Shep. Leave your prating; fince thefe good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now.

Here a dance of twelve Satyrs.

Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.
Is it not too far gone? 'tis time to part them;
He's fimple, and tells much.-How now, fair fhepherd?
Your heart is full of fomething, that does take
Your mind from feafting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont

To load my fhe with knacks: I would have ranfack'd
The pedler's filken treafury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your lafs
Interpretation fhould abufe, and call this
Your lack of love or bounty; you are straited
For a reply, at least, if you make care
Of happy holding her.

Flo. Old Sir, I know,

She prizes not fuch trifles as these are;

The gifts, the looks from me, are packt and lockt
Up in my heart, which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe' my love
Before this ancient Sir, who, it fhould feem,
Hath fometime lov'd. I take thy hand, this hand,
As foft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd fnow

That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this?

How prettily the young fwain feems to wash
The hand, was fair before! I've put you out;
But, to your proteftation: let me hear

What you profefs.

Flo. Do, and be witnefs to't.

Pol. And this my neighbour too?

Flo. And he, and more

Than he, and men; the earth, and heav'ns, and all; That were I crown'd the most imperial monarch Thereof moft worthy, were I the fairest youth

That ever made eye fwerve, had force and knowledge

More

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 fervice, Or to their own perdition.

Pol. Fairly offer'd.

Cam. This fhews a found affection.

Shep. But my daughter,

Say you the like to him?

Per. I cannot fpeak

So well, nothing fo well, no, nor mean better.
By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

Shep. Take hands, a bargain;

And, friends unknown, you fhall bear witness to't;
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.

Flo. O, that must be

I'th' virtue of your daughter; one being dead,
I fhall have more than you can dream of yet,
Enough then for your wonder: but come on,
Contract us 'fore thefe witneffes.

Shep. Come, your hand;

And, daughter, yours.

Pol. Soft, fwain, a-while; 'beseech you, Have father? you a

Flo. I have; but what of him?

Pol. Knows he of this?

Flo. He neither does, nor fhall.

Pol. Methinks, a father

Is, at the nuptial of his fon, a guest

1

That beft becomes the table: 'pray you once more, Is not your father grown incapable

Of reasonable affairs? is he not ftupid

With age, and alt'ring rheums? can he fpeak? hear?
Know man from man? difpute his own eftate?
Lies he not bed-rid? and, again, does nothing,
But what he did being childish?

Flo. No, good Sir;

He has his health, and ampler ftrength, indeed,
Than most have of his age.

Pol.

Pol. By my white beard,

You offer him, if this be fo, a wrong

Something unfilial: Reafon, my fon

Should chufe himself a wife; but as good reafon,
The father (all whofe joy is nothing elfe

But fair pofterity) fhould hold fome counfel
In fuch a bufinefs.

Flo. I yield all this;

But for fome other réafons, my grave Sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this bufinefs.

Pol. Let him know't.
Flo. He fhall not.

Pol. Pr'ythee, let him.

Flo. No; he must not.

Shep. Let him, my fon, he fhall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.

Flo. Come, come, he muft not:

Mark our contract.

Pol. Mark your divorce, young Sir, [Discovering himself. Whom fon I dare not call: thou art too base To be acknowledg'd. Thou a fcepter's heir, That thus affect'ft a fheep-hook! Thou old traitor, I'm forry, that, by hanging thee, I can but Shorten thy life one week. And thou fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force muft know The royal fool thou coap'ft with

Shep. O my heart!

Pol. I'll have thy beauty fcratch'd with briars, and made
More homely than thy ftate. For thee, fond boy,
If I may ever know thou doft but figh

That thou no more fhalt fee this knack, as never
I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from fucceffion;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
Tho' full of our difpleasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it: and you, enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdfman; yea him too,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy

Unworthy thee; if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devife a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to it.

Per. Even here undone:

I was not much afraid; for once or twice
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly,
The felf-fame fun, that fhines upon his court,
Hides not his vifage from our cottage, but

[Exit.

Looks on alike. Wilt pleafe you, Sir, be gone? [To Flor.
I told you, what would come of this. 'Befeech you,
Of your own ftate take care: this dream of mine,
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam. Why, how now, father?
Speak, ere thou dieft.

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think,

Nor dare to know that which I know. O Sir, [T. Flor.
You have undone a man of fourscore three,

That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father dy'd,

To lie close by his honeft bones; but now

Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels in duft. O curfed wretch!
[To Perdita.
That knew'ft, this was the Prince; and would'st adventure
To mingle faith with him. Undone, undone!

If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I defire.

Flo. Why look you Lo upon me?

I am but forry, not afraid; delay'd,

But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am;

[Exit.

More ftraining on, for plucking back; not following My leafh unwillingly.

Cam. Gracious my Lord,

You know your father's temper: at this time
He will allow no fpeech, (which I do guess,
You do not purpose to him ;) and as hardly
Will he endure your fight, as yet I fear;

Then,

Then, 'till the fury of his Highness fettle,

Come not before him.

Flo. I not purpose it.

I think, Camillo

Cam. Even he, my Lord.

Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus ? How often faid, my dignity would last But 'till 'twere known?

Flo. It cannot fail, but by

The violation of my faith, and then

Let Nature crufh the fides o'th' earth together,
And mar the feeds within!-Lift up thy looks!
From my fucceffion wipe me, father, I

Am heir to my affection.

Cam. Be advis'd.

Flo. I am; and by my fancy; if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reafon;
If not, my fenfes, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.

Cam. This is defperate, Sir.

Flo. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs muft think it honefty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd; for all the fun fees, or
The clofe earth wombs, or the profound feas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd: therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever been my father's friend,
When he fhall mifs me, (as, in faith, I mean not
To fee him any more) caft your good counfels
Upon his paffion; let myself and fortune
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And fo deliver, I am put to fea

With her, whom here I cannot hold on fhore;
And, moft opportune to our need, I have
A veffel rides faft by, but not prepar'd
For this defign. What courfe I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.

Cam. O my Lord,

VOL. III.

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