The Winter’s Tale

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
Her portion equal his.

Florizel

O, that must be
I’ the 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 altering 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