Complete Plays, The Page 34

  The hostess-ship o’ the day.

  To Camillo

  You’re welcome, sir.

  Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,

  For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep

  Seeming and savour all the winter long:

  Grace and remembrance be to you both,

  And welcome to our shearing!

  Polixenes

  Shepherdess,

  A fair one are you — well you fit our ages

  With flowers of winter.

  Perdita

  Sir, the year growing ancient,

  Not yet on summer’s death, nor on the birth

  Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ the season

  Are our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,

  Which some call nature’s bastards: of that kind

  Our rustic garden’s barren; and I care not

  To get slips of them.

  Polixenes

  Wherefore, gentle maiden,

  Do you neglect them?

  Perdita

  For I have heard it said

  There is an art which in their piedness shares

  With great creating nature.

  Polixenes

  Say there be;

  Yet nature is made better by no mean

  But nature makes that mean: so, over that art

  Which you say adds to nature, is an art

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

  A gentler scion to the wildest stock,

  And make conceive a bark of baser kind

  By bud of nobler race: this is an art

  Which does mend nature, change it rather, but

  The art itself is nature.

  Perdita

  So it is.

  Polixenes

  Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,

  And do not call them bastards.

  Perdita

  I’ll not put

  The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;

  No more than were I painted I would wish

  This youth should say ’twere well and only therefore

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

  Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram;

  The marigold, that goes to bed wi’ the sun

  And with him rises weeping: these are flowers

  Of middle summer, and I think they are given

  To men of middle age. You’re very welcome.

  Camillo

  I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,

  And only live by gazing.

  Perdita

  Out, alas!

  You’d be so lean, that blasts of January

  Would blow you through and through.

  Now, my fair’st friend,

  I would I had some flowers o’ the spring that might

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

  That wear upon your virgin branches yet

  Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina,

  For the flowers now, that frighted thou let’st fall

  From Dis’s waggon! daffodils,

  That come before the swallow dares, and take

  The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,

  But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes

  Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses

  That die unmarried, ere they can behold

  Bight Phoebus in his strength — a malady

  Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and

  The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,

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

  To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,

  To strew him o’er and o’er!

  Florizel

  What, like a corse?

  Perdita

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

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

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

  Methinks I play as I have seen them do

  In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine

  Does change my disposition.

  Florizel

  What you do

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

  I’ld have you do it ever: when you sing,

  I’ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms,

  Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,

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

  A wave o’ the sea, that you might ever do

  Nothing but that; move still, still so,

  And own no other function: each your doing,

  So singular in each particular,

  Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,

  That all your acts are queens.

  Perdita

  O Doricles,

  Your praises are too large: but that your youth,

  And the true blood which peepeth fairly through’t,

  Do plainly give you out an unstain’d shepherd,

  With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,

  You woo’d me the false way.

  Florizel

  I think you have

  As little skill to fear as I have purpose

  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

  This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever

  Ran on the green-sward: 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?

  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.

  Shepherd

  So she does any thing; 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 Servant

  Servant

  O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabour 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 burthens of dildos and fadings, ‘jump her and thump her;’ and where some stretch-mouthed rascal wou
ld, 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 an the colours i’ the rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross: inkles, caddisses, 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’ld think, sister.

  Perdita

  Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

  Enter Autolycus, singing

  Autolycus

  Lawn as white as driven snow;

  Cyprus 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 quoifs 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; may be, 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 off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’tis well they are whispering: clamour 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 o’ life, 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 burthen 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 Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

  Mopsa

  Pray you now, buy it.

  Clown

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

  Autolycus

  Here’s another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the four-score 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.

  Song

  Autolycus

  Get you hence, for I must go

  Where it fits not you to know.

  Dorcas

  Whither?

  Mopsa

  O, whither?

  Dorcas

  Whither?

  Mopsa

  It becomes thy oath full well,

  Thou to me thy secrets tell.

  Dorcas

  Me too, let me go thither.

  Mopsa

  Or thou goest to the orange or mill.

  Dorcas

  If to either, thou dost ill.

  Autolycus

  Neither.

  Dorcas

  What, neither?

  Autolycus

  Neither.

  Dorcas

  Thou hast sworn my love to be.

  Mopsa

  Thou hast sworn it more to me:

  Then whither goest? say, whither?

  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.

  Follows singing

  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,

  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

  Servant

  Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, 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 little but bowling, it will please plentifully.

  Shepherd

  Away! we’ll none on ’t: here has been too much homely foolery already. 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 the squier.

  Shepherd

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

  Servant

  Why, they stay at
door, sir.

  Exit

  Here a dance of twelve Satyrs

  Polixenes

  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 ransack’d

  The pedlar’s silken treasury and have pour’d it

  To her acceptance; you have let him go

  And nothing marted with him. If your lass

  Interpretation should abuse and call this

  Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited

  For a reply, at least if you make a care

  Of happy holding her.

  Florizel

  Old sir, I know

  She prizes not such trifles as these are:

  The gifts she looks from me are pack’d and lock’d

  Up in my heart; which I have given already,

  But not deliver’d. O, hear me breathe my life

  Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,

  Hath sometime 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.

  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 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;

  Commend them and condemn them to her service

  Or to their own perdition.

  Polixenes

  Fairly offer’d.

  Camillo

  This shows a sound affection.

  Shepherd

  But, my daughter,

  Say you the like to him?

  Perdita

  I cannot speak

  So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:

  By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out

  The purity of his.

  Shepherd

  Take hands, a bargain!

  And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to ’t:

  I give my daughter to him, and will make