whom I was going; I fhall there have Mony, or any thr I want: Offer me no Mony, I pray you, that kills Heart.

Clo. What manner of Fellow was he that robt you?

Aut. A Fellow, Sir, that I have known to go abo with Trol-my-dames: I knew him once. a Servard of the Prince; I cannot tell, good Sir, for which of Virtues it was, but he was certainly Whip'd out of th Court.

Clo. His Vices you would fay; there's no Virtue whic out of the Court; they cherish it to make it stay ther and yet it will no more but abide.

Aut. Vices I would fay, Sir. I know this Man well, hath been fince an Ape-bearer, then a Process-server, Bailiff; then he compaft a Motion of the Prodigal So and married a Tinker's Wife, within a Mile where m Land and Living lyes; and, having flown over many kri vish Profeffions, he fettled only in Rogue; fome call hit Autolicus,

Clo. Out upon him, Prig! for my Life Prig; he haur Wakes, Fairs, and Bear-baiting.

Aut. Very true; Sir; he, Sir, he; that's the Rogue th put me into this Apparel.

Clo. Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big, and fpit at him, he'ld have

run.

Aut. I must confefs to you, Sir, I am no fighter; I am falfe of Heart that way, and that he knew I warrant him.

Clo. How do you do now?

Aut. Sweet Sir, much better than I was; I can ftand, and walk; I will even take my leave of you, and pace foft. ly towards my Kinsman's,

Clo. Shall I bring thee on thy way?

Aut. No, good fac'd Sir; no, fweet Sir.

Clo. Then farewel, I muft go and buy Spices for our Sheep-fhearing.

[Exit.

Aut. Profper you, fweet Sir. Your Purfe is not hot enough to purchase your Spice, I'll be with you at your

Sheep

heep-fhearing too: If I make not this Cheat bring out anoner, and the Shearers prove Sheep, let me be unrol'd, and ny Name put in the Book of Virtue.

Flo. These your unusual Weeds, to each part of you
Does give a Life: No Shepherdefs but Flora,
Peering in April's front. This your Sheep-fhearing,
Is as a merry meeting of the petty Gods,
And you the Queen on't.

Per. Sir; my gracious Lord,

To chide at your extreams, it not becomes me:
Oh pardon, that I name them: Your high felf,
The gracious mark o'th' Land, you have obscur'd
With a Swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly Maid,
Moft Goddess-like prank'd up. But that our Feafts,
In every Mess, have Folly; and the Feeders
Digeft it with a Cuftom, I fhould blush
To see you so attir'd; fworn, I think,

To fhew my felf a Glafs.

Flo. I blefs the time

When my good Falcon made her flight a-cross
Thy Father's Ground.

Per. Now Jove afford you caufe;

To me the difference forges dread, your Greatness
Hath not been us'd to Fear; even now I tremble
To think your Father, by fome accident,
Should pafs this way, as you did: Oh the Fates,
How would he look to fee his work, fo noble,
Vildly bound up! What would he fay! Or how

Hh 4

Should

Should I, in these my borrow'd Flaunts, behold
The fternness of his Prefence ?

Flo. Apprehend

Nothing but Jollity: The Gods themselves,
Humbling their Deities to Love, have taken
The Shapes of Beafts upon them. Jupiter
Became a Bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A Ram, and bleated; and the Fire-rob'd God,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble Swain,
As I feem now. Their Transformations,
Were never for a piece of Beauty rarer,
Nor in a way fo chaft: Since my Defires
Run not before mine Honour, nor my Lufts
Burn hotter than my Faith.

Per. O but, dear Sir,

Your Refolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' Power of the King.
One of these two must be Neceffities,

Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my Life.

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita,

With these forc'd Thoughts I prethee darken not
The Mirth o'th' Feaft; or I'll be thine, my Fair,
Or not my Father's. For I cannot be

Mine own, nor any thing to any, if

I be not thine. To this I am most conftant,
Tho' Destiny fay no. Be merry, gentle,

Strangle fuch Thoughts as thefe, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your Guefts are coming :
Lift up you Countenance, as it were the day

Of Celebration of that Nuptial, which

We two have fworn fhall come.

Per. O Lady Fortune,

Stand you aufpicious.

Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopfa, Dorcas, Servants; with Po

lixenes and Camillo difguis'd.

Flo. See, your Guests approach;

Addrefs your felf to entertain them fprightly

And let's be red with Mirth.

Shep. Fie Daughter; when my old Wife liv'd, upon

his day fhe was both Pantler, Butler, Cook,
Both Dame and Servant; welcom'd all, ferv'd all;
Would fing her Song, and dance her turn; now here
At upper end o'th' Table, now i'th middle;
On his Shoulder, and his; her Face o'fire
With Labour; and the things fhe took to quench it
She would to each one fip. You are retired,
As if you were a feasted one; and not
The Hoftefs of the meeting: Pray you bid
These unknown Friends to's welcome, for it is
A way to make us better Friends, more known.
Come, quench your Blushes, and present your felf
That which you are, Mistress o'th' Feaft. Come on,
And bid us welcome to your Sheep-fhearing,
As your good Flock fhall profper.

Per. Sirs, welcome.

[To Polix. and Cam;

It is my Father's Will, I fhould take on me

The Hoftessship o'th' Day, you're welcome, Sirs.
Give me. thofe Flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend Sirs,
For you there's Rosemary, and Rue, these keep
Seeming and Savour all the Winter long:

Grace and Remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our Shearing.

Pol. Shepherdess,

A fair one are you,

well you

With Flowers of Winter.

fit our Ages

Per. Sir, the Year growing ancient,

Nor yet on Summer's Death, nor on the Birth
Of trembling Winter, the faireft Flowers o'th' Seafon
Are our Carnations, and ftreak'd Gillyflowers,
Which fome call Nature's Baftards, of that kind
Our ruftick Garden's barren, and I care not

To get flips of them.

Pol. Wherefore, gentle Maiden,

Do you neglect them?

Per. For I have heard it faid,

There is an Art, which in their pideness shares
With great creating-Nature.

Pol. Say there be,

Yet Nature is made better by no mean,

But

But Nature makes that mean; fo over that Art,
Which you fay adds to Nature is an Art

That Nature makes; you fee, fweet Maid, we marry
A gentler Sien to the wildeft Stock,

And make conceive a Bark of baser kind

By Bud of Nobler Race. This is an Art

Which does mend Nature; Change it rather; but
The Art it felf is Nature.

Per. So it is.

Pol. Then make your Garden rich in Gillyflowers, And do not call them Baftards.

Per. I'll not put

The Dible in Earth, to fet one flip of them:

No more than were I Painted, I would wish
This Youth fhould fay 'twere well; and only therefore
Defire to breed by me. Here's Flowers for you;
Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram,

The Mary-gold, that goes to Bed with th' Sun,
And with him rifes, weeping: These are Flowers
Of middle Summer, and, I think, they are given
To Men of middle Age. Y'are welcome.

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

Per. Out alas;

You'ld be fo lean, that blafts of January

your Flock,

Would blow you through and through. Now, my

Friends,

I would I had fome Flowers o'th' Spring, 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 Diffes Waggon: Daffadils,

That come before the Swallow dares, and take
The Winds of March with Beauty; Violets, dim,
But fweeter than the Lids of Juno's Eyes,
Or Cytherea's Breath; pale Prim-rofes,
That die unmarried, e'er they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his Strength, a Malady
Moft incident to Maids; bold Oxlips, and

faire

The