions are to me a mirror

445Which shows me mine changed too; for I must be

446A party in this alteration, finding

447Myself thus alter'd with 't.

448There is a sickness

449Which puts some of us in distemper, but

450I cannot name the disease; and it is caught

451Of you that yet are well.

452How! caught of me!

453Make me not sighted like the basilisk:

454I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better

455By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,--

456As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto

457Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns

458Our gentry than our parents' noble names,

459In whose success we are gentle,--I beseech you,

460If you know aught which does behove my knowledge

461Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not

462In ignorant concealment.

463I may not answer.

464A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!

465I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo,

466I conjure thee, by all the parts of man

467Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least

468Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare

469What incidency thou dost guess of harm

470Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;

471Which way to be prevented, if to be;

472If not, how best to bear it.

473Sir, I will tell you;

474Since I am charged in honour and by him

475That I think honourable: therefore mark my counsel,

476Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as

477I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me

478Cry lost, and so good night!

479On, good Camillo.

480I am appointed him to murder you.

481By whom, Camillo?

482By the king.

483For what?

484He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,

485As he had seen't or been an instrument

486To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen

487Forbiddenly.

488O, then my best blood turn

489To an infected jelly and my name

490Be yoked with his that did betray the Best!

491Turn then my freshest reputation to

492A savour that may strike the dullest nostril

493Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,

494Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection

495That e'er was heard or read!

496Swear his thought over

497By each particular star in heaven and

498By all their influences, you may as well

499Forbid the sea for to obey the moon

500As or by oath remove or counsel shake

501The fabric of his folly, whose foundation

502Is piled upon his faith and will continue

503The standing of his body.

504How should this grow?

505I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer to

506Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born.

507If therefore you dare trust my honesty,

508That lies enclosed in this trunk which you

509Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night!

510Your followers I will whisper to the business,

511And will by twos and threes at several posterns

512Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put

513My fortunes to your service, which are here

514By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain;

515For, by the honour of my parents, I

516Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove,

517I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer

518Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon

519His execution sworn.

520I do believe thee:

521I saw his heart in 's face. Give me thy hand:

522Be pilot to me and thy places shall

523Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready and

524My people did expect my hence departure

525Two days ago. This jealousy

526Is for a precious creature: as she's rare,

527Must it be great, and as his person's mighty,

528Must it be violent, and as he does conceive

529He is dishonour'd by a man which ever

530Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must

531In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me:

532Good expedition be my friend, and comfort

533The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing

534Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;

535I will respect thee as a father if

536Thou bear'st my life off hence: let us avoid.

537It is in mine authority to command

538The keys of all the posterns: please your highness

539To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.

1Take the boy to you: he so troubles me,

2'Tis past enduring.

3Come, my gracious lord,

4Shall I be your playfellow?

5No, I'll none of you.

6Why, my sweet lord?

7You'll kiss me hard and speak to me as if

8I were a baby still. I love you better.

9And why so, my lord?

10Not for because

11Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,

12Become some women best, so that there be not

13Too much hair there, but in a semicircle

14Or a half-moon made with a pen.

15Who taught you this?

16I learnt it out of women's faces. Pray now

17What colour are your eyebrows?

18Blue, my lord.

19Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose

20That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.

21Hark ye;

22The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall

23Present our services to a fine new prince

24One of these days; and then you'ld wanton with us,

25If we would have you.

26She is spread of late

27Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!

28What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now

29I am for you again: pray you, sit by us,

30And tell 's a tale.

31Merry or sad shall't be?

32As merry as you will.

33A sad tale's best for winter: I have one

34Of sprites and goblins.

35Let's have that, good sir.

36Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best

37To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful at it.

38There was a man--

39Nay, come, sit down; then on.

40Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly;

41Yond crickets shall not hear it.

42Come on, then,

43And give't me in mine ear.

44Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?

45Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never

46Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them

47Even to their ships.

48How blest am I

49In my just censure, in my true opinion!

50Alack, for lesser knowledge! how accursed

51In being so blest! There may be in the cup

52A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,

53And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge

54Is not infected: but if one present

55The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known

56How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,

57With violent hefts. I have drunk,

58and seen the spider.

59Camillo was his help in this, his pander:

60There is a plot against my life, my crown;

61All's true that is mistrusted: that false villain

62Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him:

63He has discover'd my design, and I

64Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick

65For them to play at will. How came the posterns

66So easily open?

67By his great authority;

68Which often hath no less prevail'd than so

69On your command.

70I know't too well.

71Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him:

72Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you

73Have too much blood in him.

74What is this? sport?

75Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;

76Away with him! and let her sport herself

77With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes

78Has made thee swell thus.

79But I'ld say he had not,

80And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying,

81Howe'er you lean to the nayward.

82You, my lords,

83Look on her, mark her well; be but about

84To say 'she is a goodly lady,' and

85The justice of your bearts will thereto add

86'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable:'

87Praise her but for this her without-door form,

88Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight

89The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands

90That calumny doth use--O, I am out--

91That mercy does, for calumny will sear

92Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and ha's,

93When you have said 'she's goodly,' come between

94Ere you can say 'she's honest:' but be 't known,

95From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,

96She's an adulteress.

97Should a villain say so,

98The most replenish'd villain in the world,

99He were as much more villain: you, my lord,

100Do but mistake.

101You have mistook, my lady,

102Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing!

103Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,

104Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,

105Should a like language use to all degrees

106And mannerly distinguishment leave out

107Betwixt the prince and beggar: I have said

108She's an adulteress; I have said with whom:

109More, she's a traitor and Camillo is

110A federary with her, and one that knows

111What she should shame to know herself

112But with her most vile principal, that she's

113A bed-swerver, even as bad as those

114That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy

115To this their late escape.

116No, by my life.

117Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you,

118When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that

119You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord,

120You scarce can right me throughly then to say

121You did mistake.

122No; if I mistake

123In those foundations which I build upon,

124The centre is not big enough to bear

125A school-boy's top. Away with her! to prison!

126He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty

127But that he speaks.

128There's some ill planet reigns:

129I must be patient till the heavens look

130With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,

131I am not prone to weeping, as our sex

132Commonly are; the want of which vain dew

133Perchance shall dry your pities: but I have

134That honourable grief lodged here which burns

135Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,

136With thoughts so qualified as your charities

137Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so

138The king's will be perform'd!

139Shall I be heard?

140Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness,

141My women may be with me; for you see

142My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;

143There is no cause: when you shall know your mistress

144Has deserved prison, then abound in tears

145As I come out: this action I now go on

146Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:

147I never wish'd to see you sorry; now

148I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.

149Go, do our bidding; hence!

150Beseech your highness, call the queen again.

151Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice

152Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer,

153Yourself, your queen, your son.

154For her, my lord,

155I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir,

156Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless

157I' the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean,

158In this which you accuse her.

159If it prove

160She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where

161I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her;

162Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;

163For every inch of woman in the world,

164Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, If she be.

165Hold your peaces.

166Good my lord,--

167It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:

168You are abused and by some putter-on

169That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the villain,

170I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd,

171I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven

172The second and the third, nine, and some five;

173If this prove true, they'll pay for't:

174by mine honour,

175I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see,

176To bring false generations: they are co-heirs;

177And I had rather glib myself than they

178Should not produce fair issue.

179Cease; no more.

180You smell this business with a sense as cold

181As is a dead man's nose: but I do see't and feel't

182As you feel doing thus; and see withal

183The instruments that feel.

184If it be so,

185We need no grave to bury honesty:

186There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten

187Of the whole dungy earth.

188What! lack I credit?

189I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,

190Upon this ground; and more it would content me

191To have her honour true than your suspicion,

192Be blamed for't how you might.

193Why, what need we

194Commune with you of this, but rather follow

195Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative

196Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness

197Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied

198Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not

199Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves

200We need no more of your advice: the matter,

201The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all

202Properly ours.

203And I wish, my liege,

204You had only in your silent judgment tried it,

205Without more overture.

206How could that be?

207Either thou art most ignorant by age,

208Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,

209Added to their familiarity,

210Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,

211That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation

212But only seeing, all other circumstances

213Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding:

214Yet, for a greater confirmation,

215For in an act of this importance 'twere

216Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post

217To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,

218Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know

219Of stuff'd sufficiency: now from the oracle

220They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had,

221Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well?

222Well done, my lord.

223Though I am satisfied and need no more

224Than what I know, yet shall the oracle

225Give rest to the minds of others, such as he

226Whose ignorant credulity will not

227Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good

228From our free person she should be confined,

229Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence

230Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;

231We are to speak in public; for this business

232Will raise us all.

233[Aside]

234To laughter, as I take it,

235If the good truth were known.

1The keeper of the prison, call to him;

2let him have knowledge who I am.

3Good lady,

4No court in Europe is too good for thee;

5What dost thou then in prison?

6Now, good sir,

7You know me, do you not?

8For a worthy lady

9And one whom much I honour.

10Pray you then,

11Conduct me to the queen.

12I may not, madam:

13To the contrary I have express commandment.

14Here's ado,

15To lock up honesty and honour from

16The access of gentle visitors!

17Is't lawful, pray you,

18To see her women? any of them? Emilia?

19So please you, madam,

20To put apart these your attendants, I

21Shall bring Emilia forth.

22I pray now, call her.

23Withdraw yourselves.

24And, madam,

25I must be present at your conference.

26Well, be't so, prithee.

27Here's such ado to make no stain a stain

28As passes colouring.

29Dear gentlewoman,

30How fares our gracious lady?

31As well as one so great and so forlorn

32May hold together: on her frights and griefs,

33Which never tender lady hath born greater,

34She is something before her time deliver'd.

35A boy?

36A daughter, and a goodly babe,

37Lusty and like to live: the queen receives

38Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner,

39I am innocent as you.'

40I dare be sworn

41These dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king,

42beshrew them!

43He must be told on't, and he shall: the office

44Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me:

45If I prove honey-mouth'd let my tongue blister

46And never to my red-look'd anger be

47The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,

48Commend my best obedience to the queen:

49If she dares trust me with her little babe,

50I'll show't the king and undertake to be

51Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know

52How he may soften at the sight o' the child:

53The silence often of pure innocence

54Persuades when speaking fails.

55Most worthy madam,

56Your honour and your goodness is so evident

57That your free undertaking cannot miss

58A thriving issue: there is no lady living

59So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship

60To visit the next room, I'll presently

61Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer;

62Who but to-day hammer'd of this design,

63But durst not tempt a minister of honour,

64Lest she should be denied.

65Tell her, Emilia.

66I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from't

67As boldness from my bosom, let 't not be doubted

68I shall do good.

69Now be you blest for it!

70I'll to the queen: please you,

71come something nearer.

72Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe,

73I know not what I shall incur to pass it,

74Having no warrant.

75You need not fear it, sir:

76This child was prisoner to the womb and is

77By law and process of great nature thence

78Freed and enfranchised, not a party to

79The anger of the king nor guilty of,

80If any be, the trespass of the queen.

81I do believe it.

82Do not you fear: upon mine honour,

83I will stand betwixt you and danger.

1Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness

2To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If

3The cause were not in being,--part o' the cause,

4She the adulteress; for the harlot king

5Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank

6And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she

7I can hook to me: say that she were gone,

8Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest

9Might come to me again. Who's there?

10My lord?

11How does the boy?

12He took good rest to-night;

13'Tis hoped his sickness is discharged.

14To see his nobleness!

15Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,

16He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply,

17Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself,

18Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,

19And downright languish'd. Leave me solely: go,

20See how he fares.

21Fie, fie! no thought of him:

22The thought of my revenges that way

23Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty,

24And in his parties, his alliance; let him be

25Until a time may serve: for present vengeance,

26Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes

27Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow:

28They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor

29Shall she within my power.

30You must not enter.

31Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:

32Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,

33Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul,

34More free than he is jealous.

35That's enough.

36Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded

37None should come at him.

38Not so hot, good sir:

39I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,

40That creep like shadows by him and do sigh

41At each his needless heavings, such as you

42Nourish the cause of his awaking: I

43Do come with words as medicinal as true,

44Honest as either, to purge him of that humour

45That presses him from sleep.

46What noise there, ho?

47No noise, my lord; but needful conference

48About some gossips for your highness.

49How!

50Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus,

51I charged thee that she should not come about me:

52I knew she would.

53I told her so, my lord,

54On your displeasure's peril and on mine,

55She should not visit you.

56What, canst not rule her?

57From all dishonesty he can: in this,

58Unless he take the course that you have done,

59Commit me for committing honour, trust it,

60He shall not rule me.

61La you now, you hear:

62When she will take the rein I let her run;

63But she'll not stumble.

64Good my liege, I come;

65And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess

66Myself your loyal servant, your physician,

67Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare

68Less appear so in comforting your evils,

69Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come

70From your good queen.

71Good queen!

72Good queen, my lord,

73Good queen; I say good queen;

74And would by combat make her good, so were I

75A man, the worst about you.

76Force her hence.

77Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes

78First hand me: on mine own accord I'll off;

79But first I'll do my errand. The good queen,

80For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;

81Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.

82Out!

83A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door:

84A most intelligencing bawd!

85Not so:

86I am as ignorant in that as you

87In so entitling me, and no less honest

88Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,

89As this world goes, to pass for honest.

90Traitors!

91Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.

92Thou dotard! thou art woman-tired, unroosted

93By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard;

94Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.

95For ever

96Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou

97Takest up the princess by that forced baseness

98Which he has put upon't!

99He dreads his wife.

100So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt

101You'ld call your children yours.

102A nest of traitors!

103I am none, by this good light.

104Nor I, nor any

105But one that's here, and that's himself, for he

106The sacred honour of himself, his queen's,

107His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,

108Whose sting is sharper than the sword's;

109and will not--

110For, as the case now stands, it is a curse

111He cannot be compell'd to't--once remove

112The root of his opinion, which is rotten

113As ever oak or stone was sound.

114A callat

115Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband

116And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;

117It is the issue of Polixenes:

118Hence with it, and together with the dam

119Commit them to the fire!

120It is yours;

121And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,

122So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,

123Although the print be little, the whole matter

124And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip,

125The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,

126The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek,

127His smiles,

128The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:

129And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it

130So like to him that got it, if thou hast

131The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours

132No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does,

133Her children not her husband's!

134A gross hag

135And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,

136That wilt not stay her tongue.

137Hang all the husbands

138That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself

139Hardly one subject.

140Once more, take her hence.

141A most unworthy and unnatural lord

142Can do no more.

143I'll ha' thee burnt.

144I care not:

145It is an heretic that makes the fire,

146Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant;

147But this most cruel usage of your queen,

148Not able to produce more accusation

149Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours

150Of tyranny and will ignoble make you,

151Yea, scandalous to the world.

152On your allegiance,

153Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,

154Where were her life? she durst not call me so,

155If she did know me one. Away with her!

156I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.

157Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours:

158Jove send her

159A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?

160You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,

161Will never do him good, not one of you.

162So, so: farewell; we are gone.

163Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.

164My child? away with't! Even thou, that hast

165A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence

166And see it instantly consumed with fire;

167Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight:

168Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,

169And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,

170With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse

171And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;

172The bastard brains with these my proper hands

173Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;

174For thou set'st on thy wife.

175I did not, sir:

176These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,

177Can clear me in't.

178We can: my royal liege,

179He is not guilty of her coming hither.

180You're liars all.

181Beseech your highness, give us better credit:

182We have always truly served you, and beseech you

183So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg,

184As recompense of our dear services

185Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,

186Which being so horrible, so bloody, must

187Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel.

188I am a feather for each wind that blows:

189Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel

190And call me father? better burn it now

191Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.

192It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither;

193You that have been so tenderly officious

194With Lady Margery, your midwife there,

195To save this bastard's life,--for 'tis a bastard,

196So sure as this beard's grey,

197--what will you adventure

198To save this brat's life?

199Any thing, my lord,

200That my ability may undergo

201And nobleness impose: at least thus much:

202I'll pawn the little blood which I have left

203To save the innocent: any thing possible.

204It shall be possible. Swear by this sword

205Thou wilt perform my bidding.

206I will, my lord.

207Mark and perform it, see'st thou! for the fail

208Of any point in't shall not only be

209Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife,

210Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,

211As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry

212This female bastard hence and that thou bear it

213To some remote and desert place quite out

214Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it,

215Without more mercy, to its own protection

216And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune

217It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,

218On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,

219That thou commend it strangely to some place

220Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.

221I swear to do this, though a present death

222Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:

223Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens

224To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say

225Casting their savageness aside have done

226Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous

227In more than this deed does require! And blessing

228Against this cruelty fight on thy side,

229Poor thing, condemn'd to loss!

230No, I'll not rear

231Another's issue.

232Please your highness, posts

233From those you sent to the oracle are come

234An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,

235Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed,

236Hasting to the court.

237So please you, sir, their speed

238Hath been beyond account.

239Twenty-three days

240They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells

241The great Apollo suddenly will have

242The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;

243Summon a session, that we may arraign

244Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath

245Been publicly accused, so shall she have

246A just and open trial. While she lives

247My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me,

248And think upon my bidding.

1The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,

2Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing

3The common praise it bears.

4I shall report,

5For most it caught me, the celestial habits,

6Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence

7Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!

8How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly

9It was i' the offering!

10But of all, the burst

11And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle,

12Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense.

13That I was nothing.

14If the event o' the journey

15Prove as successful to the queen,--O be't so!--

16As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,

17The time is worth the use on't.

18Great Apollo

19Turn all to the best! These proclamations,

20So forcing faults upon Hermione,

21I little like.

22The violent carriage of it

23Will clear or end the business: when the oracle,

24Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,

25Shall the contents discover, something rare

26Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses!

27And gracious be the issue!

1This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,

2Even pushes 'gainst our heart: the party tried

3The daughter of a king, our wife, and one

4Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd

5Of being tyrannous, since we so openly

6Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,

7Even to the guilt or the purgation.

8Produce the prisoner.

9It is his highness' pleasure that the queen

10Appear in person here in court. Silence!

11Read the indictment.

12[Reads] Hermione, queen to the worthy

13Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and

14arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery

15with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and conspiring

16with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign

17lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence

18whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,

19thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance

20of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for

21their better safety, to fly away by night.

22Since what I am to say must be but that

23Which contradicts my accusation and

24The testimony on my part no other

25But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me

26To say 'not guilty:' mine integrity

27Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,

28Be so received. But thus: if powers divine

29Behold our human actions, as they do,

30I doubt not then but innocence shall make

31False accusation blush and tyranny

32Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,

33Who least will seem to do so, my past life

34Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,

35As I am now unhappy; which is more

36Than history can pattern, though devised

37And play'd to take spectators. For behold me

38A fellow of the royal bed, which owe

39A moiety of the throne a great king's daughter,

40The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing

41To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore

42Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it

43As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,

44'Tis a derivative from me to mine,

45And only that I stand for. I appeal

46To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes

47Came to your court, how I was in your grace,

48How merited to be so; since he came,

49With what encounter so uncurrent I

50Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond

51The bound of honour, or in act or will

52That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts

53Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin

54Cry fie upon my grave!

55I ne'er heard yet

56That any of these bolder vices wanted

57Less impudence to gainsay what they did

58Than to perform it first.

59That's true enough;

60Through 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.

61You will not own it.

62More than mistress of

63Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not

64At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,

65With whom I am accused, I do confess

66I loved him as in honour he required,

67With such a kind of love as might become

68A lady like me, with a love even such,

69So and no other, as yourself commanded:

70Which not to have done I think had been in me

71Both disobedience and ingratitude

72To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,

73Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely

74That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,

75I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd

76For me to try how: all I know of it

77Is that Camillo was an honest man;

78And why he left your court, the gods themselves,

79Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.

80You knew of his departure, as you know

81What you have underta'en to do in's absence.

82Sir,

83You speak a language that I understand not:

84My life stands in the level of your dreams,

85Which I'll lay down.

86Your actions are my dreams;

87You had a bastard by Polixenes,

88And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame,--

89Those of your fact are so--so past all truth:

90Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as

91Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,

92No father owning it,--which is, indeed,

93More criminal in thee than it,--so thou

94Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage

95Look for no less than death.

96Sir, spare your threats:

97The bug which you would fright me with I seek.

98To me can life be no commodity:

99The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,

100I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,

101But know not how it went. My second joy

102And first-fruits of my body, from his presence

103I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort

104Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,

105The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,

106Haled out to murder: myself on every post

107Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred

108The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs

109To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried

110Here to this place, i' the open air, before

111I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,

112Tell me what blessings I have here alive,

113That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed.

114But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life,

115I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,

116Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd

117Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else

118But what your jealousies awake, I tell you

119'Tis rigor and not law. Your honours all,

120I do refer me to the oracle:

121Apollo be my judge!

122This your request

123Is altogether just: therefore bring forth,

124And in Apollos name, his oracle.

125The Emperor of Russia was my father:

126O that he were alive, and here beholding

127His daughter's trial! that he did but see

128The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes

129Of pity, not revenge!

130You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,

131That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have

132Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought

133The seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd

134Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then,

135You have not dared to break the holy seal

136Nor read the secrets in't.

137All this we swear.

138Break up the seals and read.

139[Reads] Hermione is chaste;

140Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes

141a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;

142and the king shall live without an heir, if that

143which is lost be not found.

144Now blessed be the great Apollo!

145Praised!

146Hast thou read truth?

147Ay, my lord; even so

148As it is here set down.

149There is no truth at all i' the oracle:

150The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.

151My lord the king, the king!

152What is the business?

153O sir, I shall be hated to report it!

154The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear

155Of the queen's speed, is gone.

156How! gone!

157Is dead.

158Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves

159Do strike at my injustice.

160How now there!

161This news is mortal to the queen: look down

162And see what death is doing.

163Take her hence:

164Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover:

165I have too much believed mine own suspicion:

166Beseech you, tenderly apply to her

167Some remedies for life.

168Apollo, pardon

169My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!

170I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,

171New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,

172Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;

173For, being transported by my jealousies

174To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose

175Camillo for the minister to poison

176My friend Polixenes: which had been done,

177But that the good mind of Camillo tardied

178My swift command, though I with death and with

179Reward did threaten and encourage him,

180Not doing 't and being done: he, most humane

181And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest

182Unclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here,

183Which you knew great, and to the hazard

184Of all encertainties himself commended,

185No richer than his honour: how he glisters

186Thorough my rust! and how his pity

187Does my deeds make the blacker!

188Woe the while!

189O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,

190Break too.

191What fit is this, good lady?

192What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?

193What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling?

194In leads or oils? what old or newer torture

195Must I receive, whose every word deserves

196To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny

197Together working with thy jealousies,

198Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle

199For girls of nine, O, think what they have done

200And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all

201Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.

202That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing;

203That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant

204And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,

205Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,

206To have him kill a king: poor trespasses,

207More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon

208The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter

209To be or none or little; though a devil

210Would have shed water out of fire ere done't:

211Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death

212Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,

213Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart

214That could conceive a gross and foolish sire

215Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no,

216Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords,

217When I have said, cry 'woe!' the queen, the queen,

218The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead,

219and vengeance for't

220Not dropp'd down yet.

221The higher powers forbid!

222I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath

223Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring

224Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,

225Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you

226As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!

227Do not repent these things, for they are heavier

228Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee

229To nothing but despair. A thousand knees

230Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,

231Upon a barren mountain and still winter

232In storm perpetual, could not move the gods

233To look that way thou wert.

234Go on, go on

235Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved

236All tongues to talk their bitterest.

237Say no more:

238Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault

239I' the boldness of your speech.

240I am sorry for't:

241All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,

242I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much

243The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd

244To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past help

245Should be past grief: do not receive affliction

246At my petition; I beseech you, rather

247Let me be punish'd, that have minded you

248Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege

249Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:

250The love I bore your queen--lo, fool again!--

251I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;

252I'll not remember you of my own lord,

253Who is lost too: take your patience to you,

254And I'll say nothing.

255Thou didst speak but well

256When most the truth; which I receive much better

257Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me

258To the dead bodies of my queen and son:

259One grave shall be for both: upon them shall

260The causes of their death appear, unto

261Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit

262The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there

263Shall be my recreation: so long as nature

264Will bear up with this exercise, so long

265I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me

266Unto these sorrows.

1Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon

2The deserts of Bohemia?

3Ay, my lord: and fear

4We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly

5And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,

6The heavens with that we have in hand are angry

7And frown upon 's.

8Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;

9Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before

10I call upon thee.

11Make your best haste, and go not

12Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather;

13Besides, this place is famous for the creatures

14Of prey that keep upon't.

15Go thou away:

16I'll follow instantly.

17I am glad at heart

18To be so rid o' the business.

19Come, poor babe:

20I have heard, but not believed,

21the spirits o' the dead

22May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother

23Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream

24So like a waking. To me comes a creature,

25Sometimes her head on one side, some another;

26I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,

27So fill'd and so becoming: in pure white robes,

28Like very sanctity, she did approach

29My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me,

30And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes

31Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon

32Did this break-from her: 'Good Antigonus,

33Since fate, against thy better disposition,

34Hath made thy person for the thrower-out

35Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,

36Places remote enough are in Bohemia,

37There weep and leave it crying; and, for the babe

38Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,

39I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business

40Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see

41Thy wife Paulina more.' And so, with shrieks

42She melted into air. Affrighted much,

43I did in time collect myself and thought

44This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys:

45Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,

46I will be squared by this. I do believe

47Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that

48Apollo would, this being indeed the issue

49Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,

50Either for life or death, upon the earth

51Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!

52There lie, and there thy character: there these;

53Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,

54And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor wretch,

55That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed

56To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,

57But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I

58To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!

59The day frowns more and more: thou'rt like to have

60A lullaby too rough: I never saw

61The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!

62Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:

63I am gone for ever.

64I would there were no age between sixteen and

65three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the

66rest; for there is nothing in the between but

67getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,

68stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but

69these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty

70hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my

71best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find

72than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by

73the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy

74will what have we here! Mercy on 's, a barne a very

75pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A

76pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some 'scape:

77though I am not bookish, yet I can read

78waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This has been

79some stair-work, some trunk-work, some

80behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this

81than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for

82pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hallooed

83but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!

84Hilloa, loa!

85What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk

86on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What

87ailest thou, man?

88I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land!

89but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the

90sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust

91a bodkin's point.

92Why, boy, how is it?

93I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages,

94how it takes up the shore! but that's not the

95point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls!

96sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the

97ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon

98swallowed with yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a

99cork into a hogshead. And then for the

100land-service, to see how the bear tore out his

101shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said

102his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an

103end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned

104it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the

105sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared

106and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than

107the sea or weather.

108Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

109Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these

110sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor

111the bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at it

112now.

113Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!

114I would you had been by the ship side, to have

115helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing.

116Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here,

117boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things

118dying, I with things newborn. Here's a sight for

119thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's

120child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy;

121open't. So, let's see: it was told me I should be

122rich by the fairies. This is some changeling:

123open't. What's within, boy?

124You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth

125are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!

126This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up

127with't, keep it close: home, home, the next way.

128We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires

129nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good

130boy, the next way home.

131Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see

132if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much

133he hath eaten: they are never curst but when they

134are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury

135it.

136That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that

137which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the

138sight of him.

139Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground.

140'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't.

141SCENE I:

142I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror

143Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,

144Now take upon me, in the name of Time,

145To use my wings. Impute it not a crime

146To me or my swift passage, that I slide

147O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried

148Of that wide gap, since it is in my power

149To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour

150To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass

151The same I am, ere ancient'st order was

152Or what is now received: I witness to

153The times that brought them in; so shall I do

154To the freshest things now reigning and make stale

155The glistering of this present, as my tale

156Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,

157I turn my glass and give my scene such growing

158As you had slept between: Leontes leaving,

159The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving

160That he shuts up himself, imagine me,

161Gentle spectators, that I now may be

162In fair Bohemia, and remember well,

163I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel

164I now name to you; and with speed so pace

165To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace

166Equal with wondering: what of her ensues

167I list not prophecy; but let Time's news

168Be known when 'tis brought forth.

169A shepherd's daughter,

170And what to her adheres, which follows after,

171Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,

172If ever you have spent time worse ere now;

173If never, yet that Time himself doth say

174He wishes earnestly you never may.

1I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror

2Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,

3Now take upon me, in the name of Time,

4To use my wings. Impute it not a crime

5To me or my swift passage, that I slide

6O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried

7Of that wide gap, since it is in my power

8To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour

9To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass

10The same I am, ere ancient'st order was

11Or what is now received: I witness to

12The times that brought them in; so shall I do

13To the freshest things now reigning and make stale

14The glistering of this present, as my tale

15Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,

16I turn my glass and give my scene such growing

17As you had slept between: Leontes leaving,

18The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving

19That he shuts up himself, imagine me,

20Gentle spectators, that I now may be

21In fair Bohemia, and remember well,

22I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel

23I now name to you; and with speed so pace

24To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace

25Equal with wondering: what of her ensues

26I list not prophecy; but let Time's news

27Be known when 'tis brought forth.

28A shepherd's daughter,

29And what to her adheres, which follows after,

30Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,

31If ever you have spent time worse ere now;

32If never, yet that Time himself doth say

33He wishes earnestly you never may.

1I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:

2'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to

3grant this.

4It is fifteen years since I saw my country: though

5I have for the most part been aired abroad, I

6desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent

7king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling

8sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to

9think so, which is another spur to my departure.

10As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of

11thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of

12thee thine own goodness hath made; better not to

13have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having

14made me businesses which none without thee can

15sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute

16them thyself or take away with thee the very

17services thou hast done; which if I have not enough

18considered, as too much I cannot, to be more

19thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit

20therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal

21country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very

22naming punishes me with the remembrance of that

23penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled king,

24my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen

25and children are even now to be afresh lamented.

26Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my

27son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not

28being gracious, than they are in losing them when

29they have approved their virtues.

30Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What

31his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I

32have missingly noted, he is of late much retired

33from court and is less frequent to his princely

34exercises than formerly he hath appeared.

35I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some

36care; so far that I have eyes under my service which

37look upon his removedness; from whom I have this

38intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a

39most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from

40very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his

41neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.

42I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a

43daughter of most rare note: the report of her is

44extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.

45That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I

46fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou

47shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not

48appearing what we are, have some question with the

49shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not

50uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither.

51Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and

52lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

53I willingly obey your command.

54My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.

1When daffodils begin to peer,

2With heigh! the doxy over the dale,

3Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;

4For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

5The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,

6With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!

7Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;

8For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

9The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,

10With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,

11Are summer songs for me and my aunts,

12While we lie tumbling in the hay.

13I have served Prince Florizel and in my time

14wore three-pile; but now I am out of service:

15But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?

16The pale moon shines by night:

17And when I wander here and there,

18I then do most go right.

19If tinkers may have leave to live,

20And bear the sow-skin budget,

21Then my account I well may, give,

22And in the stocks avouch it.

23My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to

24lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who

25being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise

26a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and

27drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is

28the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful

29on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to

30me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought

31of it. A prize! a prize!

32Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod

33yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred

34shorn. what comes the wool to?

35[Aside]

36If the springe hold, the cock's mine.

37I cannot do't without counters. Let me see; what am

38I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound

39of sugar, five pound of currants, rice,--what will

40this sister of mine do with rice? But my father

41hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it

42on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for

43the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good

44ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but

45one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to

46horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden

47pies; mace; dates?--none, that's out of my note;

48nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I

49may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of

50raisins o' the sun.

51O that ever I was born!

52I' the name of me--

53O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and

54then, death, death!

55Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay

56on thee, rather than have these off.

57O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more

58than the stripes I have received, which are mighty

59ones and millions.

60Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a

61great matter.

62I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel

63ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon

64me.

65What, by a horseman, or a footman?

66A footman, sweet sir, a footman.

67Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he

68has left with thee: if this be a horseman's coat,

69it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand,

70I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.

71O, good sir, tenderly, O!

72Alas, poor soul!

73O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my

74shoulder-blade is out.

75How now! canst stand?

76[Picking his pocket]

77Softly, dear sir; good sir, softly. You ha' done me

78a charitable office.

79Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.

80No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have

81a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence,

82unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or

83any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you;

84that kills my heart.

85What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?

86A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with

87troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the

88prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his

89virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.

90His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped

91out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay

92there; and yet it will no more but abide.

93Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he

94hath been since an ape-bearer; then a

95process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a

96motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's

97wife within a mile where my land and living lies;

98and, having flown over many knavish professions, he

99settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.

100Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts

101wakes, fairs and bear-baitings.

102Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that

103put me into this apparel.

104Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had

105but looked big and spit at him, he'ld have run.

106I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am

107false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant

108him.

109How do you now?

110Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and

111walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace

112softly towards my kinsman's.

113Shall I bring thee on the way?

114No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.

115Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our

116sheep-shearing.

117Prosper you, sweet sir!

118Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice.

119I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I

120make not this cheat bring out another and the

121shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name

122put in the book of virtue!

123Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,

124And merrily hent the stile-a:

125A merry heart goes all the day,

126Your sad tires in a mile-a.

1These your unusual weeds to each part of you

2Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora

3Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing

4Is as a meeting of the petty gods,

5And you the queen on't.

6Sir, my gracious lord,

7To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:

8O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self,

9The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured

10With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,

11Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts

12In every mess have folly and the feeders

13Digest it with a custom, I should blush

14To see you so attired, sworn, I think,

15To show myself a glass.

16I bless the time

17When my good falcon made her flight across

18Thy father's ground.

19Now Jove afford you cause!

20To me the difference forges dread; your greatness

21Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble

22To think your father, by some accident,

23Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!

24How would he look, to see his work so noble

25Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how

26Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold

27The sternness of his presence?

28Apprehend

29Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,

30Humbling their deities to love, have taken

31The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter

32Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune

33A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god,

34Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,

35As I seem now. Their transformations

36Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,

37Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires

38Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts

39Burn hotter than my faith.

40O, but, sir,

41Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis

42Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king:

43One of these two must be necessities,

44Which then will speak, that you must

45change this purpose,

46Or I my life.

47Thou dearest Perdita,

48With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not

49The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair,

50Or not my father's. For I cannot be

51Mine own, nor any thing to any, if

52I be not thine. To this I am most constant,

53Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;

54Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing

55That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:

56Lift up your countenance, as it were the day

57Of celebration of that nuptial which

58We two have sworn shall come.

59O lady Fortune,

60Stand you auspicious!

61See, your guests approach:

62Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,

63And let's be red with mirth.

64Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon

65This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,

66Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all;

67Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here,

68At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle;

69On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire

70With labour and the thing she took to quench it,

71She would to each one sip. You are retired,

72As if you were a feasted one and not

73The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid

74These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is

75A way to make us better friends, more known.

76Come, quench your blushes and present yourself

77That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on,

78And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,

79As your good flock shall prosper.

80[To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome:

81It is my father's will I should take on me

82The hostess-ship o' the day.

83You're welcome, sir.

84Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,

85For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep

86Seeming and savour all the winter long:

87Grace and remembrance be to you both,

88And welcome to our shearing!

89Shepherdess,

90A fair one are you--well you fit our ages

91With flowers of winter.

92Sir, the year growing ancient,

93Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth

94Of trembling winter, the fairest

95flowers o' the season

96Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,

97Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind

98Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not

99To get slips of them.

100Wherefore, gentle maiden,

101Do you neglect them?

102For I have heard it said

103There is an art which in their piedness shares

104With great creating nature.

105Say there be;

106Yet nature is made better by no mean

107But nature makes that mean: so, over that art

108Which you say adds to nature, is an art

109That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry

110A gentler scion to the wildest stock,

111And make conceive a bark of baser kind

112By bud of nobler race: this is an art

113Which does mend nature, change it rather, but

114The art itself is nature.

115So it is.

116Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,

117And do not call them bastards.

118I'll not put

119The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;

120No more than were I painted I would wish

121This youth should say 'twere well and only therefore

122Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you;

123Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram;

124The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun

125And with him rises weeping: these are flowers

126Of middle summer, and I think they are given

127To men of middle age. You're very welcome.

128I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,

129And only live by gazing.

130Out, alas!

131You'd be so lean, that blasts of January

132Would blow you through and through.

133Now, my fair'st friend,

134I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might

135Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,

136That wear upon your virgin branches yet

137Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina,

138For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall

139From Dis's waggon! daffodils,

140That come before the swallow dares, and take

141The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,

142But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes

143Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses

144That die unmarried, ere they can behold

145Bight Phoebus in his strength--a malady

146Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and

147The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,

148The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,

149To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,

150To strew him o'er and o'er!

151What, like a corse?

152No, like a bank for love to lie and play on;

153Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried,

154But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:

155Methinks I play as I have seen them do

156In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine

157Does change my disposition.

158What you do

159Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet.

160I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing,

161I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms,

162Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,

163To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you

164A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do

165Nothing but that; move still, still so,

166And own no other function: each your doing,

167So singular in each particular,

168Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,

169That all your acts are queens.

170O Doricles,

171Your praises are too large: but that your youth,

172And the true blood which peepeth fairly through't,

173Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,

174With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,

175You woo'd me the false way.

176I think you have

177As little skill to fear as I have purpose

178To put you to't. But come; our dance, I pray:

179Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,

180That never mean to part.

181I'll swear for 'em.

182This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever

183Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems

184But smacks of something greater than herself,

185Too noble for this place.

186He tells her something

187That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is

188The queen of curds and cream.

189Come on, strike up!

190Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,

191To mend her kissing with!

192Now, in good time!

193Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.

194Come, strike up!

195Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this

196Which dances with your daughter?

197They call him Doricles; and boasts himself

198To have a worthy feeding: but I have it

199Upon his own report and I believe it;

200He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:

201I think so too; for never gazed the moon

202Upon the water as he'll stand and read

203As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain.

204I think there is not half a kiss to choose

205Who loves another best.

206She dances featly.

207So she does any thing; though I report it,

208That should be silent: if young Doricles

209Do light upon her, she shall bring him that

210Which he not dreams of.

211O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the

212door, you would never dance again after a tabour and

213pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings

214several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he

215utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men's

216ears grew to his tunes.

217He could never come better; he shall come in. I

218love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful

219matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing

220indeed and sung lamentably.

221He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no

222milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he

223has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without

224bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate

225burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump

226her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would,

227as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into

228the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me

229no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with

230'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'

231This is a brave fellow.

232Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited

233fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

234He hath ribbons of an the colours i' the rainbow;

235points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can

236learnedly handle, though they come to him by the

237gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he

238sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you

239would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants

240to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.

241Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.

242Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in 's tunes.

243You have of these pedlars, that have more in them

244than you'ld think, sister.

245Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

246Lawn as white as driven snow;

247Cyprus black as e'er was crow;

248Gloves as sweet as damask roses;

249Masks for faces and for noses;

250Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,

251Perfume for a lady's chamber;

252Golden quoifs and stomachers,

253For my lads to give their dears:

254Pins and poking-sticks of steel,

255What maids lack from head to heel:

256Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;

257Buy lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy.

258If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take

259no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it

260will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

261I was promised them against the feast; but they come

262not too late now.

263He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.

264He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has

265paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.

266Is there no manners left among maids? will they

267wear their plackets where they should bear their

268faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are

269going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these

270secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all

271our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour

272your tongues, and not a word more.

273I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace

274and a pair of sweet gloves.

275Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way

276and lost all my money?

277And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;

278therefore it behoves men to be wary.

279Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.

280I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.

281What hast here? ballads?

282Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o'

283life, for then we are sure they are true.

284Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's

285wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a

286burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and

287toads carbonadoed.

288Is it true, think you?

289Very true, and but a month old.

290Bless me from marrying a usurer!

291Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress

292Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were

293present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

294Pray you now, buy it.

295Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe

296ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

297Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon

298the coast on Wednesday the four-score of April,

299forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this

300ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was

301thought she was a woman and was turned into a cold

302fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that

303loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true.

304Is it true too, think you?

305Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than

306my pack will hold.

307Lay it by too: another.

308This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.

309Let's have some merry ones.

310Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to

311the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's

312scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in

313request, I can tell you.