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Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves : my father and the gentlemen are in fad talk, and we'll not trouble them : come bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, l'll buy for you both: pedler, let's have the first choice; follow me, girls. Aut. And you pay
well for 'em.
S O N G.
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Enter a Servant. · Ser. (27) Mafter, there are three goat-herds, three fhepherds, three neat-herds, and three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair, they call themselves saltiers: and they have a dance, which the wenches say is a gallymaufry of gambols, because they are not in't: but they themselves are o'th' mind, (if it be not too rough for fome, that know little but bowling,) it will please plentifully.
Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, Sir, we weary you.
Pol. You' weary those, that refresh us : 'pray, let's see these four-threes of herdsmen.
Ser. One three of them by their own report, Sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' square.
(27) Master, there are tbree carters, three faepberds, three neat-berds, and three swine-berds.] Thus all the printed copies hitherto. Now, in two speeches after this, these are called four three's of berdsmen. But could the carters properly be call'd berdsmen? at least, they have not the final syllable, berd, in their names; which, I believe, Shakespeare intended, all the four threes should have. I have therefore guess'd that he wrote ;-Mafter, there are three goat-herds, &c And so, I think, we take in the four species of cattle usually tended by berdsmen.
Shep. Leave your prating ; since thefe good men are pleas’d, let them come in; but quickly now.
Here a dance of twelve Satyrs.
Flo. Old Sir, I know,
Pol. What follows this?
Flo. Do, and be witness to't.
Flo. And he, and more
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
Pol. Fairly offer'd.
Shep. But my daughter,
Per. I cannot speak
Shep. Take hands, a bargain ;
Flo. O, that must be
Shep. Come, your hand;
Pol. Sort, swain, a-while; 'beseech you,
Flo. I have; but what of him?
Pol. Methinks, a father
Flo. No, good Sir;
Pol. By my white beard,
Flo. I yield all this;
Pol. Let him know't.
Shep. Let him, my son, he frall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.
Flo. Come, come, he must not: Mark our contract.
Pol. Mark your divorce, young Sir, [Discovering himself. Whom son I dare not call: thou art too base
That thus affe&t'it a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor,
Shep. O my heart !
Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but figh 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, Tho' 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
upon Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike. Wilt please you, Sir, be gone? [ToFlor. 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.
Cam. Why, how now, father? Speak, ere thou dieft.
Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. O Sir, (To Flor. You have undone a man of fourscore three, That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea, To die upon the bed my father dy'd, To lie close by his honeft bones; but now Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me Where no priest shovels in duit. O cursed wretch!
(To Perdita. Thatknew'ft, this was the Prince; and would'st adventure To mingle faith with him. Undone, undone! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire.
Cam. Gracious my Lord,