Part 32

_Clo._ Fear not thou, man, thou shall lose nothing here.

_Ant._ I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels 250 of charge.

_Clo._ What hast here? ballads?

_Mop._ Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.

_Ant._ Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's 255 wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed.

_Mop._ Is it true, think you?

_Ant._ Very true, and but a month old. 260

_Dor._ Bless me from marrying a usurer!

_Ant._ Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

_Mop._ Pray you now, buy it. 265

_Clo._ Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

_Ant._ Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon, the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the 270 hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true.

_Dor._ Is it true too, think you?

_Ant._ Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more 275 than my pack will hold.

_Clo._ Lay it by too: another.

_Ant._ This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.

_Mop._ Let's have some merry ones.

_Ant._ Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to the 280 tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.

_Mop._ We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.

_Dor._ We had the tune on't a month ago. 285

_Ant._ I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation: have at it with you.

SONG.

_A._ Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. _D._. Whither? _M._ O, whither? _D._ Whither? 290 _M._ It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell: _D._ Me too, let me go thither.

_M._ Or thou goest to the grange or mill: _D._ If to either, thou dost ill. 295 _A._ Neither. _D._ What, neither? _A._ Neither. _D._ Thou hast sworn my love to be; _M._ Thou hast sworn it more to me: Then whither goest? say, whither?

_Clo._ We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my 300 father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. [_Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa._

_Ant._ And you shall pay well for 'em. [_Follows singing._ 305

Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, 310 Of the new'st, and finest, finest wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a medler, That doth utter all men's ware-a. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ Servant.

_Serv._ Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, 315 three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair, they call themselves Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, if it be not too rough for some that know 320 little but bowling, it will please plentifully.

_Shep._ Away! we'll none on't: here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.

_Pol._ You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. 325

_Serv._ One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier.

_Shep._ Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. 330

_Serv._ Why, they stay at door, sir. [_Exit._

_Here a dance of twelve Satyrs._

_Pol._ O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [_To Cam._] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take 335 Your mind from 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 pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance; you have let him go 340 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 345 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, 350 Hath sometime loved! 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 355 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.

_Pol._ And this my neighbour too?

_Flo._ And he, and more Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all: 360 That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; 365 Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition.

_Pol._ Fairly offer'd.

_Cam._ This shows a sound affection.

_Shep._ But, my daughter, Say you the like to him?

_Per._ I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: 370 By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his.

_Shep._ Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his.

_Flo._ O, that must be 375 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._ Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours.

_Pol._ Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; 380 Have you a father?

_Flo._ I have: but what of him?

_Pol._ Knows he of this?

_Flo._ He neither does nor shall.

_Pol._ Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you once more, 385 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 390 But what he did being childish?

_Flo._ No, good sir; He has his health and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age.

_Pol._ By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial: reason my son 395 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, 400 Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business.

_Pol._ Let him know't.

_Flo._ He shall not.

_Pol._ Prithee, 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. 405 Mark our contract.

_Pol._ Mark your divorce, young sir, [_Discovering himself._ Whom son I dare not call; them art too base To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir. That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can 410 But shorten thy life one week. And them, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool them copest with,--

_Shep._ O, my heart!

_Pol._ I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, 415 If I may ever know them dost but sigh That them no more shalt see this knack, as never I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words: 420 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, 425 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! 430 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? 435 I told you what would come of this: beseech you, Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,-- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep.

_Cam._ Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest.

_Shep._ I cannot speak, nor think, 440 Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir! 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 445 Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone! If I might die within this hour, I have lived 450 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 following My leash unwillingly.

_Cam._ Gracious my lord, 455 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, 460 Come not before him.

_Flo._ I not purpose it. I think, Camillo?

_Cam._ 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 465 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 advised. 470

_Flo._ I am, and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, Do bid it welcome.

_Cam._ This is desperate, sir.

_Flo._ So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; 475 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 sea hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 480 To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,--cast your good counsels Upon his passion: let myself and fortune 485 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 prepared 490 For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting.

_Cam._ O my lord! I would your spirit were easier for advice, Or stronger for your need.

_Flo._ Hark, Perdita. 495 [_Drawing her aside._ I'll hear you by and by.

_Cam._ He's irremoveable, Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia 500 And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see.

_Flo._ Now, good Camillo; I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony.

_Cam._ Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services, i' the love 505 That I have borne your father?

_Flo._ Very nobly Have you deserved: it is my father's music To speak your deeds, not little of his care To have them recompensed as thought on.

_Cam._ Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the king, 510 And through him what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour I'll point you where you shall have such receiving 515 As shall become your highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made, but by As heavens forefend! your ruin; marry her, And, with my best endeavours in your absence, 520 Your discontenting father strive to qualify And bring him up to liking.

_Flo._ How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man And after that trust to thee.

_Cam._ Have you thought on 525 A place whereto you'll go?

_Flo._ Not any yet: But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows.

_Cam._ Then list to me: 530 This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess, For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes: She shall be habited as it becomes 535 The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness, As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 540 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one He chides to hell and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time.

_Flo._ Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him?

_Cam._ Sent by the king your father 545 To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I 'll write you down: The which shall point you forth at every sitting 550 What you must say; that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart.

_Flo._ I am bound to you: There is some sap in this.

_Cam._ A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves 555 To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough: no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another: Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office, if they can but stay you 560 Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.

_Per._ One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, 565 But not take in the mind.

_Cam._ Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be'born another such.

_Flo._ My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' the rear o' our birth.

_Cam._ I cannot say 'tis pity 570 She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach.

_Per._ Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks.

_Flo._ My prettiest Perdita! But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo, Preserver of my father, now of me, 575 The medicine of our house, how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son, Nor shall appear in Sicilia.

_Cam._ My lord, Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there: it shall be so my care 580 To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want, one word. [_They talk aside._

_Re-enter_ AUTOLYCUS.

_Aut._ Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all 585 my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer: by which 590 means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the 595 herd to me, that all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have filed keys off that hung-in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time 600 of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. [_Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita come forward._

_Cam._ Nay, but my letters, by this means being there 605 So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.

_Flo._ And those that you'll procure from King Leontes--

_Cam._ Shall satisfy your father.

_Per._ Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair.

_Cam._ Who have we here? [_Seeing Autolycus._ We'll make an instrument of this; omit 610 Nothing may give us aid.

_Aut._ If they have overheard me now, why, hanging.

_Cam._ How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.

_Aut._ I am a poor fellow, sir. 615

_Cam._ Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly,--thou must think there's a necessity in't,--and change garments with this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be 620 the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot.

_Aut._ I am a poor fellow, sir. [_Aside_] I know ye well enough.

_Cam._ Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already. 625

_Aut._ Are you in earnest, sir? [_Aside_] I smell the trick on't.

_Flo._ Dispatch, I prithee.

_Aut._ Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. 630

_Cam._ Unbuckle, unbuckle. [_Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments._ Fortunate mistress,--let my prophecy Come home to ye!--you must retire yourself Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, 635 Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming; that you may-- For I do fear eyes over--to shipboard Get undescried.

_Per._ I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. 640

_Cam._ No remedy. Have you done there?

_Flo._ Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son.

_Cam._ Nay, you shall have no hat. [_Giving it to Perdita._ Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.

_Aut._ Adieu, sir.

_Flo._ O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you, a word. 645

_Cam._ [_Aside_] What I do next, shall be to tell the king Of this escape and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after: in whose company I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight 650 I have a woman's longing.

_Flo._ Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.

_Cam._ The swifter speed the better. [_Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo._

_Aut._ I understand the business, I hear it: to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a 655 cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing 660 extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. 665

_Re-enter_ Clown _and_ Shepherd.

Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.

_Clo._ See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the king she's a changeling and none 670 of your flesh and blood.

_Shep._ Nay, but hear me.

_Clo._ Nay, but hear me.

_Shep._ Go to, then.

_Clo._ She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh 675 and blood has not offended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all but what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you. 680

_Shep._ I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law.

_Clo._ Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you 685 could have been to him and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.

_Aut._ [_Aside_] Very wisely, puppies!

_Shep._ Well, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. 690

_Aut._ [_Aside_] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master.