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These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on’t.
These unusual clothes of yours make you look alive: you’re no shepherdess, but Flora stepping out in front of April. This sheep-shearing feels like a gathering of minor gods, and you are their queen.
Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me: O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o’ the land, you have obscured With a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank’d up: but that our feasts In every mess have folly and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired, sworn, I think, To show myself a glass.
Sir, my gracious lord, I shouldn’t criticize your actions, Oh, forgive me for even mentioning them! You, my noble self, The respected leader of the land, have disguised yourself In the clothing of a common man, and I, poor simple girl, Have dressed up as if I were a goddess: but if our feasts Are full of foolishness and people accept it as normal, I would be embarrassed To see you dressed like this, I swear, To show myself as a mirror.
I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father’s ground.
I thank the moment When my good falcon flew across Your father’s land.
Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates! How would he look, to see his work so noble Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence?
May Jupiter bless you! The difference between us frightens me; your greatness Has never known fear. Even now I shake To think that your father might pass this way as you did: Oh, the Fates! How would he react, seeing his noble work So poorly dressed? What would he say? Or how Would I, in these borrowed clothes, face The sternness of his presence?
Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull, and bellow’d; the green Neptune A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith.
Don’t worry About anything but joy. The gods themselves, Humbling their divine forms to love, have taken The shapes of animals: Jupiter Became a bull, and roared; Neptune, A ram, and bleated; and the fire-god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble shepherd, Just like I am now. Their transformations Were never more beautiful, Nor so pure, since my desires Never outrun my honor, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith.
O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when ’tis Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king: One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life.
Oh, but, sir, Your resolve can’t hold, when it’s Challenged, as it will be, by the king’s power: One of these two must happen, Which will mean that you must Change your mind, Or I will lose my life.
Thou dearest Perdita, With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o’ the feast. Or I’ll be thine, my fair, Or not my father’s. For I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come.
My dearest Perdita, Please don’t darken The happiness of the feast with these worries. Either I’ll be yours, my beautiful, Or I’ll be no one’s. For I can’t be Myself, or anything to anyone, if I’m not yours. This is my firm belief, Even if destiny says no. Be happy, dear; Banish these thoughts with anything You see right now. Your guests are coming: Put on a happy face, as if it were the day Of celebrating our wedding, which We’ve both sworn will happen.
O lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious!
Oh, Lady Fortune, Please be kind to us!
See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let’s be red with mirth.
Look, your guests are approaching: Get ready to greet them with joy, And let’s be filled with happiness.
Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook, Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here, At upper end o’ the table, now i’ the middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fire With labour and the thing she took to quench it, She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one and not The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid These unknown friends to’s welcome; for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes and present yourself That which you are, mistress o’ the feast: come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper.
Shame on you, daughter! When my old wife was alive, on This day she was both cook, servant, and host, Welcoming everyone, serving everyone; Singing and dancing, moving from one end of the table to the other; On his shoulder, and on his; her face red With work, and the drink she took to cool it, She would give each person a sip. You’ve gone off to one side, As if you were a guest and not The hostess of the gathering: please, invite These strangers in, for it’s A way to make us all better friends, more familiar. Come, stop blushing and show us Who you really are, mistress of the feast: come on, And welcome us to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock prospers.
[To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome: It is my father’s will I should take on me The hostess-ship o’ the day.
[To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome: It’s my father’s wish that I take on the role Of hostess for the day.
You’re welcome, sir. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long: Grace and remembrance be to you both, And welcome to our shearing!
You’re welcome, sir. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Revered sirs, For you, there’s rosemary and rue; these keep Their fragrance and flavor all winter long: May grace and remembrance be with you both, And welcome to our shearing!
Shepherdess, A fair one are you--well you fit our ages With flowers of winter.
Shepherdess, You are a fair one—just right for our age With flowers of winter.
Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer’s death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ the season Are our carnations and streak’d gillyvors, Which some call nature’s bastards: of that kind Our rustic garden’s barren; and I care not To get slips of them.
Sir, as the year grows old, Neither in the death of summer nor the birth Of cold winter, the most beautiful Flowers of the season Are our carnations and striped gillyflowers, Which some call nature’s bastards: of that kind Our country garden is barren; and I don’t care To get slips of them.
Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them?
Why, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them?
For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature.
I’ve heard it said That there’s a skill that shares its colorful nature With the great creativity of nature itself.
Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean: so, over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature.
If that’s true, Still, nature is not improved by any skill But rather, nature itself creates that skill: so, beyond that skill Which you say adds to nature, there’s a skill That nature itself creates. You see, sweet girl, we combine A gentler branch with the wildest tree, And make a lower kind of tree grow From the bud of a nobler species: this is a skill That improves nature, or changes it, but The skill itself is nature.
So it is.
Yes, that’s true.
Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards.
Then fill your garden with gillyflowers, And don’t call them illegitimate.
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, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi’ 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.
I won’t plant One of them in the ground; No more than if I were painted, I would want This young man to say it was right, and only for that reason Want to have children by me. Here’s some flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, which goes to bed with the sun And rises with him, crying: these are flowers Of midsummer, and I think they are for Men of middle age. You’re very welcome.
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing.
I should stop eating, if I were in your group, And only live by looking at you.
Out, alas! You’d be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair’st 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, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let’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 Bight 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!
Oh no! You’d be so thin, that the cold winds of January Would blow right through you. Now, my dearest friend, I wish I had some spring flowers that might Match your age; and yours, and yours, Who still have your virginity and youth: O Proserpina, For the flowers you once dropped From Dis’s chariot! Daffodils, That bloom before the swallow dares, and catch The winds of March with their beauty; violets, dark But sweeter than Juno’s eyes Or Venus’s breath; pale primroses That die unmarried, before they can see The full strength of the sun—this is a sickness Most common to young women; bold oxlips and The imperial crown; lilies of all kinds, The fleur-de-lis being one! Oh, I miss these, To make garlands for you, my sweet friend, And scatter them all over him!
What, like a corse?
What, like a corpse?
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.
No, like a place for love to rest and play; Not like a corpse; or if so, not to be buried, But alive and in my arms. Come, take your flowers: I feel like I’m playing a part I’ve seen In Whitsun plays: surely this dress of mine Changes my mood.
What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet. I’ld have you do it ever: when you sing, I’ld 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 deed, That all your acts are queens.
Whatever you do Always improves what’s already done. When you speak, sweet, I want you to do it always: when you sing, I want you to sing in such a way, buy and sell like that, give alms, Pray like that; and for the way you manage your life, I want you to sing that too: when you dance, I wish you A wave of the sea, that you could always do Nothing but that; always moving, always so, And never doing anything else: each thing you do, So special and unique in each way, Makes everything you do seem royal.
O Doricles, Your praises are too large: but that your youth, And the true blood which peepeth fairly through’t, Do plainly give you out an unstain’d shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo’d me the false way.
Oh Doricles, Your praises are too much: but that your youth, And the true blood that shows clearly through it, Clearly show that you’re an honest shepherd, With wisdom, I might be afraid, my Doricles, That you were courting me in the wrong way.
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.
I think you have As little reason to fear as I have intention To cause it. But come; let’s dance, I beg: Your hand, my Perdita: just like doves pair, And never mean to separate.
I’ll swear for ’em.
I’ll swear they’ll stay together.
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.
This is the prettiest low-born girl that ever Ran on the grass: nothing she does or seems But has a hint of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place.
He tells her something That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream.
He’s telling her something That makes her blush: truly, she is The queen of curds and cream.
Come on, strike up!
Come on, start playing!
Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with!
Mopsa has to be your girlfriend: gosh, garlic, To improve her kissing with!
Now, in good time!
Now, just in time!
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up!
Not a word, not a word; we’ll stick to our manners. Come on, start the music!
Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter?
Please, good shepherd, who is that handsome young man Dancing with your daughter?
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 gazed 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.
They call him Doricles; and he boasts that he Eats well: but I’ve heard him say it, and I believe it; He seems truthful. He says he loves my daughter: I think so too; for no one has ever stared at the moon On the water like he stares at my daughter’s eyes: and, to be honest, I don’t think there’s even half a kiss to choose Who loves the other more.
She dances featly.
She dances gracefully.
So she does any thing; 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.
Yes, she does everything well; though I shouldn’t even say it, That should be kept quiet: if young Doricles Gets interested in her, she’ll give him something That he doesn’t expect.
O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabour 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.
Oh master, if you only heard the peddler at the Door, you’d never dance again to just a drum and Pipe; no, the bagpipe wouldn’t move you: he sings So many tunes faster than you can count money; he Spits them out like he’s eaten ballads, and all men’s Ears just follow his tunes.
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.
He couldn’t have come at a better time; let him in. I Love a good song, especially if it’s a sad one sung joyfully, Or if it’s something truly happy, but sung in a sad way.
He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burthens of dildos and fadings, ’jump her and thump her;’ and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, 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, slights him, with ’Whoop, do me no harm, good man.’
He has songs for men or women, all kinds; no Shopkeeper could fit customers with gloves like he can: he Has the most beautiful love songs for girls; and none Of the dirty kind, which is surprising; with such delicate Lines like ‘jump her and thump her;’ and where some rude rascal might Mean trouble and mess up the whole thing, he makes the girl respond with ‘Whoop, do me no harm, good man;’ pushes him away, brushing him off with ‘Whoop, do me no harm, good man.’
This is a brave fellow.
This guy’s great.
Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?
Believe me, you’re talking about a very clever guy. Does he have any unbraided goods?
He hath ribbons of an the colours i’ the rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings ’em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on’t.
He has ribbons in every color of the rainbow; More buttons than all the lawyers in Bohemia could Handle, even if they had to study them: laces, twills, silks: why, he Sings about them like they’re gods or goddesses; you’d Think a simple shift was a she-angel, the way he sings To the sleeve and the stitching around it.
Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.
Please bring him in; and let him come in singing.
Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in ’s tunes.
Warn him not to use any foul language in his songs.
You have of these pedlars, that have more in them than you’ld think, sister.
You have some of these peddlers who have more to them than you’d expect, sister.
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Yes, good brother, or go ahead and think about it.
Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e’er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady’s chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears: Pins and poking-sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel: Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy.
Linen as white as freshly fallen snow; Cyprus as black as a crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelets, amber necklaces, Perfume for a lady’s room; Golden hairpieces and bodices, For my boys to give their lovers: Pins and poking sticks of steel, What maids need from head to heel: Come buy from me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or your girls will cry: Come buy.
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.
If I weren’t in love with Mopsa, you wouldn’t get any money from me; but since I’m in love as I am, it will also mean buying some ribbons and gloves.
I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.
You promised them to me for the feast; but it’s not too late now.
He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.
He promised you more than that, or there are liars.
He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.
He’s given you everything he promised; maybe even more, which would embarrass you if you gave it back.
Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’tis well they are whispering: clamour your tongues, and not a word more.
Are there no manners left among girls? Will they wear their skirts where they should be showing their faces? Isn’t there a time to whisper, when you’re going to bed, or to the kiln, to keep these secrets, without having to gossip in front of all our guests? It’s good they’re whispering: stop talking loudly, and not a word more.
I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves.
I’m done. Come, you promised me a cheap lace and a pair of nice gloves.
Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my money?
Haven’t I told you how I was tricked on the way and lost all my money?
And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary.
And indeed, sir, there are tricksters out there; so men need to be careful.
Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.
Don’t worry, man, you won’t lose anything here.
I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.
I hope so, sir; because I’ve got many things on me that cost a lot.
What hast here? ballads?
What have you got here? Ballads?
Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o’ life, for then we are sure they are true.
Please, buy one: I love a printed ballad because then we know it’s true.
Here’s one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer’s wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burthen and how she longed to eat adders’ heads and toads carbonadoed.
Here’s one to a very sad tune, about how a moneylender’s wife gave birth to twenty bags of money, and how she wished to eat snake heads and roasted toads.
Is it true, think you?
Do you think it’s true?
Very true, and but a month old.
Very true, and it’s only a month old.
Bless me from marrying a usurer!
God keep me from marrying a moneylender!
Here’s the midwife’s name to’t, one Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?
Here’s the midwife’s name, Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest women who were there. Why should I spread lies?
Pray you now, buy it.
Please, buy it.
Come on, lay it by: and let’s first see moe ballads; we’ll buy the other things anon.
Come on, put it down for now, let’s see more ballads; we’ll buy the other things in a bit.
Here’s another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the four-score of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman and was turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true.
Here’s another ballad about a fish that appeared off the coast on the 80th of April, 40,000 fathoms above the water, and sang this ballad against the hard hearts of women: it was thought to be a woman who had been turned into a cold fish because she wouldn’t give herself to a man who loved her; the ballad is very sad and just as true.
Is it true too, think you?
Do you think that one’s true too?
Five justices’ hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.
Five justices’ signatures on it, and more witnesses than my bag can hold.
Lay it by too: another.
Put that one aside too: let’s see another.
This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
This is a funny ballad, but a really good one.
Let’s have some merry ones.
Let’s hear some happy ones.
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.
Well, this is a really cheerful one, it’s set to the tune of "Two maids wooing a man:" hardly a maid in the west doesn’t sing it; it’s popular, I can tell you.
We can both sing it: if thou’lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; ’tis in three parts.
We can both sing it: if you’ll sing along, you’ll hear it; it’s in three parts.
We had the tune on’t a month ago.
We had the tune about a month ago.
I can bear my part; you must know ’tis my occupation; have at it with you.
I can sing my part; you must know it’s my job; let’s go for it together.
Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know.
Get out of here, I must go Where it’s not your business to know.
Whither?
Where to?
O, whither?
Oh, where to?
Whither?
Where to?
It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell.
It fits your promise well, You should tell me your secrets.
Me too, let me go thither.
Me too, let me go there.
Or thou goest to the orange or mill.
Or you’re going to the orange grove or mill.
If to either, thou dost ill.
If it’s either, you’re doing wrong.
Neither.
Neither.
What, neither?
What, neither?
Neither.
Neither.
Thou hast sworn my love to be.
You promised me your love.
Thou hast sworn it more to me: Then whither goest? say, whither?
You’ve promised me even more: So where are you going? Tell me, where?
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 thy pack after me. Wenches, I’ll buy for you both. Pedlar, let’s have the first choice. Follow me, girls.
We’ll sing this song by ourselves soon: my father and the gentlemen are having a serious talk, so we’ll leave them alone. Come on, grab your stuff and follow me. Ladies, I’ll buy for both of you. Peddler, let’s choose first. Follow me, girls.
And you shall pay well for ’em.
And you’ll pay well for them.
Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new’st and finest, finest wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money’s a medler. That doth utter all men’s ware-a.
Will you buy any ribbon, Or lace for your cape, My sweet darling, my dear? Any silk, any thread, Any little things for your head, The latest and best, the finest clothes? Come to the peddler; Money makes things happen. It makes everyone’s stuff available.
Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, 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 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.
Master, there are three cart drivers, three shepherds, three cowherds, three swineherds, who’ve made themselves into wild men, they call themselves Saltiers, and they have a dance that the girls say is a mix of silly moves, because they’re not in it; but the dancers themselves think if it’s not too hard for those who only know bowling, it’ll be very enjoyable.
Away! we’ll none on ’t: here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.
No, we’ll have none of that: there’s already been too much foolishness here. I know, sir, we’re tiring you.
You weary those that refresh us: pray, let’s see these four threes of herdsmen.
You tire those who entertain us: please, let’s see these three pairs of herders.
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 squier.
One group of them, by their own account, sir, has danced before the king; and even the least of the group jumps twelve and a half feet by measure.
Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.
Stop talking: since these good men are happy, let them come in; but quickly now.
Why, they stay at door, sir.
Well, they’re waiting at the door, sir.
O, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.
Oh, father, you’ll learn more about that later.
Is it not too far gone? ’Tis time to part them. He’s simple and tells much.
Isn’t it too late? It’s time to separate them. He’s naive and talks too much.
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 pedlar’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 a care Of happy holding her.
What’s this, young shepherd? Your heart seems full of something that keeps you From enjoying yourself. Honestly, when I was young And in love like you, I used to spoil my girl With all kinds of little gifts: I’d have gone through The pedlar’s silk stash and given her everything, But you’ve let him go without giving him anything. If your girl Misunderstands and thinks this shows a lack of love or generosity, You’d be stuck for a reply—at least if you care About keeping her happy.
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 loved! 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 By the northern blasts twice o’er.
Old man, I know She doesn’t value such small things as that: The gifts she wants from me are packed away, Locked in my heart; which I’ve already given her, But haven’t yet shown. Oh, hear me speak my truth Before this wise old man, who, I guess, Has loved before! I take your hand, this hand, As soft as a dove’s down and as white as it, Or an Ethiopian’s tooth, or the snow That’s blown by the northern wind twice over.
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.
What comes next? How nicely the young man seems to wash The hand that was fair before! You’ve confused me: But go on with your declaration; let me hear What you’re saying.
Do, and be witness to ’t.
Do it, and let him be a witness to it.
And this my neighbour too?
And this man too?
And he, and more 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.
Yes, him, and more Than him, and all men, the earth, the heavens, everything: If I were crowned the greatest king, The most worthy ruler, if I were the most handsome youth That ever made a woman’s heart beat faster, if I had power and wisdom Greater than any man has ever had, I wouldn’t value them Without her love; I’d use everything for her; I’d praise or condemn everything for her sake Or let it all lead to ruin.
Fairly offer’d.
That’s a fair offer.
This shows a sound affection.
This shows true affection.
But, my daughter, Say you the like to him?
But, my daughter, Do you feel the same about him?
I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his.
I can’t speak As well, nothing compares to how well he speaks; No, I can’t express it better: From the pattern of my own thoughts, I see The purity in his.
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.
Take hands, it’s a deal! And, strangers, you’ll be witnesses to it: I give my daughter to him, and I’ll make Her fortune equal to his.
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.
Oh, that must depend On your daughter’s virtue: even if she were dead, I would still have more than you could ever imagine; Enough to amaze you. But, let’s move on, Let’s make this contract in front of these witnesses.
Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours.
Come, give me your hand; And, daughter, give me yours.
Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father?
Hold on, young man, just a moment, please; Do you have a father?
I have: but what of him?
I do: but why do you ask about him?
Knows he of this?
Does he know about this?
He neither does nor shall.
He doesn’t, and he won’t.
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? Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing But what he did being childish?
I think a father Should be at his son’s wedding, sitting at the table It’s where he belongs. Please, tell me again, Has your father become incapable Of managing his affairs? Is he too old And sick to function? Can he talk? Can he hear? Can he tell one man from another? Can he manage his own wealth? Isn’t he bedridden? And does he do nothing But what he did when he was a child?
No, good sir; He has his health and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age.
No, sir; He’s in good health and stronger than most people his age.
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.
By my white beard, If that’s true, then you’re doing something wrong You’re acting in a way that’s unfilial: it’s reasonable for my son To choose his own wife, but it’s just as reasonable That the father, whose only joy is seeing his children’s future, Should have a say in such an important matter.
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.
I understand all of that; But for some other reasons, my respected sir, Which it’s not right for you to know, I can’t tell My father about this.
Let him know’t.
Let him know.
He shall not.
He shall not.
Prithee, let him.
Please, let him.
No, he must not.
No, he must not.
Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice.
Let him, my son: he won’t need to be upset When he learns of your choice.
Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract.
Come on, come on, he can’t. Look at our agreement.
Mark your divorce, young sir,
Look at your breakup, young man,
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir, 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 copest with,--
Whose son I won’t even call you; you’re too low To be recognized: you, heir to a throne, Acting like you’re a shepherd! You old traitor, I’m sorry that by hanging you I can Only shorten your life by one week. And you, new piece Of brilliant magic, who must surely know The royal fool you’re copying, --
O, my heart!
Oh, my heart!
I’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers, 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 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 his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to’t.
I’ll have your beauty scratched by thorns, and made More ordinary than your current state. For you, foolish boy, If I ever find out you just sigh Because you’ll never see this trick again, as I Intend you never will, we’ll disown you; You won’t be part of our bloodline, no, not even our kin, As distant as Deucalion: remember my words: Follow us to the court. You fool, for now, Even though you’ve earned our anger, we’ll spare you From death. And you, enchantment.-- Good enough for a shepherd: yes, him too, Who, for our honor, makes himself unworthy of you,-- If you ever let him open these rural gates, Or embrace him again with your arms, I’ll come up with a death as cruel for you As you are tender to it.
Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly, The selfsame sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage but Looks on alike. Will’t please you, sir, be gone? 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.
Even now, undone! I wasn’t that afraid; because once or twice I almost spoke and told him outright, The very same sun that shines on his court Doesn’t hide its face from our cottage but Looks at us the same. Will you please leave, sir? I told you what would happen: please, Look after yourself: this dream of mine,-- Now that I’m awake, I won’t go any further with it, But I’ll milk my sheep and cry.
Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest.
What’s this, father! Speak before you die.
I cannot speak, nor think Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir! You have undone a man of fourscore three, That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, 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, That knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone! If I might die within this hour, I have lived To die when I desire.
I can’t speak, can’t think, Don’t even dare to know what I know. Oh, sir! You’ve ruined a man of eighty-three, Who planned to die quietly, yes, To die in the same bed as my father, to lie close by his honest bones: but now Some executioner must put on my shroud and bury me Where no priest can throw dust on me. Oh, cursed wretch, Who knew this was the prince, And still dared To mix your faith with him! Ruined! ruined! If I could die in this moment, I would’ve lived To die when I wanted.
Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d, But nothing alter’d: what I was, I am; More straining on for plucking back, not following My leash unwillingly.
Why are you looking at me like that? I’m just sorry, not afraid; delayed, But nothing’s changed: what I was, I still am; Straining to pull back, but not following My leash unwillingly.
Gracious my lord, You know your father’s temper: at this time He will allow no speech, which I do guess You do not purpose to him; and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him.
Your majesty, You know your father’s temper: right now He won’t tolerate any conversation, which I guess You don’t mean to have with him; and I fear He’ll hardly bear to see you yet: So, until his rage calms down, Don’t go near him.
I not purpose it. I think, Camillo?
I won’t try it. You mean it, Camillo?
Even he, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
How often have I told you ’twould be thus! How often said, my dignity would last But till ’twere known!
How many times have I told you this would happen! How many times have I said my dignity would last Only until it was revealed!
It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o’ the earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks: From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection.
It can’t fail unless I break my faith; and if I do, Let nature crush the earth together And ruin the seeds within! Look up: Disown me from my rightful place, father; I Am heir to my love.
Be advised.
Think about it.
I am, and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, Do bid it welcome.
I am, and I act on impulse: if my reason Will agree with this, then I have reason; If not, my senses, happier with madness, Will welcome it.
This is desperate, sir.
This is hopeless, sir.
So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean’d, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father’s honour’d friend, When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,--cast your good counsels Upon his passion; let myself and fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know And so deliver, I am put to sea With her whom here I cannot hold on shore; And most opportune to our need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting.
Call it what you will: but it keeps my promise; I have to believe it’s the honest thing to do. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the glory that might Be gained from it, nor all that the sun sees or The earth hides, or the deep sea conceals In its unknown depths, will I break my oath To this beautiful woman: so, I ask you, As you’ve always been my father’s respected friend, When he misses me,--and, honestly, I don’t plan To see him again,--give him your wise advice About his emotions; let me and fate Struggle with what’s to come. You’ll understand And you can tell him, I’m setting sail With the woman I can’t keep here on land; And luckily, I have a ship ready, though not yet Prepared for this plan. What course I choose Will not help you know more, nor Concern you in reporting it.
O my lord! I would your spirit were easier for advice, Or stronger for your need.
Oh my lord! I wish your mind were more open to advice, Or stronger for your situation.
Hark, Perdita
Listen, Perdita
I’ll hear you by and by.
I’ll talk to you in a moment.
He’s irremoveable, Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see.
He’s unshakable, Determined to leave. I’d be happy if I could make his departure work in my favor, Save him from danger, show him love and respect, Get him back to Sicilia, And that poor king, my master, whom I long to see.
Now, good Camillo; I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony.
Now, good Camillo; I’m so overwhelmed with important matters that I’m skipping the formalities.
Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services, i’ the love That I have borne your father?
Sir, I think You’ve heard of the humble service I’ve given, The love I’ve had for your father?
Very nobly Have you deserved: it is my father’s music To speak your deeds, not little of his care To have them recompensed as thought on.
Very nobly Have you earned your reputation: it’s my father’s honor To speak of your deeds, and it’s also his concern To ensure you are rewarded as he intended.
Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the king And through him what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction: If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I’ll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There’s no disjunction to be made, but by-- As heavens forefend!--your ruin; marry her, And, with my best endeavours in your absence, Your discontenting father strive to qualify And bring him up to liking.
Well, my lord, If you’ll trust that I love the king And through him, what’s closest to him, which is Yourself, your grace, just follow my advice: If your more serious and settled plans Can allow for change, on my honor, I’ll guide you to a place where you’ll be well received, Where you can be with your lady, whom, I see, There’s no obstacle to marrying, unless-- As heaven forbid!--your ruin; marry her, And, in my absence, I’ll work my hardest To soften your father’s anger And bring him around to approving.
How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man And after that trust to thee.
How, Camillo, Can this, almost a miracle, be done? That I can call you something more than a man And trust you after that.
Have you thought on A place whereto you’ll go?
Have you thought about A place where you’ll go?
Not any yet: But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows.
Not yet: But just as an unexpected event can be responsible For what we do impulsively, so we say We are slaves to chance and blown about By every wind that comes.
Then list to me: This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess, For so I see she must be, ’fore Leontes: She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness, As ’twere i’ the father’s person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o’er and o’er divides him ’Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one He chides to hell and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time.
Then listen to me: Here’s what follows, if you won’t change your mind But go ahead with this escape, head for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your lovely princess, For, as I see it, she must be shown to Leontes: She’ll be dressed as fits the partner of your bed. I imagine Leontes opening his arms and weeping His welcome to you; asking for your forgiveness, As if he were asking in the father’s name; kissing the hands Of your beautiful princess; again and again torn Between his cruelty and his kindness; the one He’ll condemn to hell and bid the other grow Faster than thought or time.
Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him?
Good Camillo, What should I show him when I visit him? What should I present before him?
Sent by the king your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I’ll write you down: The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say; that he shall not perceive But that you have your father’s bosom there And speak his very heart.
Sent by your father, the king, To greet him and give him comfort. Sir, The way you act towards him, and What you should say as if from your father, Things only known between us three, I’ll write them down for you: Which will guide you in every meeting On what you must say; so he won’t know That you’re not speaking your father’s true heart.
I am bound to you: There is some sap in this.
I’m grateful to you: This is useful.
A cause more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath’d waters, undream’d shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office, if they can but stay you Where you’ll be loath to be: besides you know Prosperity’s the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.
A cause more promising Than blindly dedicating yourself To unknown dangers, uncharted shores, certain To lead to enough misery; there’s no hope to help you, Except as you keep shaking off one problem to take on another; Nothing is as certain as your anchors, who Do their job if they can only keep you Where you’d rather not be: besides, you know That success is the real foundation of love, Whose fresh beauty and whose heart together Change when faced with hardship.
One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind.
One of these is true: I think hardship might make the face pale, But it can’t control the mind.
Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father’s house these seven years Be born another such.
Really? You think so? There won’t be another like her at your father’s house For the next seven years.
My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i’ the rear our birth.
My dear Camillo, She is as advanced in her manners as She is behind in our birth.
I cannot say ’tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach.
I can’t say it’s a shame That she lacks experience, since she seems to be a teacher To most who teach.
Your pardon, sir; for this I’ll blush you thanks.
I beg your pardon, sir; for this I will thank you with a blush.
My prettiest Perdita! But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo, Preserver of my father, now of me, The medicine of our house, how shall we do? We are not furnish’d like Bohemia’s son, Nor shall appear in Sicilia.
My sweetest Perdita! But oh, the trouble we face! Camillo, Savior of my father, now of me, The healer of our family, what should we do? We aren’t prepared like the son of Bohemia, Nor will we look the same in Sicilia.
My lord, Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there: it shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want, one word.
My lord, Don’t worry about any of this: I think you know my position All depends on this: I will make sure You are properly set up as if The role you play were mine. For example, sir, I’ll make sure you don’t lack anything, just one word.
Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed 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 remembered. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches’ song, that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I could have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir’s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I picked 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 scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army.
Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! And Trust, his sworn brother, a simple man! I’ve sold all my junk; not a fake gem, not a ribbon, glass, perfume, brooch, notebook, song, knife, tape, glove, shoelace, bracelet, ring, to keep my pack from getting empty: people crowd around wanting to buy first, as if my trinkets had been blessed and brought good luck to the buyer: because of that I could tell whose purse was fat just by looking; and what I saw, I put to good use. My clown, who just needed something to act like a sensible person, became so obsessed with the girls’ song that he wouldn’t move until he got both the tune and words; this drew the rest of the crowd to me so that all their senses were focused on their ears: you could have pinched their pockets, they wouldn’t have noticed; it was nothing to steal a purse off a man’s waist; I could have picked keys off chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir’s song, and marveling at the nothing of it. So during this sleepy time I picked and snatched most of their festival purses; and if the old man hadn’t come in causing a fuss about his daughter and the king’s son and scared my birds away, I would’ve emptied every purse in the whole crowd.
Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
But my letters, by this method, getting there As soon as you arrive, will clear up that doubt.
And those that you’ll procure from King Leontes--
And the things you get from King Leontes--
Shall satisfy your father.
Will satisfy your father.
Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair.
I hope you’ll be happy! Everything you say sounds good.
Who have we here?
Who’s this we have here?
We’ll make an instrument of this, omit Nothing may give us aid.
We can use this person, we’ll make sure Nothing goes to waste that can help us.
If they have overheard me now, why, hanging.
If they’ve overheard me now, then it’s hanging for me.
How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here’s no harm intended to thee.
Hey, what’s wrong, good man? Why are you shaking like that? Don’t be afraid, there’s no harm meant to you.
I am a poor fellow, sir.
I’m just a poor man, sir.
Why, be so still; here’s nobody will steal that from thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly, --thou must think there’s a necessity in’t,--and change garments with this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there’s some boot.
Well, calm down; nobody’s going to steal anything from you. But since you look so poor, we’ll make a trade. So change your clothes right now, --you must see it’s necessary-- and swap with this gentleman. Even if his clothes aren’t worth much, at least you’ll get something.
I am a poor fellow, sir.
I’m just a poor man, sir.
I know ye well enough.
I know you well enough.
Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already.
Come on, hurry up: the gentleman’s almost undressed.
Are you in earnest, sir?
Are you serious, sir?
I smell the trick on’t.
I sense the trick in this.
Dispatch, I prithee.
Hurry up, please.
Indeed, I have had earnest: but I cannot with conscience take it.
Actually, I’ve been serious: but I can’t in good conscience take it.
Unbuckle, unbuckle.
Unbuckle it, unbuckle it.
Fortunate mistress,--let my prophecy Come home to ye!--you must retire yourself Into some covert: take your sweetheart’s hat And pluck it o’er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming; that you may-- For I do fear eyes over--to shipboard Get undescried.
Lucky lady,--let my prediction come true for you!--you have to go into hiding: Hide yourself in some secret place: take your lover’s hat And pull it over your face, cover your features, Disguise yourself, and, as best as you can, make yourself look less like you, So that you can-- Because I do fear being watched--get to the ship without being seen.
I see the play so lies That I must bear a part.
I see the plan is so false That I must play a part in it.
No remedy. Have you done there?
No choice. Are you finished there?
Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son.
If I were to meet my father now, He wouldn’t recognize me as his son.
Nay, you shall have no hat.
No, you won’t have a hat.
Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.
Come, lady, come. Goodbye, my friend.
Adieu, sir.
Goodbye, sir.
O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you, a word.
Oh Perdita, what have we forgotten between us! Please, just one word.
[Aside] What I do next, shall be to tell the king Of this escape and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after: in whose company I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman’s longing.
[Aside] What I do next is tell the king About this escape and where they are going; I hope I can convince him to follow them: In whose company I’ll return to Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman’s longing.
Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.
May fortune help us! So we head off, Camillo, to the seaside.
The swifter speed the better.
The faster we go, the better.
I understand the business, I hear it: to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do’t: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession.
I get what’s going on, I hear it: to be a good thief, you need an open ear, a sharp eye, and quick hands, it’s necessary. A good nose is also useful, to sniff out work for the other senses. I see this is the time when bad people get ahead. What a deal this would have been without any profit! What a profit there is in this deal! Surely the gods are letting us get away with everything this year, and we can do whatever we want without planning. The prince himself is up to something bad, running away from his father with his burden following him: if I thought it was right to tell the king, I wouldn’t do it: I think it’s more dishonest to hide it; and that’s why I stay true to my profession.
Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane’s end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.
[Aside] Wait, wait; there’s more to this for a quick mind: every dead end, every shop, church, court case, hanging, gives a careful person something to do.
See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the king she’s a changeling and none of your flesh and blood.
Look, look; see what kind of man you are now! There’s no other choice but to tell the king she’s a changeling and not your own flesh and blood.
Nay, but hear me.
No, but listen to me.
Nay, but hear me.
No, but listen to me.
Go to, then.
Alright, 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 punished by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all but what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you.
Since she’s not your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood hasn’t offended the king; and so your flesh and blood shouldn’t be punished by him. Show those things you found with her, those hidden things, everything but what she has with her: once that’s done, let the law be ignored: I promise you.
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.
I’ll tell the king everything, every word, yes, and his son’s tricks too; who, I can say, is no honest man, either to his father or to me, trying to make me the king’s brother-in-law.
Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.
Actually, brother-in-law is the farthest you could have been to him, and then your blood would have been worth much more than it is now.
[Aside] Very wisely, puppies!
[Aside] Very smart, idiots!
Well, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard.
Well, let’s go to the king: there’s something in this bundle that will make him scratch his beard.
[Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master.
[Aside] I don’t know what obstacle this complaint might be to my master’s escape.
Pray heartily he be at palace.
I really hope he’s at the palace.
[Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance: let me pocket up my pedlar’s excrement.
[Aside] Although I’m not naturally honest, sometimes I am by accident: let me hide my pedlar’s rubbish.
How now, rustics! whither are you bound?
What’s up, country folk! Where are you going?
To the palace, an it like your worship.
To the palace, if it pleases you, sir.
Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover.
What’s your business there, what’s it about, who with, what’s in that bundle, where do you live, what are your names, how old are you, what do you own, how were you raised, and anything else that’s important to know, tell me.
We are but plain fellows, sir.
We’re just ordinary guys, sir.
A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie.
That’s a lie; you’re rough and hairy. No lying, please: that’s only for tradesmen, and they often lie to soldiers, but we pay them back with coin, not knives; so they don’t really lie to us.
Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner.
Sir, you almost lied to us yourself, if you hadn’t caught yourself in time.
Are you a courtier, an’t like you, sir?
Are you a nobleman, if you don’t mind me asking, sir?
Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest 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-odor from me? reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that I insinuate, or toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to open thy affair.
Whether I am or not, I am a nobleman. Don’t you see the courtly vibe in my clothes? Don’t you notice the way I walk, like someone from the court? Can’t you smell the royal perfume on me? Don’t I make you feel like a common person when I look at you? You think just because I’m asking about your business or trying to get something from you, I’m not a nobleman? I am fully a nobleman, and one who can either help you or block your business: now tell me what you’re up to.
My business, sir, is to the king.
My business, sir, is with the king.
What advocate hast thou to him?
Who’s your lawyer, then?
I know not, an’t like you.
I don’t know, if it pleases you.
Advocate’s the court-word for a pheasant: say you have none.
’Lawyer’ is just the court term for a pheasant: just say you don’t have one.
None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.
I have no pheasant, sir; neither a cock nor a hen.
How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain.
How lucky we are, those of us who aren’t simple! But nature could have made me like them, so I won’t look down on them.
This cannot be but a great courtier.
This must be a high-ranking noble.
His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.
His clothes are expensive, but he doesn’t wear them well.
He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I’ll warrant; I know by the picking on’s teeth.
He seems more important because he’s so over-the-top: a big shot, I bet; I can tell by the way he picks his teeth.
The fardel there? what’s i’ the fardel? Wherefore that box?
What’s in that bundle? What’s in the bundle? Why that box?
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 the speech of him.
Sir, there are secrets in this bundle and box that only the king must know; and he will know them within the hour, if I can speak to him.
Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Old man, you’ve wasted your time.
Why, sir?
Why, sir?
The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things serious, thou must know the king is full of grief.
The king isn’t at the palace; he’s gone aboard a new ship to get rid of his sadness and get some air: because, if you can understand serious matters, you should know the king is very upset.
So ’tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd’s daughter.
Yes, sir, it’s said to be about his son, who was supposed to marry a shepherd’s daughter.
If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly: the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster.
If that shepherd isn’t already married, he should run for his life: the curses he’ll face, the pain he’ll endure, will crush a man, and break even the toughest monster.
Think you so, sir?
Do you really think so, sir?
Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman: which though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.
Not only he will suffer everything that clever minds can invent to hurt him and revenge can make painful; but his family, even if they’re fifty generations removed, will all be punished: though it’s a great shame, it has to be done. An old trickster who whistles like a sheepdog, a man who takes care of sheep, to try and get his daughter into the royal court! Some say he’ll be stoned to death, but that’s too kind for him, I say take our throne and turn it into a sheep pen! All deaths are too few, even the harshest one is too gentle.
Has the old man e’er a son, sir, do you hear. an’t like you, sir?
Does the old man have a son, sir, do you know? If you please, sir?
He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then ’nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp’s nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall be be set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the king: being something gently considered, I’ll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it.
He has a son, who’ll be skinned alive; then covered with honey, and placed on top of a wasp’s nest; then left to stand until he’s nearly dead; then revived with strong spirits or some other hot drink; then, raw and burning hot, when the weather is at its worst, will be placed against a brick wall, with the sun beating down on him, and he’ll be left there to be eaten alive by flies. But why are we talking about these traitorous scoundrels, whose sufferings are almost funny, considering how terrible their crimes are? Tell me, since you seem like honest men, what do you need from the king? If you explain it gently, I’ll take you to where he is on the ship, present you to him, speak on your behalf; and if it’s possible for anyone other than the king to help you, I’m the one who can do it.
He seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember ’stoned,’ and ’flayed alive.’
He seems to have a lot of power: work with him, give him money; and even though power can be a stubborn force, it’s often led by the nose with money: show him the inside of your purse and he’ll open his hand without question. Just don’t forget about being ‘stoned’ and ‘skinned alive.’
An’t please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have: I’ll make it as much more and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you.
If you please, sir, to take on this job for us, here’s the gold I have: I’ll get more if necessary and leave this young man as security until I can bring it to you.
After I have done what I promised?
After I’ve done what I said I would?
Ay, sir.
Yes, sir.
Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?
Well, give me my share. Are you involved in this?
In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.
In a way, sir. But even though my situation is sad, I hope I won’t be completely taken advantage of.
O, that’s the case of the shepherd’s son: hang him, he’ll be made an example.
Oh, that’s the situation of the shepherd’s son: hang him, he’ll be made an example of.
Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights: he must know ’tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the business is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you.
Cheer up, good cheer! We need to go to the king and show him our strange sights: he must know it’s neither your daughter nor my sister; otherwise, we’re finished. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does once the job is done, and stay, like he says, your pawn until it’s delivered to you.
I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right hand: I will but look upon the hedge and follow you.
I’ll trust you. Walk ahead toward the sea; stay on the right side: I’ll just look at the hedge and follow you.
We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest.
We’re lucky with this man, as I can say, really lucky.
Let’s before as he bids us: he was provided to do us good.
Let’s go ahead like he told us: he’s set up to do us good.
If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion, gold and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to shore them again and that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title and what shame else belongs to’t. To him will I present them: there may be matter in it.
If I wanted to be honest, I see Fortune wouldn’t let me: she feeds me luck right in my mouth. I’m being courted now with two chances, gold and a way to do my master the prince a favor; and who knows how that might end up helping me? I’ll bring these two fools, these blind ones, to him: if he thinks it’s right to send them back and that the complaint they have to the king is none of his concern, let him call me a rogue for getting so involved; I’m immune to that label and any shame that comes with it. I’ll present them to him: there might be something in it.