The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare (book suggestions .TXT) 📗

with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthrall’d as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

MOPSA. I was promis’d them against the feast; but they come not too late now.

DORCAS. He hath promis’d you more than that, or there be liars.

MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis’d 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 whisp’ring. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more.

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

CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen’d 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 a-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 burden, and how she long’d to eat adders’ heads and toads carbonado’d.

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 Taleporter, 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 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 turn’d into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov’d 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. 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 th’ grange 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.

Exit AUTOLYCUS, 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 fin’st, fin’st wear-a?

Come to the pedlar;

Money’s a meddler

That doth utter all men’s ware-a.

 

Re-enter SERVANT

 

SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have 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.

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 danc’d before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th’ squier.

SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas’d, let them come in; but quickly now.

SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit Here a dance of twelve SATYRS

 

POLIXENES. [To 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 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, whom, it should seem, Hath sometime lov’d. 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 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 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 th’ 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 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.

SHEPHERD. Come, your hand;

And, daughter, yours.

POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, 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.

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. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledg’d-thou a sceptre’s heir, That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou cop’st with-SHEPHERD. O, my heart!

POLIXENES. I’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and made More homely than thy state. 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. 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, 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 Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] 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. Why, how now, father!

Speak ere thou diest.

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 liv’d To die when I desire. Exit FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d,

But nothing alt’red. 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