The Winter’s Tale

me Autolycus; who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Enter Clown. Clown Let me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? Autolycus Aside. If the springe hold, the cock’s mine. Clown I cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice⁠—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates?⁠—none, that’s out of my note; nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ the sun. Autolycus O that ever I was born! Grovelling on the ground. Clown I’ the name of me⁠— Autolycus O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! Clown Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. Autolycus O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. Clown Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. Autolycus I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. Clown What, by a horseman, or a footman? Autolycus A footman, sweet sir, a footman. Clown Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee: if this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand. Autolycus O, good sir, tenderly, O! Clown Alas, poor soul! Autolycus O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out. Clown How now! canst stand? Autolycus Picking his pocket. Softly, dear sir; good sir, softly. You ha’ done me a charitable office. Clown Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. Autolycus No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. Clown What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? Autolycus A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court. Clown His vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. Autolycus Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus. Clown Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs and bear-baitings. Autolycus Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this apparel. Clown Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had but looked big and spit at him, he’ld have run. Autolycus I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him. Clown How do you now? Autolycus Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman’s. Clown Shall I bring thee on the way? Autolycus No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. Clown Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. Autolycus

Prosper you, sweet sir! Exit Clown. Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I’ll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I make not this cheat bring out another and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name put in the book of virtue! Sings.

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit.

Scene IV

The Shepherd’s cottage.

	Enter Florizel and Perdita.
Florizel	These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on’t.
Perdita	Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me: O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o’ the land, you have obscured With a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank’d up: but that our feasts In every mess have folly and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired, sworn, I think, To show myself a glass.
Florizel	I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father’s ground.
Perdita	Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates! How would he look, to