pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.
Servant Why, they stay at door, sir.
Exit
Here a dance of twelve Satyrs
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 loved! 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.
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 the 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’ the 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 altering 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 Mark your divorce, young sir,
Discovering himself
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir,
That thus affect’st 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 copest 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 selfsame sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage but
Looks on alike. 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 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. 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. O cursed wretch,
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 lived
To die when I desire.
Exit
FLORIZEL Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d,
But nothing alter’d: 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’ the 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 advised.
FLORIZEL I am, and by my fancy: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleased 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 sea hides
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair beloved: 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 whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And most opportune to our need I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared
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
Drawing her aside
I’ll hear you by and by.
CAMILLO He’s irremoveable,
Resolved 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,