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Florizel.
What? like a coarse?
Perdita. [Apart to Florizel.]
No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;
Not like a coarse--come, come, take your flowers;
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; to give alms;
Pray, so; and for the ordering 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're 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 forth fairly thro' it,
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.
S O N G.
I.
Come, come, my good shepherds, our flocks we must shear;
In your holy-day suits, with your lasses appear:
The happiest of folk, are the guiltless and free,
And who are so guiltless, so happy as we?
II.
We harbour no passions, by luxury taught;
We practice no arts, with hypocrisy fraught;
What we think in our hearts, you may read in our eyes;
For knowing no falshood, we need no disguise.
III.
By mode and caprice are the city dames led,
But we, as the children of nature are bred;
By her hand alone, we are painted and dress'd;
For the roses will bloom, when there's peace in the breast.
IV.
That giant, ambition, we never can dread:
Our roofs are too low, for so lofty a head;
Content and sweet chearfulness open our door,
They smile with the simple, and feed with the poor.
V.
When love has possess'd us, that love we reveal;
Like the flocks that we feed, are the passions we feel;
So harmless and simple we sport, and we play,
And leave to fine folks to deceive and betray.
Polixenes.
This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran of the green-ford; 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--our dance--strike up.
Dorcas.
Mopsa must be your mistress, marry, buy some
Garlick to mend her kissing with.
Mopsa.
Now, in good time, musk, will not mend thine.
Dorcas.
Thou art a false man; did'st not thou swear, (it was but
yesternight in the tallet, over the
dovehouse) how that
at your shearing, you wou'd this day shame
Mopsa,----and----
Clown.
Hold ye, maidens, hold ye--not a word--we stand upon our manners
here,----come strike up.
Mopsa.
Here's to do; marry I'll swear he promis'd me long enough afore
that in the hay-field-----by the token, our curate, came by, and
whereof all our folk were gone further a field; he advis'd us to
get up, and go home quickly for that the dew fell apace and the
ground was dank, and unhealthsome; more nor that, you promis'd me
groves, and ribbands, and knacks at the fair,----and more nor
that----
Clown.
Not a word; not a word more, wenches.
Dorcas.
Marry, come up! others have had promises, as well as some--but I
have heard old folks in the parish say, that some folks have been
proud and courtly, and false-hearted ever since some folk's
father found a pot of money by the sea-side here.--But I say
nothing.
Clown.
Come, come, strike up.
A dance of shepherds and shepherdesses.
Polixenes.
I pray good shepherd, what fair swain is this,
Who dances with your daughter.]
Old Shep.
They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself
To have a worthy breeding; 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 chuse,
Who loves the other best.
Polixenes.
She dances featly.
Old Shep.
So she does any thing, tho' I report it
That shou'd be silent: if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that,
Which he not dreams of.
(Polixenes and Old Shepherd talk apart.)
Enter a Servant.
Servant.
O, Master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you wou'd
never dance again after a tabor and pipe: No;the bagpipe could
not move you; he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell
money; he utters them, as he had eaten ballads, and all men's
ears grow to his tunes.
Clown.
He cou'd never come better; he shall come in; I love a ballad but
even too well; if it be doleful matter merrily felt down; or a
very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably.
Servant.
He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can fit
his customers with gloves; he has the prettiest love-songs for
maids, so without bawdry (which is strange) with such delicate
burthens of jump her and thump her; and where some
stretchmouth'd rascal wou'd, as it were mean mischief, and break
a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to
answer--Whoop, do me no harm, good man--puts him off,
flights him, with-- Whoop, do me no harm, good man.
Polixenes.
This is a brave fellow.
Clown.
Believe me, thou talk'st of an admirable conceited fellow; has he
any unbraided wares?
Servant.
He hath ribbands of all colours i' th' rainbow; points, more than
all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though
they came to him by the gross; inkles, caddiffes, cambricks,
lawns; why he sings them over, as they were gods and goddesses;
you would think a smock a 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.
Clown.
You have of the these pedlars, that have more in 'em than you
think, sister.
Perdita.
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolicus singing.
Lawn, as white as driven snow,
Cyrus, black as e'er was crow;
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses,
Masks, for faces, and for noses;
Bugle bracelets, necklace amber,
Perfume, for a lady's chamber;
Golden coifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins, and poaking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heal:
Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy,
Buy lads, or else your lasses cry.
Com buy, &c.
Clown.
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shou'd'st take no
money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the
bondage of certain ribbands and gloves.
Mopsa.
I was promis'd them against the feast, buy they come not too 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 hath paid you
more, which will shame you to give him again.
Clown.
Is there no manners left among you maids? is there not milking
time, when you are going to bed, or kill-hole, to whistle of
these secrets,
but you must be tittle-tattle before all our guests? 'tis well
they are whispering, clamour your tongues, and not a word more.
Mopsa.
I have done: come, you promis'd me a tawdry lace and pair of
sweet gloves.
Clown.
Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all
my money?
Autolicus.
And, indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves
men to be wary.
Clown.
Fear not, thou, man--thou shalt lose nothing here.
Autolicus.
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,
Or a life; for then we are sure they are true.
Autolicus.
Here's one, to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's wife was
brought to bed with twenty money bags at a burthen, and how she
long'd to eat adders heads, and toads carbonado'd.
Mopsa.
Is it true, think you?
Autolicus.
Very true, and but a month old.
Dorcas.
Bless me, from marrying an usurer?
Autolicus.
Here's the midwife's name to it; and five or six honest wives
that were present. Why shou'd I carry lies abroad?
Mopsa.
Pray, you now, buy it.
Clown.
Come on; lay it by; let's first see more ballads;
We'll buy the other things anon.
Autolicus.
Here's another ballad of a fish, that appear'd upon the coast on
Wednesday the forescore of April, forty thousand
fathom above water, and sung this ballad, against the hard hearts
of maides: it was thought she was a woman, and turn'd into a cold
fish, for she wou'd not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her:
the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.
Dorcas.
Is it true, too, think you?
Autolicus.
Five justices hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will
hold.
Clown.
Lay it by too----Another.
Autolicus.
This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Mopsa.
Let's have some merry ones.
Autolicus.
Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of two
maids wooing a man: there's scarce a maid westward but she
sings it: 'tis in request, I can tell you.
Clown.
Nicholas, Dorcas, and Mopsa can sing that: we had
the tune on't a month ago----Come Nicholas, strike up.
S O N G. Man. Get you hence, for I must go,
Where it fits not you to know.
Dor. Whither? Mop. O Whither?
Dor. Whither?
Mop. It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell;
Dor. Me too, let me go thither:
Mop. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill,
Dor. If to either thou do'st ill.
Man. Neither, Dor. what neither? Man.neither.
Dor. Thou has sworn my love to be;
Mop. Thou hast sworn it more to me:
Both. Then, whither goest? say, whither?
Clown. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: My father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, And we'll not trouble them: come, bring away The pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both: Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Autolicus. And you shall pay well for'em. [Aside.]
[Ex. Aut. ,Clown, Dor., Mop.]S O N G. Will you buy any tape, or lace for your cape?
My dainty duck my dear-a-----?
Any silk and thread? any toys for your head,
Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear a-----?
Come to the pedler; Money's a medler,
That doth utter all men's ware-a------
Enter Leontes and Cleomines, from the
farm-house.
Cleomines.
Why will you not repose you, Sir? these sports,
The idle merriments of hearts at ease,
But ill will suit the colour of your mind.
Leontes.
Peace--I enjoy them in a better sort----
Cleomines, look on this pretty damsel;
[Pointing to Perdita.]
Haply such age, such innocence and beauty,
Had our dear daughter own'd, had not my hand--
O had I not the course of nature stop'd
On weak surmise----I will not think that way----
And yet I must, always, and ever must.
Cleomines.
No more, my liege----
Leontes.
Nay, I will gaze upon her; each salt dropt
That tricles down my cheek, relieves my heart,
Which else wou'd burst with anguish.
Polixenes. (to Camillo.)
Is it not too far gone? 'tis time to part 'em;
He's simple, and tells much--how now, fair shepherd;
[To Flor.]
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 pedler'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 care
Of happy holding her.
Florizel.
Old Sir, I know:
She prizes nut such trifles as these are:
The gifts she looks from me, are packt and lokt
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. O hear me breathe my love
Before this ancient Sir; who, it should seem
Hath some time lov'd. I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or AEthiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er.
Polixenes.
What follow this?
Leontes.
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before?
Polixenes.
You've put him out;
Come 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, and heav'ns, 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 'em
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.
Leontes.
This shews a sound affection.
Old Shep.
But, my daughter
Say the like to him?
Perdita.
I cannot speak
So well; nothing so well; no, nor mean better.
By the pattern of my own thoughts, I cut out
The purity of his.
Old Shep.
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 'fire these witnesses.
Old Shep.
Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours.
Polixenes.
Soft, swain, a-while; '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?
Leontes.
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: reason my son
Shou'd chuse himself a wife; but as good reason,
The father (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity) shou'd hold some council
In such a business.
Florizel.
I yield all this:
But for some other reasons, my grave Sirs,
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.
Leontes.
O let him.
Florizel.
No; he must not.
Old Shep.
Let him, my son, he shall not heed 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 are too base
To be acknowledg'd. Thou, a scepter's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!
Leontes. [Amaz'd.]
How! Polixenes! what myst'ry is this!
I want the power to throw me at his feet,
Nor can I bear his eyes----
[Leans on Cleomines, and they go
apart.]
Polixenes.
And thou, old traitor, [To the Old Shep.]
I'm 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----
Old Shep.
O my heart!
Polixenes.
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 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 deucation 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 honor 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 a cruel for thee
As thou are tender to it.
[Exit. Pol. and Cam.]
Perdita.
Ev'n here undone!
I was not much afraid; 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 all alike--wil't please you, Sir, be gone?
[To Flor.]
I told you what wou'd hap'--this dream of mine,
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
Leontes. [Coming forward.]
How now, old father?
Good shepherd, speak.
Old 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 honest bones; but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels in dust--O cursed wretch!
[To Per.]
Thou knew'st this was the prince, and wou'dst adventure
To mingle faith with him----Undone! undone!
If I might die this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire. [Exit.]
Perdita.
O my poor father!
Leontes. [To Cleomines.]
The honest wretch, he helpt us at our need----
I will no longer veil me in this cloud,
But plead unmask'd, this good old shepherd's cause
Before my own; ev'n at Bohemia's knees.
Florizel. [To Perdita.]
Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afraid; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd; what I was, I am,
And ever shall be thine, my Perdita!
Perdita.
Alas, Alas! my lord; those hopes are fled!
How often have I told you 'twou'd be thus,
How often said, my dignity wou'd 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.
Leontes.
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.
Leontes.
This is desp'rate, Sir!
Florizel.
So call it; but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty; my heart
Is anchor'd here, as rooted as the rocks,
Who stand the raging of the roaring deep,
Immoveable, and fix'd!--let it come on----
I'll brave the tempest!
Perdita.
Be patient, Doricles.
Leontes.
Passion transports you, prince; be calm a while,
Nor scorn my years and counsel, but attend;--
My lowly seeming, and this outward garment,
But ill denote my quality and office--
Trust to my words, tho' myst'ry obscures 'em--
I know the king your father, and if time,
And many accidents (cease foolish tears)
Have not effac'd my image from his breast,
Perhaps he'll listen to me--I am sorry,
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking,
Where you were ty'd in duty; and as sorry
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
That you might well enjoy her--Prince, 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.
Leontes.
Yea, say you so?
There shall not at your father's house, these sev'n years,
Be born another such.
Florizel.
O reverend Sir!
As you wou'd wish a child of your own youth
To meet his happiness in love, speak for me;
Remember, since you ow'd no more to time
Than I do now; and with thought of like affections,
Step forth my advocate.
Leontes.
You touch me deep,
Deep, to the quick, sweet prince; alas! alas!
I lost a daughter, that 'twixt heav'n and earth
Might thus have stood begetting wonder, as
Yon lovely maiden does--of that no more;----
I'll to the king you father--this our compact,
Your honor not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am friend to them and you.
[Exit. Leon. and Cleom.]
Florizel.
Dear, look up;
Tho' fortune, visible an enemy,
Shou'd chaced us with my father; power, no jot
Hath she to change our loves.
Perdita.
Alas, my lord,
Bethink yourself, as I do me. Heav'n knows,
All faults I make, when I do come to know 'em,
I do repent--Alas! I've sewn too much
A maiden's simpleness; I have betrayed,
Unwittingly divorced a noble prince
From a dear father's love; have caused him sell
His present honor, and his hoped reversion,
For a poor sheep-hook, and its lowly mistress,
Of lesser price than that--beseech you, Sir,
Of your own state take care, drown the remembrance
Of me, my father's coat, and these poor beauties
Wronged by your praise too often.
Florizel.
My Perdita,
How sweetly do'st thou plead against thyself?
Let us retire, my love--again I swear,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be there out-gleaned; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath,
To thee, my fair betrothed--with thee I'll fly
From stormy regions and a lowering sky;
Where no base views our purer minds shall move;
And all our wealth be innocence and love.
Autolicus. How fortune drops into the mouth of the diligent man?--see, if I be not transform'd courtier again--four silken gamesters, who attended the king, and were revelling by themselves, at some distance from the shepherds, have drank so plentifully, that their weak brains are turn'd topsy-turvy--I found one' of 'em, an old court comrade of mine, retir'd from the rest, sobering himself with sleep under the shade of a hawthorn; I made use of our antient familiarity to exchange garments with him; the pedlar's cloaths are on his back, and the pack by his side, as empty as his pockets, for I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, nor a ribband, glass, pomander, browch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn; they throng'd who shou'd buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallow'd, and brought a benediction to the buyer; by which means, I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw to my good use I remember'd--my good Clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in love with the wenches song, that he wou'd not stir his pettitoes 'till he had tune and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to me, that all their other senses stuck in ears: no hearing, no feeling, but my Sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. I pick'd and cut most of their festival purses: and had not the old man come in with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's son, and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army;--ha, ha, ha, what a fool honesty is! and trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I see this is the time the unjust man doth thrive; the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore--aside, aside, here is more matter for a hot brain. Ev'ry lane's end, ev'ry shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.Enter Clown and Old Shep.
Clown. See, see, what a man you are now--there is no other way, but to tell the king she is a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood. Old Shep. Nay, but hear me. Clown. Nay but hear me. Old Shep. Go to, then---- Clown. Let him know the truth of the matter; how you found her by the sea-side some eighteen years agone; that there was this bundle with her, with the things and trinkets contained therein; but there was some money too, which being spent in nursing her, you need say nothing about it, together with all the circumstances of the whole affair; do it, I say. Old Shep. And what then, think'st thou? Clown. Why then, she being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the king, and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him: shew those things--I say, you found about her, those secret things: this being done, let the law go whistle--I warrant you. Old Shep. I will tell the king all, every word; yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law. Clown. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you cou'd have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer, by I know not how much an ounce. Autolicus. [Aside.] Very wisely, puppies. Old Shep. Well, let us to the king; there is that in this fardel, will make him scratch his beard. Clown. Pray heartily he be at the palace. Autolicus. [Coming forward.] How now, rustics, whither are you bound? Old Shep. To th' palace, an' it like your worship. Autolicus. Your affairs there? what? with whom? the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your age, of what having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. Clown. We are but plain fellows, Sir. Autolicus. A lye--you are rough and hairy; let me have no lying, it becomes none but tradesmen. Old Shep. Are you a courtier, an' like you, Sir? Autolicus. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier--see'st thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect not I on thy baseness, court-contempt? think'st thou for that I insinuate, or toze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am a courtier cap-a-pee; and one that will either push on, or push back thy business there; whereupon, I command thee to open thy affair. Old Shep. My business, Sir, is to the king. Autolicus. What advocate hast thou to him? Old Shep. I know not, and't like you.--Advocate! [Aside to Clown.] Clown. Advocate's the court word for a pheasant; say you have none. [Apart.] Old Shep. None, Sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. Autolicus. How blest are we, that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. [Aside.] Clown, to Shep. This cannot be but a great courtier. Old Shep. to Clown. His garments are rich, but he wears 'em not handsomely. Clown. He seems to be more noble in being fantastical; a great man, I'll warrant, I know by the picking on's teeth. Autolicus. The fardel there, what's in the fardel? Wherefore that box? Old Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box, which none must know but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th' speech of him. Autolicus. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. Old Shep. Why, Sir? Autolicus. The king is not at the palace, he's gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air himself; for if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know the king is full of grief.
