I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if any where I have them, ’tis by the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an’t be thy will what have we here! Mercy on ’s, a barne a very pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some ’scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the ’scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he hallooed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!
I wish there were no age between sixteen and twenty-three, or that youth would just sleep through the rest; because the only thing that happens in that time is getting women pregnant, mistreating the elderly, stealing, fighting--Hey, listen! Who else but these young fools, nineteen and twenty-two, would hunt in this weather? They’ve scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will find before I do: if I have them, it’s by the seaside, eating ivy. Good luck, if it’s your will, what’s this we have here! Mercy, it’s a baby, a very pretty baby! A boy or a girl, I wonder? A sweet one; a very sweet one: surely, someone abandoned it: though I’m not well-read, I can tell this was some hidden work, some trick, some behind-the-scenes plot: the ones who left this were warmer than this poor child is now. I’ll take it up out of pity: but I’ll wait until my son comes; he just called out a moment ago. Whoa, ho, ho!
The Shepherd · Act 3, Scene 3
The old Shepherd laments the chaos of youth, complaining about reckless young men hunting in terrible weather and frightening his sheep, before he discovers the exposed infant. The speech matters because it captures the Shepherd as he is before the play transforms him—a practical, grumbling old man concerned with his flocks and his comfort. What happens next will make him a gentlem and a witness to grace, but in this moment he is only worried about wool and weather.
