That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we

marry

A gentler scion to the wildest stock;
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race; This is an art
Which does mend nature,

The art itself is nature.

Per.

change it rather: but

So it is.

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, And do not call them bastards.

Per. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them: No more than, were I painted, I would wish This youth should say, 'twere well. Here's flowers for you;

-

Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ;
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle age: You are very welcome.
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your
flock,

And only live by gazing.

Per.

Out, alas!

You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.

fairest friend,

Now, my

I would, I had some flowers o'the spring, that might Become your time of day. O Proserpine,

For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils,

That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim
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; 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.- Come, take your
flowers:

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 are 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 fairly peeps through it, 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.

Clo.

Come on, strike up.

Dor. Mopsa must be

your mistress.

In good time!

Mop.

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

manners.

Come, strike up.

[Musick.

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 he boasts himself

To have a worthy feeding: but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it;

He looks like sooth: He says, he loves my daugh

ter;

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 pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he 3 Truth. 4 Neatly.

2 A valuable tract of pasturage.

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; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves.

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 colours i'the rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross ; inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns why, he sings them over, 'as they were gods or goddesses.

:

Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach singing.

Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes.

Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em 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 ;

5 Plain goods.

6 A kind of tape.

Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry;
Come, buy, &c.

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou should'st take no money of me; but being enthrall'd 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.

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 behoves 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, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true.

Aut. Here's a 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. The ballad is very pitiful, and true. Dor. Is it true, think you?

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

Clo. Lay it by: 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.