But not deliver'd. O, hear me breath my life Before this ancient Sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand, As soft as dove's down, and as white as it; Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow, That's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er. Pol. What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash What you profess. Flo. Do, and be witness to't. Pol. And this my neighbour too? Flo. And he, and more Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all: More than was ever man's, -- ledge, I would not prize them, Without her love: for her, employ them all; Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, Or to their own perdition. Pol. Fairly offer'd. Cam. This shows a sound affection. Shep. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? Per. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: Shep. Take hands, a bargain; And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. VOL. VI. Flo. O, that must be I'the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, Shep. Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. Pol. Soft, swain, a while, 'beseech you; Have you a father? Flo. I have: But what of him? Pol. Knows he of this? Flo. He neither does, nor shall. Pol. Methinks, a father Is, as the nuptial of his son, a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more; Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak? hear? Know man from man? dispute his own estate? Flo. No, good Sir: He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed. Pol. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial: Reáson, my son Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason. The father, (all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel Flo. I yield all this; But, for some other reasons, my grave Sir, Pol. Let him know't. Flo. He shall not. Pol. Prythee, let him. Flo. No, he must not. Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to At knowing of thy choice. grieve Flo. Come, come he must not: Mark our contract. Pol. Mark your divorce, young Sir, [Discovering himself. Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Shep. O, my heart! Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, More homely than thy state. and made For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh, That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never That makes himself, but for our honour therein, These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee, Per. Even here undone! [Exit. I was not much afeard: for once, or twice, 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. Cam. Why, how now, father? Speak, ere thon diest. Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. O Sir, [To FLORIZEL. You have undone a man of fourscore three, To lie close by his honest bones: but now That knew'st this was the Prince, and would'st ad venture To mingle faith with him. Undone! undone! Flo. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am : [Exit. More straining on, for plucking back; not follow My leash unwillingly. ing Cam. Gracious my Lord, You know your father's temper: at this time He will allow no speech, - which, I do guess, - You do not purpose to him; and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Then, 'till the fury of his Highness settle, Come not before him. Flo. I not purpose it. I think, Camillo. Cam. Even he, my Lord. Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus? How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known? Flo. I 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: From my succession wipe me, father! I Cam. Be advis'd. Flo. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason Cam. This is desperate, Sir. Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sces, or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd: Therefore, I pray you, As you have e'er been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,) cast your good counsels Upon his passion; Let myself, and fortune, |