MUCEDORUS. No longer love, no longer let me live!

AMADINE. Of late I loved one indeed, now love I none but only thee.

MUCEDORUS. Thanks, worthy princess; I borne likewise, Yet smother up the blast, I dare not promise what I may perform.

AMADINE. Well, shepherd, hark what I shall say: I will return unto my Father's court, There for to provide me of such necessaries, As for our journey I shall think most fit; This being done, i will return to thee. Do thou, therefore, appoint the place where we may meet.

MUCEDORUS. Down in the valley where I slew the bear: And there doth grow a fair broad branched beech, That overshades a well; so who comes first Let them abide the happy meeting of us both. How like you this?

AMADINE. I like it very well.

MUCEDORUS. Now, if you please, you may appoint the time.

AMADINE. Full three hours hence, God willing, I will return.

MUCEDORUS. The thanks that Paris gave the Grecian queen The like doth Mucedorus yield.

AMADINE. Then, Mucedorus, for three hours farewell.

[Exit.]

MUCEDORUS. Your departure, lady, breeds a privy pain.

[Exit.]

ACT III. SCENE II. The Court.

[Enter Segasto solus.]

SEGASTO. Tis well, Segasto, that thou hast thy will; Should such a shepherd, such a simple swain As he, eclipse the credit famous through The court? No, ply, Segasto, ply: Let it not in Arragon be said, A shepherd hath Segasto's honour won.

[Enter Mouse the clown calling his master.]

MOUSE. What ho, master, will you come away?

SEGASTO. Will you come hither? I pray you, what's the matter?

MOUSE. Why, is it not past eleven a clock?

SEGASTO. How then, sir?

MOUSE. I pray you, come away to dinner.

SEGASTO. I pray you, come hither.

MOUSE. Here's such a do with you! will you never come?

SEGASTO. I pray you, sir, what news of the message I sent you about?

MOUSE. I tell you all the messes be on the table already. There wants not so much as a mess of mustard half an hour ago.

SEGASTO. Come, sir, your mind is all upon your belly; You have forgotten what I did bid you do.

MOUSE. Faith, I know nothing, but you bade me go to breakfast.

SEGASTO. Was that all?

MOUSE. Faith, I have forgotten it; the very scent of the meat hath made me forget it quite.

SEGASTO. You have forgotten the arrant I bid you do?

MOUSE. What arrant? an arrant knave, or arrant whore?

SEGASTO. Why, thou knave, did I not bid thee banish the shepherd?

MOUSE. O, the shepherd's bastard.

SEGASTO. I tell thee, the shepherd's banishment.

MOUSE. I tell you the shepherd's bastard shall be well kept; I'll look to it myself else; but I pray you, come away to dinner.

SEGASTO. Then you will not tell me whether you have banished him or no?

MOUSE. Why, I cannot say banishment, and you would give me a thousand pounds to say so.

SEGASTO. Why, you whoreson slave, have you forgotten that I sent you and another to drive away the shepherd.

MOUSE. What an ass are you; here's a stir indeed: here's 'message,' 'arrant,' 'banishment,' and I cannot tell what.

SEGASTO. I pray you, sir, shall I know whether you have drove him away?

MOUSE. Faith, I think I have; and you will not believe me, ask my staff.

SEGASTO. Why, can thy staff tell?

MOUSE. Why, he was with me to.

SEGASTO. Then happy I that have obtained my will.

MOUSE. And happier I, if you would go to dinner.

SEGASTO. Come, sirra, follow me.

MOUSE. I warrant you, I will not loose an inch of you, now you are going to dinner.--I promise you, I thought seven year before I could get him away.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III. SCENE III. The Forest.

[Enter Amadine sola.]

AMADINE. God grant my long delay procures no harm Nor this my tarrying frustrate my pretence. My Mucedorus surely stays for me, And thinks me over long: at length I come My present promise to perform. Ah, what a thing is firm unfained love! What is it which true love dares not tempt? My father he may make, but I must match; Segasto loves, but Amadine must like, Where likes her best; compulsion is a thrall: No, no, the hearty choice is all in all, The shepherd's virtue Amadine esteems. But, what, me thinks my shepherd is not come. I muse at that, the hour is sure at hand: Well here I'll rest till Mucedorus come.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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