And do not call them baftards,

Per. I'll not put

The dibble in earth, to fet one flip of them:

No more than, were I painted, I would with
This youth fhould fay, 'twere well; and only therefore
Defire to breed by me.-Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, favoury, marjoram,

The mary-gold, that goes to bed with th' fun,
And with him rifes, weeping: these are flowers
Of middle-fummer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle-age. Y'are very welcome.

Cam. I fhould leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing.

Per. Out, alas!

You'd be fo lean, that blafts of January

[friend, Would blow you through and through. Now, my fairest

I would, I had fome flowers o'th' fpring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin-branches yet
Your maiden-heads growing: O Proferpina,

For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'ft fall
From Dis's waggon! daffadils,

That come before the fwallow 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 primrofes,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his ftrength; (a malady
Moft incident to maids ;) bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lillies of all kinds,
The flower-de-lis being one. O, thefe I lack
To make you garlands of, and my fweet friend,
To ftrow him e'er and o'er.

Flo. What? like a coarfe?

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

Not like a coarse; 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 Whitfon paftorals: fure, this robe of mine
Does change my difpofition.

Flo:

Flo. What you do,

Still betters what is done. When you fpeak, (fweet)
I'd have you do it ever; when you fing,

I'd have you buy and fell fo; fo, give alms;
Pray, fo; and for the ord'ring your affairs,

To fing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o'th' fea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move ftill, ftill fo,

And own no other function.

So fingular in each particular,

Each your doing,

Crowns what you're doing in the prefent deeds,
That all your acts are Queens.

Per. O Doricles,

Your praises are too large; but that your youth
And the true blood, which peeps forth fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unftain'd shepherd;

With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,

You woo'd me the falfe way.

Flo. 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; fo turtles pair,

That never mean to part.

Per. I'll fwear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lafs, that ever
Ran on the green-ford; nothing she does, or feems,
But fmacks of fomething greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.

:

Cam. He tells her fomething (26),

(26)

He tells her fomething,

That makes ber blood look on't.] Thus all the old editions corruptedly. I dare fay, I have reftor'd the true reading; and the meaning must be this. The Prince tells her fomething, that calls the blood up into her cheeks, and makes ber blush. She, but a little before, ufes a like expreffion to defcribe the Prince's fincerity, which appear'd in the honeft blood rifing on his face.

Your praifes are too large; but that your youth

And the true blood, which peeps forth fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unflain'd shepherd.

I corrected the above paffage, when I publish'd my SHAKESPEARE reftor'd: and Mr. Pofe in his laft impreffion has thought fit to embrace the correction.

That

That makes her blood look out: good footh, the is
The Queen of curds and cream.

Clo. Come on, ftrike up.

Dor. Miopja must be your miftrefs; marry, garlick to mend her kiffing with.

Mop. Now, in good time!

Clo. Not a word, a word; we ftand upon our manners; come, ftrike up.

Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.

Pol. Pray, good fhepherd, what fair fwain is this Who dances with your daughter?

Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself To have a worthy feeding; but I have it

Upon his own report, and I believe it :

He looks like footh; he fays, he loves my daughter,
I think fo too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll ftand and read

As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kifs to chufe

Who loves another beft.

Pol. She dances featly.

Shep. So fhe does any thing, though I report it
That should be filent; if young Doricles

Do light upon her, fhe fhall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. O mafter, if you did but hear the pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe: no, the bag-pipe could not move you; he fings feveral tunes, fafter than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes.

Clo. He could never come better; he fhall come in ; I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily fet down; or a very pleasant thing indeed, and fung lamentably.

Ser. He hath fongs for man, or woman, of all fizes; no milliner can fo fit his cuftomers with gloves: he

bas

has the prettieft love-fongs for maids, fo without bawdry, (which is ftrange) with fuch delicate burdens of dil-do's and fa-ding's: jump her and thump her: and, where fome stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to anfwer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts him off, flights him, with Whoop, do me no barm, good man.

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Clo. Believe me, thou talkeft of an admirable-conceited fellow; has he any unbraided wares?

Ser. He hath ribbons of all the colours i'th' rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, tho' they come to him by the grofs; inkles, caddiffes, cambricks, lawns; why, he fings 'em over, as they were gods and goddeffes; you would think a fmock were a fhe-angel, he fo chants to the fleeve-hand, and the work about the fquare on't.

Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach, finging.

Per. Forewarn him, that he ufe no fcurrilous words in's tunes.

Clo. You have of these pedlers that have more in them than you'd think, fifter.

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

Enter Autolicus finging.

Lawn as white as driven fnow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as fweet as damafk roses,
Masks for faces and for nofes;
Bugle-bracelets, neck-lace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber:
Golden quoifs, and ftomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins, and poaking fticks of fteel,
What maids lack from head to heel:

Come buy of me, come: come buy, come buy,
Buy, lads, or else your laffes cry.

Come buy, &c.

Clo.

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopfa, thou fhould'st take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

Mop. I was promis'd them againft the feaft, but they

come not too late now.

Dor. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars.

Mop. He hath paid you all he promis'd you: 'may he, he has paid you more; which will fhame you to give him again.

Clo. 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 kill-hole, to whiftle of these secrets, but you must be tittle-tatling before all our guefts? 'tis well, they are whispring: clamour your tongues, and not a word more.

Mop. I have done: come, you promis'd me a tawdry lace, and a pair of fweet gloves.

Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and loft all my money?

Aut. And, indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad, therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou fhalt lofe nothing here, Aut. I hope fo, Sir, for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clo. What haft here? ballads ?

Mop. Pray now, buy fome; I love a ballad in print, or a life; for then we are fure, they are true.

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a ufurer's wife was brought to bed with twenty money bags at a burden; and how the long'd to eat adder's heads, and toads carbonado'd.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Very true, and but a month old.

Dor. Blefs me from marrying a usurer!

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress Tale-porter, and five or fix honeft wives that were prefent. Why fhould I carry lies abroad?

Mop. Pray you now, buy it.

Clo.