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Page 39
[Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA.]
AUTOLYCUS.
[Aside.] 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 pedlar;
Money's a meddler
That doth utter all men's ware-a.
[Exit.]
[Re-enter Servant.]
SERVANT.
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
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.
SHEPHERD.
Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery
already.--I know, sir, we weary you.
POLIXENES.
You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see these four
threes of herdsmen.
SERVANT.
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.
SHEPHERD.
Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them
come in; but quickly now.
SERVANT.
Why, they stay at door, sir.
[Exit.]
[Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then
exeunt.]
POLIXENES.
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.--
[To CAMILLO.] Is it not too far gone?--'Tis time to part them.--
He's simple and tells much. [To FLORIZEL.] 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 ransack'd
The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it
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.
FLORIZEL.
Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd.--O, hear me breathe 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.
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