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Page 41
FLORIZEL.
No, good sir;
He has his health, and ampler strength indeed
Than most have of his age.
POLIXENES.
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.
FLORIZEL.
I yield all this;
But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.
POLIXENES.
Let him know't.
FLORIZEL.
He shall not.
POLIXENES.
Pr'ythee let him.
FLORIZEL.
No, he must not.
SHEPHERD.
Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
FLORIZEL.
Come, come, he must not.--
Mark our contract.
POLIXENES.
[Discovering himself.] Mark your divorce, young sir,
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir,
That thus affects a sheep-hook!--Thou, old traitor,
I am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week.--And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with,--
SHEPHERD.
O, my heart!
POLIXENES.
I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,--
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
That thou no more shalt see this knack,--as never
I mean thou shalt,--we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Far than Deucalion off:--mark thou my words:
Follow us to the court.--Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it.--And you, enchantment,--
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee
As thou art tender to't.
[Exit.]
PERDITA.
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard: for once or twice
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly
The self-same sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.--[To FLORIZEL.] Will't please you, sir, be gone?
I told you what would come of this! Beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
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