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Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and others.


See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth.

Shep. Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook;
Both dame and servant: welcom'd all; serv'd 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 retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us 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.


Welcome, sir!

[To Pol. It is my father's will, I should take on me The hostessship o'the day:-You're welcome, sir!

[To Camillo.

Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.-Reverend


For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep

Seeming, and savour, all the winter long:

Grace, and remembrance 58, be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!



(A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages 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 gillyflowers, Which some call, nature's bastards: of that kind Our rustick garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them.


Wherefore, 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.


Say, there be;

Yet nature is made better by no mean,

But nature makes that mean: so, o'er 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.

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Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, And do not call them bastards.


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 there-



Desire to breed by me.-Here's flowers for
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed with 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 are welcome.

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing.

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You'd be so lean, that blasts of January

Would blow you through and through.-Now, my fairest 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
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and

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