The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

To put you to’t. But come, our dance, I pray;

  Your hand, my Perdita. So turtles pair,

  That never mean to part.

  PERDITA

  I’ll swear for ’em.

  POLIXENES (to Camillo)

  This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever

  Ran on the greensward. Nothing she does or seems

  But smacks of something greater than herself,

  Too noble for this place.

  CAMILLO

  He tells her something

  That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is

  The queen of curds and cream.

  CLOWN Come on, strike up!

  DORCAS Mopsa must be your mistress. Marry, garlic to mend her kissing with!

  MOPSA Now, in good time!

  CLOWN Not a word, a word, we stand upon our manners.

  Come, strike up!

  Music. Here a dance of shepherds and shepherdesses

  POLIXENES

  Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this

  Which dances with your daughter?

  OLD SHEPHERD

  They call him Doricles, and boasts himself

  To have a worthy feeding; but I have it

  Upon his own report, and I believe it.

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

  I think so, too, for never gazed the moon

  Upon the water as he’ll stand and read,

  As ’twere, my daughter’s eyes; and to be plain,

  I think there is not half a kiss to choose

  Who loves another best.

  POLIXENES

  She dances featly.

  OLD SHEPHERD

  So she does anything, though I report it

  That should be silent. If young Doricles

  Do light upon her, she shall bring him that

  Which he not dreams of.

  Enter a Servant

  SERVANT O, master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe. No, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money. He utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men’s ears grew to his tunes.

  CLOWN He could never come better. He shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably.

  SERVANT He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes. No milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love songs for maids, so without bawdry, which is strange, with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, ‘Jump her, and thump her’; and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, ‘Whoop, do me no harm, good man’; puts him off, slights him, with ‘Whoop, do me no harm, good man!’

  POLIXENES This is a brave fellow.

  CLOWN Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

  SERVANT He hath ribbons of all the colours i‘th’ rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th’ gross; inkles, caddises, cambrics, lawns—why, he sings ’em over as they were gods or goddesses. You would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on’t.

  CLOWN Prithee bring him in, and let him approach singing.

  PERDITA Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in’s tunes.

  Exit Servant

  CLOWN You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you’d think, sister.

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

  Enter Autolycus, wearing a false beard, carrying his pack, and singing

  AUTOLYCUS

  Lawn as white as driven snow,

  Cypress black as e’er was crow,

  Gloves as sweet as damask roses,

  Masks for faces, and for noses;

  Bugle-bracelet, necklace amber,

  Perfume for a lady’s chamber;

  Golden coifs, and stomachers

  For my lads to give their dears;

  Pins and poking-sticks of steel,

  What maids lack from head to heel

  Come buy of me, come, come buy, come buy,

  Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Come buy!

  CLOWN If I were not in love with Mopsa thou shouldst take no money of me, but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

  MOPSA I was promised them against the feast, but they come not too late now.

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

  MOPSA He hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.

  CLOWN Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’Tis well they are whispering. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more.

  MOPSA I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves.

  CLOWN Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way, and lost all my money?

  AUTOLYCUS And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad, therefore it behoves men to be wary.

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

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

  CLOWN What hast here? Ballads?

  MOPSA Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print, alife, for then we are sure they are true.

  AUTOLYCUS Here’s one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer’s wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders’ heads and toads carbonadoed.

  MOPSA Is it true, think you?

  AUTOLYCUS Very true, and but a month old.

  DORCAS Bless me from marrying a usurer!

  AUTOLYCUS Here’s the midwife’s name to’t, one Mistress Tail-Porter, and five or six honest wives’ that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

  MOPSA (to Clown) Pray you now, buy it.

  CLOWN Come on, lay it by, and let’s first see more ballads. We’ll buy the other things anon.

  AUTOLYCUS 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 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.

  DORCAS Is it true too, think you?

  AUTOLYCUS Five justices’ hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.

  CLOWN Lay it by, too. Another.

  AUTOLYCUS This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA Let’s have some merry ones.

  AUTOLYCUS Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of ‘Two Maids Wooing a Man’. There’s scarce a maid westward but she sings it. ’Tis in request, I can tell you.

  MOPSA We can both sing it. If thou‘lt bear a part thou shalt hear; ’tis in three parts.

  DORCAS We had the tune on’t a month ago.

  AUTOLYCUS I can bear my part, you must know, ’tis my occupation. Have at it with you.

  CLOWN We’ll have this song out anon by ourselves. My 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

  AUTOLYCUS And you shall pay well for ’em.

  Enter Servant

  SERVANT Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neatherds, three swineherds that have made themselves all men of hair. They call themselves saultiers, 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’th’ mind, if it be
not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully.

  OLD SHEPHERD Away. We’ll none on’t. Here has been too much homely foolery already. (To Polixenes) I know, sir, we weary you.

  POLIXENES You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let’s see these four threes of herdsmen.

  SERVANT 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 th’ square.

  OLD SHEPHERD Leave your prating. Since these good men are pleased, let them come in—but quickly, now.

  SERVANT Why, they stay at door, sir.

  Here a dance of twelve satyrs

  POLIXENES (to the Old Shepherd)

  O, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.

  (To Camillo) Is it not too far gone? ’Tis time to part

  them.

  He’s simple, and tells much.

  (To Florizel) How now, fair shepherd,

  Your heart is full of something that does take

  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 ransacked

  The pedlar’s silken treasury, and have poured it

  To her acceptance. You have let him go,

  And nothing marted with him. If your lass

  Interpretation should abuse, and call this

  Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited

  For a reply, at least if you make a care

  Of happy holding her.

  FLORIZEL

  Old sir, I know

  She prizes not such trifles as these are.

  The gifts she looks from me are packed and locked

  Up in my heart, which I have given already,

  But not delivered.

  (To Perdita) O, hear me breathe my life

  Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,

  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 fanned snow that’s bolted

  By th’ northern blasts twice o’er.

  POLIXENES

  What follows this?

  How prettily the young swain seems to wash

  The hand was fair before! I have put you out.

  But to your protestation. Let me hear

  What you profess.

  FLORIZEL

  Do, and be witness to’t.

  POLIXENES

  And this my neighbour too?

  FLORIZEL

  And he, and more

  Than he; and men, the earth, the heavens, and all,

  That were I crowned 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,

  Commend them and condemn them to her service

  Or to their own perdition.

  POLIXENES

  Fairly offered.

  CAMILLO

  This shows a sound affection.

  OLD SHEPHERD

  But, my daughter,

  Say you the like to him?

  PERDITA

  I cannot speak

  So well, nothing so well, no, nor mean better.

  By th’ pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out

  The purity of his.

  OLD SHEPHERD

  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.

  FLORIZEL

  O, that must be

  I’th’ 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.

  OLD SHEPHERD

  Come, your hand;

  And, daughter, yours.

  POLIXENES

  Soft, swain, a while, beseech you.

  Have you a father?

  FLORIZEL I have. But what of him?

  POLIXENES Knows he of this?

  FLORIZEL He neither does nor shall.

  POLIXENES Methinks a father

  Is at the nuptial of his son a guest

  That best becomes the table. Pray you once more,

  Is not your father grown incapable

  Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid

  With age and alt’ring rheums? Can he speak, hear,

  Know man from man? Dispute his own estate?

  Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing

  But what he did being childish?

  FLORIZEL

  No, good sir.

  He has his health, and ampler strength indeed

  Than most have of his age.

  POLIXENES

  By my white beard,

  You offer him, if this be so, a wrong

  Something unfilial. Reason my son

  Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason

  The father, all whose joy is nothing else

  But fair posterity, should hold some counsel

  In such a business.

  FLORIZEL

  I yield all this;

  But for some other reasons, my grave sir,

  Which ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaint

  My father of this business.

  POLIXENES

  Let him know’t.

  FLORIZEL

  He shall not.

  POLIXENES

  Prithee let him.

  FLORIZEL

  No, he must not.

  OLD SHEPHERD

  Let him, my son. He shall not need to grieve

  At knowing of thy choice.

  FLORIZEL

  Come, come, he must not.

  Mark our contract.

  POLIXENES (removing his disguise)

  Mark your divorce, young sir,

  Whom son I dare not call. Thou art too base

  To be acknowledged. Thou a sceptre’s heir,

  That thus affects a sheep-hook?

  (To the Old Shepherd) Thou, old traitor,

  I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but

  Shorten thy life one week.

  (To Perdita) And thou, fresh piece

  Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know

  The royal fool thou cop’st with—

  OLD SHEPHERD O, my heart!

  POLIXENES

  I’ll have thy beauty scratched with briers and made

  More homely than thy state.

  (To Florizel) For thee, fond boy,

  If I may ever know thou dost but sigh

  That thou no more shalt see this knack, as never

  I mean thou shalt, we’ll bar thee from succession,

  Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,

  Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.

  Follow us to the court.

  (To the Old Shepherd) Thou churl, for this time,

  Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee

  From the dead blow of it.

  (To Perdita)

  And you, enchantment,

  Worthy enough a herdsman—yea, him too,

  That makes himself, but for our honour therein,

  Unworthy thee—if ever henceforth thou

  These rural latches to his entrance open,

  Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,

  I will devise a death as cruel for thee

  As thou art tender to’t.

  Exit

  PERDITA

  Even here undone.

  I was not much afeard, for once or twice

  I was about to speak, and tell him plainly

  The selfsame sun that shines upon his court

  Hides not his visage from our cottage, but

&nbs
p; Looks on alike. Will’t please you, sir, be gone?

  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.

  CAMILLO (to the Old Shepherd) Why, how now, father?

  Speak ere thou diest.

  OLD SHEPHERD

  I cannot speak, nor think,

  Nor dare to know that which I know.

  (To Florizel)

  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

  Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me

  Where no priest shovels in dust.

  (To Perdita)

  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

  To die when I desire. Exit

  FLORIZEL (to Perdita) Why look you so upon me?

  I am but sorry, not afeard; delayed,

  But nothing altered. What I was, I am,

  More straining on for plucking back, not following

  My leash unwillingly.

  CAMILLO

  Gracious my lord,

  You know your father’s temper. At this time

  He will allow no speech—which I do guess

  You do not purpose to him; and as hardly

  Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear.

  Then till the fury of his highness settle,

  Come not before him.

  FLORIZEL

  I not purpose it.

  I think, Camillo?

  CAMILLO

  Even he, my lord.

  PERDITA (to Florizel)

  How often have I told you ‘twould be thus?

  How often said my dignity would last

  But till ’twere known?

  FLORIZEL

  It cannot fail but by

  The violation of my faith, and then

  Let nature crush the sides o’th’ earth together

  And mar the seeds within. Lift up thy looks.

  From my succession wipe me, father! I

  Am heir to my affection.

  CAMILLO

  Be advised.

  FLORIZEL

  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.

  CAMILLO