But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength,— a malady
Most incident to maids: bold oxlips and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er!

Flo.

flowers:

What, like a corse?
Per. No, like a bank for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corse; or if,- not to be buried,
But quick, and in mine arms.— - Come, take your
Methinks I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun pastorals: sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.

Flo.

What you do

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever; when you sing,

I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,

To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so,

And own no other function: each your doing,
So singular in each particular,

Crowns what you're doing in the present 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 so fairly through't,
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,

You woo'd me the false 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 : so turtles pair,

That never mean to part.

Per.

I'll swear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems

But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.

Cam.

He tells her something

That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.

Flo.

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with !

Мор.

Come on, strike up!

Now, in good time!

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our man

ners.

Come, strike up!

[Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter?

Shep. They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding: I but have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it ;

He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:
I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read,

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

Who loves another best.

Pol.

She dances featly.

Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it,
That should be silent: if young Doricles

Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. O master, if you did but hear the peddler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you; he sings several tunes faster 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 shall come in : I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.

Serv. He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes,~

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no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and "fadings," "jump her and thump her;" and where some stretch-mouth rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul jape into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man;" puts him off, slights him, with “Whoop, do me no harm, good man."

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

Serv. He hath ribands of all the colors i' the rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the goss; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings 'em ever, as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the square on't.

Clo. Prithee, bring him in ; and let hirn approach singing.

Per. Forwarn him that he use no scurrilous word in's tunes. [Exit Servant. Clo. You have of these peddlers, that have more in them than you'd think, sister.

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

Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing.

Lawn as white as driven snow;
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;
Bugle-bracelet, necklace-amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden quoifs and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,

What maids lack from head to heel:

Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;

Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:

Come buy.

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being inthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands and gloves.

Mop. I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.

Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.

Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you may be, he has paid you more,—which will shame 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 kilnhole, to whistle-off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'tis well they are whispering. Clamor your tongues, and not a word

more.

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdrylace and a pair of sweet gloves.

Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way, and lost all my money?

Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behooves men to be wary.

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here. Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clo. What hast here? ballads?

Mop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are sure they are true.

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Very true; and but a month old.

Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer!

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives' that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

Mop. Pray you now, buy it.

Clo. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see more bal lads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut. Here's another ballad, Of a fish, that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

Dor. Is it true too, think you?

Aut. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.

Clo. Lay it by too: another.

Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Mop. Let's have some merry ones.

Aut. 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.

Mop. We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation: have at it with you!

Song.

Aut. Get you hence, for I must go;

Where, it fits not you to know.

Dor. Whither? Mop. O, whither? Dor. Whither? Mop. It becomes thy oath full well,

Thou to me thy secrets tell :

Dor. Me too, let me go thither.

Mop. Or thou go'st to the grange or mill :

Dor. If to either, thou dost ill.

Aut. Neither. Dor. What, neither? Aut. Neither. Dor. Thou hast sworn my love to be; Mop. Thou hast sworn it more to me: Then, whither go'st? say, whither?

Clo. 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.