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tien all, and very good ones, but they are most of thera means and bases ; but one puritan among them, and he lings psalms to horn-pipes. I must have faffron to colour the warden-pies, macemodatesnone--that's out of my note : putmegs, seven ; a' race or two of ginger, but that's tnay beg ; four pound of prunes, and as many raisins o’th' fun.

Aur. Oh, that ever I was born ! (Groveling on the ground, Clo. I'th' name of me

Aur. Oh, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags, and then death, death

Clo. Alack, poor foul, thou hast need of more 'rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.,

Aul. Oh, Sir, the loathsomness of them offends me, more than the Aripes I have receiv'd, which are mighty ones, and millions.

Cío. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may come to a great matter.

Aut. I am robb’d,{Sir, and beaten ; my mony and appaa, rel ta'en from me, and these deteftable things put upon me.

Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man ?
Aut. A foot-man, sweet Sir, a foot-man.

Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the garments he has left with thee ; if this be a horse-man's coat, it hath feen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand, [Helping bim up.

Aut. Oh! good Sir, tenderly, oh!
Clo. Alas, poor soul !

Aut. O good Sir, softly, good Sir : I fear, Sir, my thoulder-blade is out.

Clo. How now canft stand ?

Aur. Softly, dear Sir ; good Sir, softly ; you ha' done' me a charitable office.

Clo. Doft lack any mony ? I have a little mony for thee.

Aur. No, good sweet Sir : no, I beseech you, Şir ; I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going ; I shall there have '

mony, or any thing I want : offer me no mony, I pray you ; that kills my heart.

Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robb’d you ?

Aut. A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about with troll-madams ; I knew him once a fervant of the Prince ; !

cannot

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not tell, good Sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipp'd out of the Court.,

Clo. His vices, you would say ; there's no virtue whipp'd out of the the Court ;' they cherish it to make it stay there, and yet it will no more but abide.

Aut. 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 compaft a motion * of the prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lyes ; and having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue; some call him Autolicus.

Clo. Out upon him, prig! for my life, prig! he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.

Aut. Very true, Sir ; he, Sir, be ; : that's the rogue that put me into this apparel.

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all' Bithynia ; if you' had but look'd big, and spit at him, he'd have run,

Aut. I must confess to you, Sir, I am no fighter; I am fälle of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him. Cló. How do you do now?

Aut. 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. Clo. Shall I bring thee on thy way

? Aut. No, good-faca Sir ; no, sweet Sir.

Clo. Then farewel, I must go to buy spices for our sheepfhearing

(Exit. Aut. Prosper you, sweet Şir! Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-fhearing too : if I make not this cheat bring out another, and the fhearers prove Theep, let me be unroll d, * and my name put into the book of virtue.

SON G.
Fog on, jog on, the foot-path way,

And merrily bend tbe file-a.
A merry beart goes all ebe day,
Your fad tires in a mile-a,

[Exit. # A Motion is a Word for a Puppet-few. * Alluding to the societies into which the notorious cheats and gipsies inroll themselves.

SCENE

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In every

SCENÉ TV. The old Sbepberd's House.

Enter. Florizel and Perdita.
Flo. 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-fhearing
Is as a 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 self,
The gracious mark o'th' land, you have obscur’d
With a swain's wearing ; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most Goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts

mess have folly, and the feeders
Digeft it with a custom; I thould blush
To see you so attired, Iwoon, I think,
To few my self a glass.

Flo. I biess the time
When my good falcon made her flight a-cross
Thy father's ground.

Per. Now Jove afford you cause !
To me the difference forges-dread, your greatness
Hath not been us'd to fear; even now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way, as you did : oh the fates,
How would hé look to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up! what would he say! or how
Should I in these my borrow'd faunts behold
The sternness of his presence !

Flo. Apprehend
Nothing but jollity : the Gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellowd; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-rob’d God,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now. Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty sarer,
Nor in a way so chafte ; fince my defires
Run not before mine honour, por my lufts

Bura

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Burn hotter than my faith,

Per. O but, dear Sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'cis
Opposed, as it must be, by th’pow'r o'th'King.
One of these two necessities must be,
Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life.

· Flo. Thou dearest Perdita,
With these forc'd thoughts I proythee darken not
The mirth oth” feast; or I'U te 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 constant,
Tho' deftiny say no. Be merry, gentlef !
Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing,
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming &
Lift up your countenance, as 'twere the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.

Per. O Lady Fortune,
Stand you auspicious !

SCENE V.
Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, Servants ; with

Polixenes and Camillo disguis’d.
Flo. See, your guests approach ;
Address your self to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

Sbep. Fie, daughter ; when my old wife liv'd, upon
This day the was both pantler, butler, cook,
Both dame and servant ; welcom'd all, serv'd all ;
Would sing 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 the took to quench it
She would to each one sip. You are retired,
As if you were a feafted one, and aot
The hostess 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

Self

That

That which you are, mistress o' th' feast. Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-fhearing,
As your good flock fhall prosper.

Per. Sirs, you're welcome [To Pol. and Camai
It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostesship o'th’day; you're welcome, Sirs.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend Sirs,
For you there's rofemary and rue, these keep
Seeming and favour all the winter long :
Grace and remembrance be unto you both,
And welcome to our hearing!

Pol. Shepherdess,
A fair one are you, well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient,
Nor yet op summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o'th' season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly-flowers,
Which some call nature's bastards; of that kind
Our rustick garden's barren, and I care not
To get Nips of them.,

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them ?

Per. For I have heard it said,
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 nature makes that mean; fo over that art,
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes ; you Tee, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scyon to the wildeft ftock,
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 self is nature.

Per. So it is..

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly-Aowers,
And do not call them bastards.
Per, l’ll not put

The Vol. IV.

F

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