Cam. Then list to me: This followes, if you will not change your purpose But vndergo this flight: make for Sicillia, And there present your selfe, and your fayre Princesse, (For so I see she must be) 'fore Leontes; She shall be habited, as it becomes The partner of your Bed. Me thinkes I see Leontes opening his free Armes, and weeping His Welcomes forth: asks thee there Sonne forgiuenesse, As 'twere i'th' Fathers person: kisses the hands Of your fresh Princesse; ore and ore diuides him, 'Twixt his vnkindnesse, and his Kindnesse: th' one He chides to Hell, and bids the other grow Faster then Thought, or Time

Flo. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my Visitation, shall I Hold vp before him? Cam. Sent by the King your Father To greet him, and to giue him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you (as from your Father) shall deliuer, Things knowne betwixt vs three, Ile write you downe, The which shall point you forth at euery sitting What you must say: that he shall not perceiue, But that you haue your Fathers Bosome there, And speake his very Heart

Flo. I am bound to you: There is some sappe in this

Cam. A Course more promising, Then a wild dedication of your selues To vnpath'd Waters, vndream'd Shores; most certaine, To Miseries enough: no hope to helpe you, But as you shake off one, to take another: Nothing so certaine, as your Anchors, who Doe their best office, if they can but stay you, Where you'le be loth to be: besides you know, Prosperitie's the very bond of Loue, Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together, Affliction alters

Perd. One of these is true: I thinke Affliction may subdue the Cheeke, But not take-in the Mind

Cam. Yea? say you so? There shall not, at your Fathers House, these seuen yeeres Be borne another such

Flo. My good Camillo, She's as forward, of her Breeding, as She is i'th' reare' our Birth

Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pitty She lacks Instructions, for she seemes a Mistresse To most that teach

Perd. Your pardon Sir, for this, Ile blush you Thanks

Flo. My prettiest Perdita. But O, the Thornes we stand vpon: (Camillo) Preseruer of my Father, now of me, The Medicine of our House: how shall we doe? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's Sonne, Nor shall appeare in Sicilia

Cam. My Lord, Feare none of this: I thinke you know my fortunes Doe all lye there: it shall be so my care, To haue you royally appointed, as if The Scene you play, were mine. For instance Sir, That you may know you shall not want: one word. Enter Autolicus.

Aut. Ha, ha, what a Foole Honestie is? and Trust (his sworne brother) a very simple Gentleman. I haue sold all my Tromperie: not a counterfeit Stone, not a Ribbon, Glasse, Pomander, Browch, Table-booke, Ballad, Knife, Tape, Gloue, Shooe-tye, Bracelet, Horne-Ring, to keepe my Pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first, as if my Trinkets had beene hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer: by which meanes, I saw whose Purse was best in Picture; and what I saw, to my good vse, I remembred. My Clowne (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in loue with the Wenches Song, that hee would not stirre his Petty-toes, till he had both Tune and Words, which so drew the rest of the Heard to me, that all their other Sences stucke in Eares: you might haue pinch'd a Placket, it was sencelesse; 'twas nothing to gueld a Cod-peece of a Purse: I would haue fill'd Keyes of that hung in Chaynes: no hearing, no feeling, but my Sirs Song, and admiring the Nothing of it. So that in this time of Lethargie, I pickd and cut most of their Festiuall Purses: And had not the old-man come in with a Whoo-bub against his Daughter, and the Kings Sonne, and scar'd my Chowghes from the Chaffe, I had not left a Purse aliue in the whole Army

The Winters Tale Page 30

William Shakespeare Plays

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