Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Winters Tale/Act 4 Scene 3
Scena Tertia.
Enter Autolicus singing.
When Daffadils begin to peere,
With heigh the Doxy ouer the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o'the yeere,
For the red blood raigns in the winters pale.
With heigh the Doxy ouer the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o'the yeere,
For the red blood raigns in the winters pale.
The white sheete bleaching on the hedge,
With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing:
Doth set my pugging tooth an edge,
For a quart of Ale is a dish for a King.
With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing:
Doth set my pugging tooth an edge,
For a quart of Ale is a dish for a King.
The Larke, that tirra Lyra chaunts,
With heigh, the Thrush and the Iay:
Are Summer songs for me and my Aunts
While we lye tumbling in the hay.
With heigh, the Thrush and the Iay:
Are Summer songs for me and my Aunts
While we lye tumbling in the hay.
I haue seru'd Prince Florizell, and in my time wore three
pile, but now I am out of seruice.
pile, but now I am out of seruice.
But shall I go mourne for that (my deere)
the pale Moone shines by night:
And when I wander here, and there
I then do most go right.
If Tinkers may haue leaue to liue,
and beare the Sow-skin Bowget,
Then my account I well may giue,
and in the Stockes auouch-it.
the pale Moone shines by night:
And when I wander here, and there
I then do most go right.
If Tinkers may haue leaue to liue,
and beare the Sow-skin Bowget,
Then my account I well may giue,
and in the Stockes auouch-it.
My Trafficke is sheetes: when the Kite builds, looke to
lesser Linnen. My Father nam'd me Autolicus, who being
(as I am) lytter'd vnder Mercurie, was likewise a
snapper-vp of vnconsidered trifles: With Dye and drab,
I purchas'd this Caparison, and my Reuennew is the silly
Cheate. Gallowes, and Knocke, are too powerfull on
the Highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to mee:
For the life to come, I sleepe out the thought of it. A
prize, a prize.
lesser Linnen. My Father nam'd me Autolicus, who being
(as I am) lytter'd vnder Mercurie, was likewise a
snapper-vp of vnconsidered trifles: With Dye and drab,
I purchas'd this Caparison, and my Reuennew is the silly
Cheate. Gallowes, and Knocke, are too powerfull on
the Highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to mee:
For the life to come, I sleepe out the thought of it. A
prize, a prize.
Enter Clowne.
Clo.
Let me see, euery Leauen-weather toddes, euery
tod yeeldes pound and odde shilling: fifteene hundred
shorne, what comes the wooll too?
Let me see, euery Leauen-weather toddes, euery
tod yeeldes pound and odde shilling: fifteene hundred
shorne, what comes the wooll too?
Aut.
If the sprindge hold, the Cocke's mine.
If the sprindge hold, the Cocke's mine.
Clo.
I cannot do't without Compters. Let mee see,
what am I to buy for our Sheepe-shearing-Feast? Three
pound of Sugar, fiue pound of Currence, Rice: What
will this sister of mine do with Rice? But my father hath
made her Mistris of the Feast, and she layes it on. Shee
hath made-me four and twenty Nose-gayes for the shearers
(three-man song-men, all, and very good ones) but
they are most of them Meanes and Bases; but one Puritan
amongst them, and he sings Psalmes to horne-pipes.
I must haue Saffron to colour the Warden Pies, Mace:
Dates, none: that's out of my note: Nutmegges, seuen;
a Race or two of Ginger, but that I may begge: Foure
pound of Prewyns, and as many of Reysons o'th Sun.
I cannot do't without Compters. Let mee see,
what am I to buy for our Sheepe-shearing-Feast? Three
pound of Sugar, fiue pound of Currence, Rice: What
will this sister of mine do with Rice? But my father hath
made her Mistris of the Feast, and she layes it on. Shee
hath made-me four and twenty Nose-gayes for the shearers
(three-man song-men, all, and very good ones) but
they are most of them Meanes and Bases; but one Puritan
amongst them, and he sings Psalmes to horne-pipes.
I must haue Saffron to colour the Warden Pies, Mace:
Dates, none: that's out of my note: Nutmegges, seuen;
a Race or two of Ginger, but that I may begge: Foure
pound of Prewyns, and as many of Reysons o'th Sun.
Aut.
Oh, that euer I was borne.
Oh, that euer I was borne.
Clo.
I'th' name of me.
I'th' name of me.
Aut.
Oh helpe me, helpe mee: plucke but off these
ragges: and then, death, death.
Oh helpe me, helpe mee: plucke but off these
ragges: and then, death, death.
Clo.
Alacke poore soule, thou hast need of more rags
to lay on thee, rather then haue these off.
Alacke poore soule, thou hast need of more rags
to lay on thee, rather then haue these off.
Aut.
Oh sir, the loathsomnesse of them offend mee,
more then the stripes I haue receiued, which are mightie
ones and millions.
Oh sir, the loathsomnesse of them offend mee,
more then the stripes I haue receiued, which are mightie
ones and millions.
Clo.
Alas poore man, a million of beating may come
to a great matter.
Alas poore man, a million of beating may come
to a great matter.
Aut.
I am rob'd sir, and beaten: my money, and
apparrell tane from me, and these detestable things put
vpon me.
I am rob'd sir, and beaten: my money, and
apparrell tane from me, and these detestable things put
vpon me.
Clo.
What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man?
What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man?
Aut.
A footman (sweet sir) a footman.
A footman (sweet sir) a footman.
Clo.
Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments
he has left with thee: If this bee a horsemans Coate, it
hath seene very hot seruice. Lend me thy hand, Ile helpe
thee. Come, lend me thy hand.
Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments
he has left with thee: If this bee a horsemans Coate, it
hath seene very hot seruice. Lend me thy hand, Ile helpe
thee. Come, lend me thy hand.
Aut.
Oh good sir, tenderly, oh.
Oh good sir, tenderly, oh.
Clo.
Alas poore soule.
Alas poore soule.
Aut.
Oh good sir, softly, good sir: I feare (sir) my
shoulder-blade is out.
Oh good sir, softly, good sir: I feare (sir) my
shoulder-blade is out.
Clo.
How now? Canst stand?
How now? Canst stand?
Aut.
Softly, deere sir: good sir, softly: you ha done
me a charitable office.
Softly, deere sir: good sir, softly: you ha done
me a charitable office.
Clo.
Doest lacke any mony? I haue a little mony for thee.
Doest lacke any mony? I haue a little mony for thee.
Aut.
No, good sweet sir: no, I beseech you sir: I haue
a Kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, vnto
whome I was going: I shall there haue money, or anie
thing I want: Offer me no money I pray you, that killes
my heart.
No, good sweet sir: no, I beseech you sir: I haue
a Kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, vnto
whome I was going: I shall there haue money, or anie
thing I want: Offer me no money I pray you, that killes
my heart.
Clow.
What manner of Fellow was hee that robb'd you?
What manner of Fellow was hee that robb'd you?
Aut.
A fellow (sir) that I haue knowne to goe about
with Troll-my-dames: I knew him once a seruant of the
Prince: I cannot tell good sir, for which of his Vertues
it was, but hee was certainely Whipt out of the Court.
A fellow (sir) that I haue knowne to goe about
with Troll-my-dames: I knew him once a seruant of the
Prince: I cannot tell good sir, for which of his Vertues
it was, but hee was certainely Whipt out of the Court.
Clo.
His vices you would say: there's no vertue whipt
out of the Court: they cherish it to make it stay there;
and yet it will no more but abide.
His vices you would say: there's no vertue whipt
out of the Court: they cherish it to make it stay there;
and yet it will no more but abide.
Aut.
Vices I would say (Sir.) I know this man well,
he hath bene since an Ape-bearer, then a Processe-seruer
(a Bayliffe) then hee compast a Motion of the Prodigall
sonne, and married a Tinkers wife, within a Mile where
my Land and Liuing lyes; and (hauing flowne ouer many
knauish professions) he setled onely in Rogue: some
call him Autolicus.
Vices I would say (Sir.) I know this man well,
he hath bene since an Ape-bearer, then a Processe-seruer
(a Bayliffe) then hee compast a Motion of the Prodigall
sonne, and married a Tinkers wife, within a Mile where
my Land and Liuing lyes; and (hauing flowne ouer many
knauish professions) he setled onely in Rogue: some
call him Autolicus.
Clo.
Out vpon him: Prig, for my life Prig: he haunts
Wakes, Faires, and Beare-baitings.
Out vpon him: Prig, for my life Prig: he haunts
Wakes, Faires, and Beare-baitings.
Aut.
Very true sir: he sir hee: that's the Rogue that
put me into this apparrell.
Very true sir: he sir hee: that's the Rogue that
put me into this apparrell.
Clo.
Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; If
you had but look'd bigge, and spit at him, hee'ld haue
runne.
Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; If
you had but look'd bigge, and spit at him, hee'ld haue
runne.
Aut.
I must confesse to you (sir) I am no fighter: I am
false of heart that way, & that he knew I warrant him.
I must confesse to you (sir) I am no fighter: I am
false of heart that way, & that he knew I warrant him.
Clo.
How do you now?
How do you now?
Aut.
Sweet sir, much better then I was: I can stand,
and walke: I will euen take my leaue of you, & pace softly
towards my Kinsmans.
Sweet sir, much better then I was: I can stand,
and walke: I will euen take my leaue of you, & pace softly
towards my Kinsmans.
Clo.
Shall I bring thee on the way?
Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut.
No, good fac'd sir, no sweet sir.
No, good fac'd sir, no sweet sir.
Clo.
Then fartheewell, I must go buy Spices for our
Exit.sheepe-shearing.
Then fartheewell, I must go buy Spices for our
Exit.sheepe-shearing.
Aut.
Prosper you sweet sir. Your purse is not hot enough
to purchase your Spice: Ile be with you at your
sheepe-shearing too: If I make not this Cheat bring out
another, and the sheerers proue sheepe, let me be vnrold,
and my name put in the booke of Vertue.
Prosper you sweet sir. Your purse is not hot enough
to purchase your Spice: Ile be with you at your
sheepe-shearing too: If I make not this Cheat bring out
another, and the sheerers proue sheepe, let me be vnrold,
and my name put in the booke of Vertue.
Song. Iog-on, Iog-on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the Stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Exit.Your sad tyres in a Mile-a.
And merrily hent the Stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Exit.Your sad tyres in a Mile-a.