THE WINTER'S TALE. Sidney Lee

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 flowers for you;

       Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;

       The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,

       And with him rises weeping; these are flowers

       Of middle summer, and I think they are given

       To men of middle age. You’re 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 fairest friend,

       I would I had some flowers o’ the 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 lett’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 flower-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 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; so give alms;

       Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,

       To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you

       A wave o’ the 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 it,

       Do plainly give you out an unstained 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 anything; 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, 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 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; no milliner can so fit his customers