Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and loft all my mony?

Aut. And indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad, therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou fhalt lofe nothing here. Aut. I hope fo, Sir, for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clo. What haft here? ballads?

Mop. Pray now buy fome, I love a ballad in print, or a life, for then we are fure they are true.

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a ufurer's wife was brought to bed with twenty mony bags at a burthen, and how the long'd to eat adders heads, and toads carbonado'd.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Very true, and but a month old.

Dor. 'Blefs me from marrying a usurer!

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Miftrefs Taleporter, and five or fix honeft wives that were present. Why fhould I carry lies abroad?

Mop. Pray you now buy it.

Clo. Come on, lay it by; and let's firft see more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut. Here's another ballad of a fish that appear'd upon the coaft, on Wednesday the fourfcore of April, forty thoufand fadom above water, and fung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids; it was thought he was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fifh, for fhe would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

Dor. Is it true too, think you?

Aut. Five juftices hands at it; and witneffes more than my pack will hold..

Clo. Lay it by too: another.

Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Mop. Let's have some merry ones.

Aut. Why, this is a paffing merry one, and goes to the tune of Two maids wooing a man; there's fcarce a maid weftward but she sings it: 'tis in request, I can

tell you.

Mop. We can both fing it; if thou'lt bear a part, thou fhalt hear, 'tis in three parts.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.

Aut. I can bear my part, you must know 'tis my occupation: have at it with you.

Mop. It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy fecrets tell.

Dor. Me too, let me go thither:
Mop. Or thou goeft to th' grange, or mill,
Dor. If to either, thou doft ill:
Aut. Neither.

Dor. What neither!

Aut. Neither.

Dor. Thou baft fworn my love to be.

Mop. Thou baft fworn it more to me:

Then whither goeft? fay whither?

Clo. We'll have this fong out anon by ourselves: my father and the gentlemen are in fad 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 firft choice; follow me, girls.

Aut. And

you fhall pay

well for 'em. SONG.

Will you buy any tape, or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?

Any filk, any thread, any toys for your

bead

of the new'ft, and fin'ft, fin'ft wear-a ?

Come to the pedler, mony's a

medler,

That doth utter all mens ware-a.

[Exeunt Cloron, Autolicus, Dorcas, and Mopfa. SCENE VII. Enter a Servant.

Ser. Mafter, there are three goat-herds, three sheepherds, three neat-herds, and three fwine-herds that have made themfelves all men of hair, they call themselves fal

tiers, and they have a dance, which the wenches fay is a gallymaufry of gambols, because they are not in't: but. they themselves are o'th' mind, if it be not too rough for fome that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully.

Shep. Away; we'll none on't: here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, Sir, we weary you. Pol. You weary thofe that refresh us: 'pray let's fee these four threes of herdfmen.

Ser. One three of them, by their own report, Sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' fquare.

Shep. Leave your prating; fince thefe good men are pleas'd, let them come in, but quickly now.

Flo. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.
Here a Dance of twelve Satyrs.

Pol. Is it not too far gone?'tis time to part them; He's fimple, and tells much. How now, fair fhepherd ? Your heart is full of fomething that does take

Your mind from feafting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont

To load my fhe with knacks: I would have ranfack'd
The pedler's filken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your lafs
Interpretation fhould 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.

Flo. Old Sir, I know

She prizes not fuch trifles as thefe are;

The gifts the looks from me, are packt and lockt
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 feem
Hath fometime lav'd. I take thy hand, this hand,
As foft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or Ethiopean's tooth, or the fann'd fnow
That's bolted by the northern blast twice'o'er.
Pol, What follows this?

How

How prettily the young fwain seems to wash
The hand was fair before! I've put you out ;
But to your proteftation: let me hear

What you profefs.

Flo. Do, and be witness to't.

Pol. And this my neighbour too?

Flo. 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 moft 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 imploy them all,
Commend them, and condemn them to her fervice,
Or to their own perdition.

Pol. Fairly offer'd.

Cam. This fhews a found affection.

Shep. But, my daughter,

Say you the like to him?

Per. I cannot fpeak

So well, nothing fo well, no, nor mean better.
By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

Shep. Take hands, a bargain;

And, friends unknown! you fhall bear witness to't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make

Her portion equal his.

Flo. O, that must be

I'th' virtue of your daughter; one being dead,
I fhall have more than you can dream of yet,
Enough then for your wonder: but come on,
Contract us 'fore thefe witneffes.

Shep. Come, your hand;

And, daughter, yours.

Pol. Soft, fwain, a while; 'befeech you,

Have you a father?

Flo. I have; but what of him?

Pol. Knows he of this?

Flo. He neither does nor fhall.

Pol. Methinks a father

Is

Is at the nuptial of his fon a guest

That beft 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 fpeak? hear?
Know man from man difpute his own eftate?

Lyes he not bed-rid? and again does nothing
But what he did being childish?

Flo. No, good Sir;.

He has his health, and ampler ftrength 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 fon

Should chufe himself a wife, but as good reason
The father (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair pofterity) fhould hold fome counfel
In fuch a bufinefs.

Flo. I yield all this;

But for fome 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 fhall 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.

Flo. Come, come, he must not:

Mark our contract.

Pol. Mark your divorce, young Sir, [Discovering himself. Whom fon I dare not call: thou art too base

To be acknowledg'd. Thou a scepter's heir

That thus affect'ft a fheep-hook! Thou old traytor,

I'm forry that by hanging thee I can

But fhorten thy life one week. And thou fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force muft know
The royal fool thou coap'ft with-

Shep. Oh my heart!

Pol, I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made

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