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Per. O lady fortune, Stand you aufpicious!
Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopfa, Dorcas, Servants; with Polixenes and Camillo difguis'd.
Flo. See, your guests approach;
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon
Per. Sirs, you're welcome.
It is my father's will, I fhould take on me
[to Pol. and Cam.
fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Per. Sir, the year growing ancient,
Nor yet on fummer's death, nor on the birth
Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Per. For I have heard it faid,
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You fee, fweet maid, we marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock,
And make conceive a bark of bafer kind
By bud of nobler race: this is an art
Per. So it is.
Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, And do not call them baftards.
Per. I'll not put
The dibble in earth, to fet one flip of them:
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
You'd be fo lean, that blasts of january
That come before the fwallow dares, and take
Flo. What, like a corfe?
Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corfe: or if, not to be buried,
But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:
In whitsund' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine
Flo. What you do,
Still betters what is done. When you speak, fweet,
I'd have you buy and fell fo; fo give alms;
Nothing but that; move ftill, ftill fo,
Crowns what you're doing in the present deeds,
Per. O Doricles,
Your praises are too large; but that your youth
Flo. I think, you have
As little skill in fear, as I have purpose
To put you to't. But, come; our dance I pray :
That never mean to part.
Per. I'll fwear for 'em.
Pol. This is the prettieft low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-fword; nothing she does, or seems, But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.
Cam. He tells her fomething
That makes her blood look out: good footh, she is
Clo. Come on, strike up.
Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners: come, ftrike up.
mistress; marry, garlick
Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdeffes.
Pol. I pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Who dances with your daughter?
Shep. They call him Doricles; and he boafts himself To have a worthy breeding: but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it;
He looks like footh: he fays, he loves my daughter,
Upon the water, as he'll ftand, and read,
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
Which loves the other best.
Pol. She dances featly.
Shep. So fhe does any thing; though I report it
Enter a Servant.
Ser. O, master, if you did but hear the pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabour and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he fings feveral tunes fafter than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grow to his tunes.
Clo. He could never come better; he fhall come in: I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily fet down; or a very pleasant thing indeed, and fung lamentably.
Ser. He hath fongs for man or woman of all fizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettieft lovesongs for maids, fo without bawdry, (which is ftrange) with such delicate burdens of dil-do's and fa-ding's: jump her and thump her: and where fome ftretch-mouth'd rafcal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop! do me no harm, good man; puts him off, flights him, with Whoop! do me no harm, good man. Pol. This is a brave fellow.
Clo. Believe me, thou talkeft of an admirable-conceited fellow : has he any unbraided wares?
Ser. He hath ribands of all the colours i'th' rainbow; points,