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Page 32
AUTOLYCUS.
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames;
I knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir,
for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out
of the court.
CLOWN.
His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of the
court: they cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no
more but abide.
AUTOLYCUS.
Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he hath been
since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he
compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having
flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue:
some call him Autolycus.
CLOWN.
Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs,
and bear-baitings.
AUTOLYCUS.
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into
this apparel.
CLOWN.
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but looked
big and spit at him, he'd have run.
AUTOLYCUS.
I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart
that way; and that he knew, I warrant him.
CLOWN.
How do you now?
AUTOLYCUS.
Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk: I will
even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman's.
CLOWN.
Shall I bring thee on the way?
AUTOLYCUS.
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
CLOWN.
Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.
AUTOLYCUS.
Prosper you, sweet sir!
[Exit CLOWN.]
Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with
you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring
out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled,
and my name put in the book of virtue!
[Sings.]
Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
[Exit.]
SCENE IV. The same. A Shepherd's Cottage.
[Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA.]
FLORIZEL.
These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life,--no shepherdess, but Flora
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
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