Which then will speak; that you must change this purpose,

Or I my life.

Flo.

Thou dearest Perdita,

With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o'the feast: 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 constant,
Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle;
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance; as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which

We two have sworn shall come.

Per.

Stand you auspicious!

O lady fortune,

Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO disguised; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and Others.

Flo.

See, your guests approach:

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

Shep. Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd,
upon

This day, she 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'the table, now, i'the middle;
On his shoulder, and his: her face o' fire

With labour; and the thing, she took to quench it,
She would to each one sip: You are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us welcome: for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.

Come, quench your blushes; and present yourself That which you are, mistress o'the feast: Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,

As your good flock shall prosper.

Per. Welcome, sir! [To PoL. It is my father's will, I should take on me The hostess-ship o'the day :-You're welcome, sir! [TO CAMILLO. Give me those 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 fit our ages
With flowers of winter.

Per.

Sir, the year growing ancient,

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter,-the fairest flowers o' the sea-

son

Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustick garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.

Pol.

Do you neglect them?

Per.

Wherefore, gentle maiden,

There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares

For I have heard it said,

Say, there be;

With great creating nature.

Pol.

Yet nature is made better by no mean,

But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art,

Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art

That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry

For I have] For, in this place, signifies-because that.

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,-change it rather: but The art itself is nature.

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

2

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; and only there

fore

Desire to breed by me.-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.-Now, my fairest friend,

I would, I had some flowers o'the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing:-O Proserpina,
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,

dibble-] An instrument used by gardeners to make holes in the earth for the reception of young plants.

But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,3
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.

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 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,

violets, dim,

But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,] I suspect that our author mistakes Juno for Pallas, who was the goddess of blue eyes. Sweeter than an eye-lid is an odd image, but perhaps he uses sweet in the general sense for delightful. JOHNSON.

Each your doing, &c.] That is, your manner in each act crowns the act.

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: marry, gar

lick,

To mend her kissing with.

Mop.

Now, in good time!

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stands 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

we stand, &c.] That is, we are now on our behaviour. a worthy feeding:] I conceive feeding to be a pasture,