Even here undone !

I was much afeard: for once or twice,

I was about to speak; and tell him plainly
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.

Will 't please you, Sir, be gone?

I told you what would come of this. Beseech you,
Of your own state take care; this dream of mine-
Being now awake—I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

How often have I told you 't would be thus!

How often said, my dignity would last

But till 'twere known!

FLORIZEL.

It cannot fail, but by

The violation of my faith; and then

Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.

Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may

Be thereat glean'd! for all the sun sees, or

The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide

In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath

To thee, my fair beloved!

Perdita has another characteristic, which lends to the poetical delicacy of the delineation a certain strength and moral elevation, which is peculiarly striking. It is that sense of truth and rectitude, that upright simplicity of mind, which disdains all crooked and indirect means, which would not stoop for an instance to dissemblance, and is mingled with a noble confidence in her love and in her lover. In this spirit is her answer to Camilla, who says, courtierlike,

Besides, you know

Prosperity 's the very bond of love;

Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together,
Affliction alters.

To which she replies,

One of these is true;

I think, affliction may subdue the cheek,

But not take in the mind.

In that elegant scene where she receives the guests at the sheepshearing, and distributes the flowers, there is in the full flow of the poetry, a most beautiful and striking touch of individual character : but here it is impossible to mutilate the dialogue.

Reverend sirs,

For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savor all the winter long;

Grace and remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!

POLIXENES.

Shepherdess

(A fair one are you), well you fit our ages

With flowers of winter.

PERDITA.

Sir, the year growing ancient,

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth

Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the season

Are our carnations, and streaked gilliflowers,

Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind

Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not

To get slips of them.

POLIXENES.

Wherefore, gentle maiden,

Do you neglect them?

PERDITA.

For I have heard it said,

There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature.

POLIXENES.

Say there be;

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

A gentle 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.

PERDITA.

So it is.

POLIXENES.

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

PERDITA.

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 't were well.

It has been well remarked of this passage, that Perdita does not attempt to answer the reasoning of Polixenes: she gives up the argument, but, woman-like, retains her own opinion, or rather, her sense of right, unshaken by his sophistry. She goes on in a strain of poetry, which comes over the soul like music and fragrance. mingled we seem to inhale the blended odors of a thousand flowers, till the sense faints with their sweetness; and she concludes with a touch of passionate sentiment, which melts into the very

heart:

O Proserpina !

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

FLORIZEL.

What! like a corse?

PERDITA.

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!

This love of truth, this conscientiousness, which forms so distinct a feature in the character of Perdita, and mingles with its picturesque delicacy a certain firmness and dignity, is maintained consistently to the last. When the two lovers fly together from Bohemia, and take refuge in the court of Leontes, the real father of Perdita, Florizel presents himself before the king with a feigned tale, in which he has been artfully instructed by the old counsellor Camillo. During this scene, Perdita does not utter a word. In the strait in which they are placed, she cannot deny the story which Florizel relatesshe will not confirm it. Her silence, in spite of all the compliments and greetings of Leontes, has a peculiar and characteristic grace; and, at the conclusion of the scene, when they are betrayed, the truth bursts from her as if instinctively and she exclaims, with emotion,

The heavens set spies upon us-will not have

Our contract celebrated.

After this scene, Perdita says very little. The description of her grief, while listening to the relation of her mother's death,—

"One of the prettiest touches of all, was, when at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came by it, how attentiveness wounded her daughter till, from one sign of dolor to another, she did, with an alas! I would fain say, bleed tears: "

her deportment, too, as she stands gazing on the statue of Hermione, fixed in wonder, admiration, and sorrow, as if she too were marble,

O royal piece!

There's magic in thy majesty, which has

From thy admiring daughter ta'en the spirits,
Standing like stone beside thee:

are touches of character conveyed indirectly, and which serve to

give a more finished effect to this beautiful picture.