Aut. Oh good sir, softly, good sir: I feare (sir) my
shoulder-blade is out
Clo. How now? Canst stand?
Aut. Softly, deere sir: good sir, softly: you ha done
me a charitable office
Clo. Doest lacke any mony? I haue a little mony for
thee
Aut. No, good sweet sir: no, I beseech you sir: I haue
a Kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, vnto
whome I was going: I shall there haue money, or anie
thing I want: Offer me no money I pray you, that killes
my heart
Clow. What manner of Fellow was hee that robb'd
you?
Aut. A fellow (sir) that I haue knowne to goe about
with Troll-my-dames: I knew him once a seruant of the
Prince: I cannot tell good sir, for which of his Vertues
it was, but hee was certainely Whipt out of the
Court
Clo. His vices you would say: there's no vertue whipt
out of the Court: they cherish it to make it stay there;
and yet it will no more but abide
Aut. Vices I would say (Sir.) I know this man well,
he hath bene since an Ape-bearer, then a Processe-seruer
(a Bayliffe) then hee compast a Motion of the Prodigall
sonne, and married a Tinkers wife, within a Mile where
my Land and Liuing lyes; and (hauing flowne ouer many
knauish professions) he setled onely in Rogue: some
call him Autolicus
Clo. Out vpon him: Prig, for my life Prig: he haunts
Wakes, Faires, and Beare-baitings
Aut. Very true sir: he sir hee: that's the Rogue that
put me into this apparrell
Clo. Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; If
you had but look'd bigge, and spit at him, hee'ld haue
runne
Aut. I must confesse to you (sir) I am no fighter: I am
false of heart that way, & that he knew I warrant him
Clo. How do you now?
Aut. Sweet sir, much better then I was: I can stand,
and walke: I will euen take my leaue of you, & pace softly
towards my Kinsmans
Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut. No, good fac'd sir, no sweet sir
Clo. Then fartheewell, I must go buy Spices for our
sheepe-shearing.
Enter.
Aut. Prosper you sweet sir. Your purse is not hot enough
to purchase your Spice: Ile be with you at your
sheepe-shearing too: If I make not this Cheat bring out
another, and the sheerers proue sheepe, let me be vnrold,
and my name put in the booke of Vertue.
Song. Iog-on, Iog-on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the Stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tyres in a Mile-a.
Enter.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Florizell, Perdita, Shepherd, Clowne, Polixenes, Camillo,
Mopsa,
Dorcas, Seruants, Autolicus.
Flo. These your vnvsuall weeds, to each part of you
Do's giue a life: no Shepherdesse, but Flora
Peering in Aprils front. This your sheepe-shearing,
Is as a meeting of the petty Gods,
And you the Queene on't
Perd. Sir: my gracious Lord,
To chide at your extreames, it not becomes me:
(Oh pardon, that I name them:) your high selfe
The gracious marke o'th' Land, you haue obscur'd
With a Swaines wearing: and me (poore lowly Maide)
Most Goddesse-like prank'd vp: But that our Feasts
In euery Messe, haue folly; and the Feeders
Digest with a Custome, I should blush
To see you so attyr'd: sworne I thinke,
To shew my selfe a glasse
Flo. I blesse the time
When my good Falcon, made her flight a-crosse
Thy Fathers ground
Perd. Now Ioue affoord you cause:
To me the difference forges dread (your Greatnesse
Hath not beene vs'd to feare:) euen now I tremble
To thinke your Father, by some accident
Should passe this way, as you did: Oh the Fates,
How would he looke, to see his worke, so noble,
Vildely bound vp? What would he say? Or how
Should I (in these my borrowed Flaunts) behold
The sternnesse of his presence?
Flo. Apprehend
Nothing but iollity: the Goddes themselues
(Humbling their Deities to loue) haue taken
The shapes of Beasts vpon them. Iupiter,
Became a Bull, and bellow'd: the greene Neptune
A Ram, and bleated: and the Fire-roab'd-God
Golden Apollo, a poore humble Swaine,
As I seeme now. Their transformations,
Were neuer for a peece of beauty, rarer,
Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires
Run not before mine honor: nor my Lusts
Burne hotter then my Faith
Perd. O but Sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd (as it must be) by th' powre of the King:
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speake, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life
Flo. Thou deer'st Perdita,
With these forc'd thoughts, I prethee darken not
The Mirth o'th' Feast: Or Ile be thine (my Faire)
Or not my Fathers. For I cannot be
Mine owne, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
Though destiny say no. Be merry (Gentle)
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are comming:
Lift vp your countenance, as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptiall, which
We two haue sworne shall come
Perd. O Lady Fortune,
Stand you auspicious
Flo. See, your Guests approach,
Addresse your selfe to entertaine them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth
Shep. Fy (daughter) when my old wife liu'd: vpon
This day, she was both Pantler, Butler, Cooke,
Both Dame and Seruant: Welcom'd all: seru'd all,
Would sing her song, and dance her turne: now heere
At vpper end o'th Table; now, i'th middle:
On his shoulder, and his: her face o' fire
With labour, and the thing she tooke to quench it
She would to each one sip. You are retyred,
As if you were a feasted one: and not
The Hostesse of the meeting: Pray you bid
These vnknowne friends to's welcome, for it is
A way to make vs better Friends, more knowne.
Come, quench your blushes, and present your selfe
That which you are, Mistris o'th' Feast. Come on,
And bid vs welcome to your sheepe-shearing,
As your good flocke shall prosper
Perd. Sir, welcome:
It is my Fathers will, I should take on mee
The Hostesseship o'th' day: you're welcome sir.
Giue me those Flowres there (Dorcas.) Reuerend Sirs,
For you, there's Rosemary, and Rue, these keepe
Seeming, and sauour all the Winter long:
Grace, and Remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our Shearing
Pol. Shepherdesse,
(A faire one are you:) well you fit our ages
With flowres of Winter
Perd. Sir, the yeare growing ancient,
Not yet on summers death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fayrest flowres o'th season
Are our Carnations, and streak'd Gilly-vors,
(Which some call Natures bastards) of that kind
Our rusticke Gardens barren, and I care not
To get slips of them
Pol. Wherefore (gentle Maiden)
Do you neglect them
Perd. For I haue heard it said,
There is an Art, which in their pidenesse shares
With great creating-Nature
Pol. Say there be:
Yet Nature is made better by no meane,
But Nature makes that Meane: so ouer that Art,
(Which you say addes to Nature) is an Art
That Nature makes: you see (sweet Maid) we marry
A gentler Sien, to the wildest Stocke,
And make conceyue a barke of baser kinde
By bud of Nobler race. This is an Art
Which do's mend Nature: change it rather, but
The Art it selfe, is Nature