The Winter's Tale

SCENE IV. Bohemia. The 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.  PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord,    To chide at your extremes it not becomes me-    O, pardon that I name them! Your high self,    The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd    With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,    Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts    In every mess have folly, and the feeders    Digest it with a custom, I should blush    To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think,    To show myself a glass.  FLORIZEL. I bless the time    When my good falcon made her flight across    Thy father's ground.  PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause!    To me the difference forges dread; your greatness    Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble    To think your father, by some accident,    Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates!    How would he look to see his work, so noble,    Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how    Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold    The sternness of his presence?  FLORIZEL. Apprehend    Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,    Humbling their deities to love, have taken    The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter    Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune    A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,    Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,    As I seem now. Their transformations    Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,    Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires    Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts    Burn hotter than my faith.  PERDITA. O, but, sir,    Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis    Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King.    One of these two must be necessities,    Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,    Or I my life.  FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita,    With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not    The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair,    Or not my father's; for I cannot be    Mine own, nor anything to any, if    I be not thine. To this I am most constant,    Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;    Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing    That you behold the while. Your guests are coming.    Lift up your countenance, as it were the day    Of celebration of that nuptial which    We two have sworn shall come.  PERDITA. O Lady Fortune,    Stand you auspicious!  FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach.    Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,    And let's be red with mirth.Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS  SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon    This day she was both pantler, butler, cook;    Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all;    Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here    At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle;    On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire    With labour, and the thing she took to quench it    She would to each one sip. You are retired,    As if you were a feasted one, and not    The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid    These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is    A way to make us better friends, more known.    Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself    That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on,    And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,    As your good flock shall prosper.  PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome.    It is my father's will I should take on me    The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO]    You're welcome, sir.    Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,    For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep    Seeming and savour all the winter long.    Grace and remembrance be to you both!    And welcome to our shearing.  POLIXENES. Shepherdess-    A fair one are you- well you fit our ages    With flow'rs of winter.  PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient,    Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth    Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season    Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,    Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind    Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not    To get slips of them.  POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden,    Do you neglect them?  PERDITA. For I have heard it said    There is an art which in their piedness shares    With great creating nature.  POLIXENES. Say there be;    Yet nature is made better by no mean    But nature makes that mean; so over that art    Which you say adds to nature, is an art    That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry    A gentler scion to the wildest stock,    And make conceive a bark of baser kind    By bud of nobler race. This is an art    Which does mend nature- change it rather; but    The art itself is nature.  PERDITA. So it is.  POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,    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 flow'rs for you:    Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;    The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun,    And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs    Of middle summer, and I think they are given    To men of middle age. Y'are 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 fair'st friend,    I would I had some flow'rs o' th' 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 let'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 flow'r-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 flow'rs.    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 ord'ring your affairs,    To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you    A wave o' th' 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't,    Do plainly give you out an unstain'd 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 any thing; 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, thebagpipe    could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll    tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and allmen'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; nomilliner    can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest    love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange;with    such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her andthump    her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as itwere,    mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makesthe    maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'– puts himoff,    slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'  POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow.  CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceitedfellow.    Has he any unbraided wares?  SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow;points,    more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle,though    they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics,    lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses;you    would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the    sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.  CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.  PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in'stunes.                                                    Exit SERVANT  CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them thanyou'd    think, sister.  PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing

           Lawn as white as driven snow;           Cypress black as e'er was crow;           Gloves as sweet as damask roses;           Masks for faces and for noses;           Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,           Perfume for a lady's chamber;           Golden quoifs and stomachers,           For my lads to give their dears;           Pins and poking-sticks of steel-           What maids lack from head to heel.           Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;           Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry.           Come, buy.  CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no    money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also bethe    bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.  MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come nottoo    late now.  DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars.  MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paidyou    more, which will shame you to give him again.  CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they weartheir    plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not    milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, towhistle    off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before allour    guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues,and    not a word more.  MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and apair    of sweet gloves.  CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, andlost    all my money?  AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;therefore it    behoves men to be wary.  CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here.  AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of    charge.  CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads?  MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for    then we are sure they are true.  AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer'swife    was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and howshe    long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd.  MOPSA. Is it true, think you?  AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old.  DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer!  AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one MistressTaleporter,    and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I    carry lies abroad?  MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it.  CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads;we'll    buy the other things anon.  AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared uponthe    coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousandfathom    above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of    maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into acold    fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'dher.    The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.  DORCAS. Is it true too, think you?  AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more thanmy    pack will hold.  CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another.  AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.  MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones.  AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to thetune    of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westwardbut    she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.  MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalthear;    'tis in three parts.  DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago.  AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis myoccupation.    Have at it with you.

SONG

  AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go             Where it fits not you to know.  DORCAS. Whither?  MOPSA. O, whither?  DORCAS. Whither?  MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well             Thou to me thy secrets tell.  DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither  MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill.  DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill.  AUTOLYCUS. Neither.  DORCAS. What, neither?  AUTOLYCUS. Neither.  DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be.  MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me.             Then whither goest? Say, whither?  CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my fatherand    the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them.Come,    bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both.    Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls.                                      Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA  AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em.                                         Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing             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.

Re-enter SERVANT

  SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three    neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves allmen    of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dancewhich    the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they arenot    in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not toorough    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 seethese    four threes of herdsmen.  SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hathdanc'd    before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumpstwelve    foot and a half by th' squier.  SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd,let    them come in; but quickly now.  SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. ExitHere a dance of twelve SATYRS  POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] 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, whom, 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 th' northern blasts twice o'er.  POLIXENES. 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 you profess.  FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't.  POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too?  FLORIZEL. And he, and more    Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all:    That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,    Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth    That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge    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.  POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd.  CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection.  SHEPHERD. But, my daughter,    Say you the like to him?  PERDITA. I cannot speak    So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better.    By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out    The purity of his.  SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain!    And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't:    I give my daughter to him, and will make    Her portion equal his.  FLORIZEL. O, that must be    I' th' 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.  SHEPHERD. Come, your hand;    And, daughter, yours.  POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you;    Have you a father?  FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him?  POLIXENES. Knows he of this?  FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall.  POLIXENES. Methinks a father    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 alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear,    Know man from man, dispute his own estate?    Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing    But what he did being childish?  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. Prithee 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, youngsir,    Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base    To be acknowledg'd- 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,    Farre 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, begone?    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 farther,    But milk my ewes and weep.  CAMILLO. Why, how now, father!    Speak ere thou diest.  SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think,    Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir,    You have undone a man of fourscore-three    That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,    To die upon the bed my father died,    To lie close by his honest bones; but now    Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me    Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursedwretch,    That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure    To mingle faith with him! – Undone, undone!    If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd    To die when I desire. Exit  FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me?    I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,    But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am:    More straining on for plucking back; not following    My leash unwillingly.  CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord,    You know your father's temper. At this time    He will allow no speech- which I do guess    You do not purpose to him- and as hardly    Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear;    Then, till the fury of his Highness settle,    Come not before him.  FLORIZEL. I not purpose it.    I think Camillo?  CAMILLO. Even he, my lord.  PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus!    How often said my dignity would last    But till 'twere known!  FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by    The violation of my faith; and then    Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together    And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.    From my succession wipe me, father; I    Am heir to my affection.  CAMILLO. Be advis'd.  FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason    Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;    If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,    Do bid it welcome.  CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir.  FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow:    I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,    Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may    Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or    The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides    In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath    To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you,    As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,    When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not    To see him any more- cast your good counsels    Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune    Tug for the time to come. This you may know,    And so deliver: I am put to sea    With her who here I cannot hold on shore.    And most opportune to her need I have    A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd    For this design. What course I mean to hold    Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor    Concern me the reporting.  CAMILLO. O my lord,    I would your spirit were easier for advice.    Or stronger for your need.  FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside]    [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by.  CAMILLO. He's irremovable,    Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if    His going I could frame to serve my turn,    Save him from danger, do him love and honour,    Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia    And that unhappy king, my master, whom    I so much thirst to see.  FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo,    I am so fraught with curious business that    I leave out ceremony.  CAMILLO. Sir, I think    You have heard of my poor services i' th' love    That I have borne your father?  FLORIZEL. Very nobly    Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music    To speak your deeds; not little of his care    To have them recompens'd as thought on.  CAMILLO. Well, my lord,    If you may please to think I love the King,    And through him what's nearest to him, which is    Your gracious self, embrace but my direction.    If your more ponderous and settled project    May suffer alteration, on mine honour,    I'll point you where you shall have such receiving    As shall become your Highness; where you may    Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see,    There's no disjunction to be made but by,    As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her;    And with my best endeavours in your absence    Your discontenting father strive to qualify,    And bring him up to liking.  FLORIZEL. How, Camillo,    May this, almost a miracle, be done?    That I may call thee something more than man,    And after that trust to thee.  CAMILLO. Have you thought on    A place whereto you'll go?  FLORIZEL. Not any yet;    But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty    To what we wildly do, so we profess    Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies    Of every wind that blows.  CAMILLO. Then list to me.    This follows, if you will not change your purpose    But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia,    And there present yourself and your fair princess-    For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes.    She shall be habited as it becomes    The partner of your bed. Methinks I see    Leontes opening his free arms and weeping    His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!'    As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands    Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him    'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one    He chides to hell, and bids the other grow    Faster than thought or time.  FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo,    What colour for my visitation shall I    Hold up before him?  CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father    To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,    The manner of your bearing towards him, with    What you as from your father shall deliver,    Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down;    The which shall point you forth at every sitting    What you must say, that he shall not perceive    But that you have your father's bosom there    And speak his very heart.  FLORIZEL. I am bound to you.    There is some sap in this.  CAMILLO. A course more promising    Than a wild dedication of yourselves    To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain    To miseries enough; no hope to help you,    But as you shake off one to take another;    Nothing so certain as your anchors, who    Do their best office if they can but stay you    Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know    Prosperity's the very bond of love,    Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together    Affliction alters.  PERDITA. One of these is true:    I think affliction may subdue the cheek,    But not take in the mind.  CAMILLO. Yea, say you so?    There shall not at your father's house these seven years    Be born another such.  FLORIZEL. My good Camillo,    She is as forward of her breeding as    She is i' th' rear o' our birth.  CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity    She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress    To most that teach.  PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this    I'll blush you thanks.  FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita!    But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo-    Preserver of my father, now of me;    The medicine of our house- how shall we do?    We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son;    Nor shall appear in Sicilia.  CAMILLO. My lord,    Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes    Do all lie there. It shall be so my care    To have you royally appointed as if    The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,    That you may know you shall not want- one word.                                               [They talk aside]

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