made themselves all men of hair 42; they call themselves saltiers 43: and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in 't; but they themselves are o’the mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling), it will please plentifully.

Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already:-1 know, sir, we weary you.

Pol. You weary those that refresh us: Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen.

Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squire 44

Shep. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir.

[Exit.

Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rusticks habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.

Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter 45

Is it not too far gone?-'Tis time to part them.

42 It is most probable that they were dressed in goat-skins. A dance of satyrs was no unusual entertainment in Shakspeare's time, or even at an earlier period. A very curious relation of a disguising or mummery of this kind, which had like to have proved fatal to some of the actors in it, is related by Froissart as occurring in the court of France in 1392. The reader may also consult Melvil's Memoirs, p. 152, ed. 1725, or the late edition of Shakspeare, by Mr. Boswell, vol. xiv. p. 371. Mr. Douce has given a song for four voices from Ravenscroft's collection, called The Satyres Daunce. 'Antimasques,' says Lord Bacon, are usually composed of satyrs, baboons, antiques, beasts, &c.'-Essay 37. 43 Satyrs. 44 Foot rule, esquierre, Fr. 45 This is an answer to something which the shepherd is supposed to have said to Polixenes during the dance.

He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.]-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 pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted 46 with him: if your lass
Interpretation should abuse; and call this

Your lack of love, or bounty: you were straited $7
For a reply, at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.

Flo.

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 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 48 by the northern blasts twice o'er.
Pol. 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.

Flo.

Do, and be witness to't.

Pol. And this my neighbour too?

46 Bought, trafficked.

47 Straitened, put to difficulties.

-

48 That is sifted. This is a beautiful image, which the poet has repeated with a little variation in A Midsummer Night's Dream:

'That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow
Fann'd by the eastern winds, turns to a crow
When thou hold'st up thy hand.'

And he, and more

Flo. 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.

Pol.

Cam. This shows a sound affection.

Shep.

Say you the like to him?

Per.

Fairly offer'd.

But, my daughter,

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.

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.

Flo.

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.

Shep.

And, daughter, yours.

Pol.

Come, your hand ;

Soft, swain, a while, 'beseech you;

Have you a father?

Flo.

I have: But what of him?

Pol. Knows he of this?
Flo.

He neither does, nor shall.

Pol. 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 49 ? Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,

But what he did being childish?

Flo.

No, good sir;

He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,
Than most have of his age.

Pol.

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.

Flo.

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.

Pol.

Let him know't.

Flo. He shall not.

Pol.

Pr'ythee, let him.

Flo.

No, he must not.

Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve

At knowing of thy choice.

Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base

To be acknowledg'd: Thou a sceptre's heir,

49 i. e. converse about his own affairs.' The phrase occurs again in Romeo and Juliet:-

'Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.'

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 cop'st with;

Shep.

0,

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 sigh,

That thou no more shalt never 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 50 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 51 his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to't.

Per.

I was not much afeard:
I was about to speak 52;

[Exit.

Even here undone! for once, or twice, and tell him plainly, 50 Far, in the old spelling farre, i. e. farther. The ancient comparative of fer was ferrer. This in the time of Chaucer was softened into ferre.

'Thus was it peinted, I can say no ferre?'

51 The old copy reads hope.

52 Warburton remarks that Perdita's character is here finely sustained. To have made her quite astonished at the king's discovery of himself had not become her birth; and to have given her presence of mind to have made this reply to the king, had not become her education.'