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, ‘twere well, and only therefore
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’re very welcome!
CAMILLO
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
PERDITA
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,
From the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett’st fall
From Dis’s waggon!—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. 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.
FLORIZEL
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.
PERDITA
O Doricles,
Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
And the true blood which peeps fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unstained shepherd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo’d me the false way.
FLORIZEL
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.
PERDITA
I’ll swear for ‘em.
POLIXENES
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.
CAMILLO
He tells her something
That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.
CLOWN
Come on, strike up.
DORCAS
Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic,
To mend her kissing with!
MOPSA
Now, in good time!
CLOWN
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.—
Come, strike up.
[Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.]
POLIXENES
Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Which dances with your daughter?
SHEPHERD
They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding; but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it:
He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:
I think so too; for never gaz’d the moon
Upon the water as he’ll stand, and read,
As ‘twere, my daughter’s eyes: and, to be plain,
I think there is not half a kiss to choose
Who loves another best.
POLIXENES
She dances featly.
SHEPHERD
So she does anything; though I report it,
That should be silent; if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
[Enter a SERVANT.]
SERVANT
O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money: he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men’s ears grew to his tunes.
CLOWN
He could never come better: he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.
SERVANT
He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers