Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way, and lost all my money?

Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clo. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here.

Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clo. What hast here? ballads? Mop. 'Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true.

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden; and how she longed to eat adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Very true; and but a month old.

Dor. Bless me from marrying an usurer!

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress Taleporter; and five or six honest wives, that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it.

Clo. Come on, lay it by. And let's first see more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish, that appeared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids; it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

Dor. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, more than my pack will hold.

Clo. Lay it by too. Another.

Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one.

Mop. Let's have some merry ones.

Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes to the tune of, Two maids wooing a man.

There's

scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.

Mop. We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis my occupation; have at it with you.

SONG.

A. Get you hence, for I must go;

Where, it fits not you to know.

D. Whither? M. O whither? D. Whither?

M. It becomes thy oath full well,

Thou to me thy secrets tell.

D. Me too, let me go thither.

M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill;

D. If to either, thou dost ill.

A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither.

D. Thou hast sworn my love to be;

M. Thou hast sworn it more to me.

Then, whither go'st? Say, whither?

Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentleman are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after Wenches, I'll buy for you both.-Pedler, let's have the first choice.-Follow me, girls.

me.

Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em.

Will

you buy any tape,

Or lace for your cape,

My dainty duck, my dear-a?

Any silk, any thread,

Any toys for your head,

Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?

Come to the pedler;

Money's a medler,

That doth utter1 all men's ware-a.

[Aside.

[Exeunt Clown, AUT., DORC., and MOPSA.

1 A sale or utterance of ware.

Enter a Servant.

Serv Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves saltiers; and they have a dance, which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling) it will please plentifully.

Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already.—I know, sir, we weary you.

Pol. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen.

Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squire.2

Shep. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir.

[Exit.

Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.

Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.-3

Is it not too far gone?-'Tis time to part them.-
He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.]-How now,
fair shepherd?

Your heart is full of something, that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont

To load my she with knacks. I would have ransacked

The pedler's silken treasury, and have poured it

1 Satyrs.

2 Foot rule (esquierre, Fr.)

3 This is an answer to something which the shepherd is supposed to have said to Polixenes during the dance.

1

To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him: if your lass
Interpretation should abuse, and call this
Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited
For a reply; at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.

Flo.

Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are.

2

The gifts she looks from me are packed and locked
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not delivered.-O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime loved. I take thy hand; this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fanned snow,
That's bolted 3 by the northern blasts twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this?

How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand, was fair before!—I have put you out.
But to your protestation; let me hear

What

Flo.

you profess.

Do, and be witness to't.

Pol. And this my neighbor too?

Flo. And he, and more Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all : That, were I crowned the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth

That ever made eye swerve; had force, and knowl

edge,

More than was ever man's,-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.

Cam. This shows a sound affection.

Shep.

Say you the like to him?

Fairly offered.

But, my daughter,

Per.

I cannot speak

1 Bought, trafficked. 2 Straitened, put to difficulties.

3 i. e. sifted.

So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better.
By the pattern of my own thoughts
own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

Take hands; a bargain;

Shep.
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't.
I give my daughter to him, and will make

Her portion equal his.

Flo.

O, that must be

I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder. But come on;
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

Is, at 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?1

Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,

But what he did being childish?

No, good sir;

Flo.
He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,

Than most have of his age.

Pol.

By my white beard,

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong

Something unfilial. Reason, 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

In such a business.

1 i. e. "converse about his own affairs."