TPTT The Winter's Tale: ACT IV
Introduction
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
ACT IV
SCENE I
SCENE II. Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES.
SCENE III. A road near the Shepherd's cottage.
SCENE IV. The Shepherd's cottage.
ACT V
About the Play
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SCENE III. A road near the Shepherd's cottage.
Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing
AUTOLYCUS
      When daffodils begin to peer,
      With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
      Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
      For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
5     The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
      With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
      Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
      For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
      The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
10    With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
      Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
      While we lie tumbling in the hay.
      I have served Prince Florizel and in my time
      wore three-pile; but now I am out of service:
15    But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
      The pale moon shines by night:
      And when I wander here and there,
      I then do most go right.
      If tinkers may have leave to live,
20    And bear the sow-skin budget,
      Then my account I well may, give,
      And in the stocks avouch it.
      My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to
      lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who
25    being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise
      a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and
      drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is
      the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful
      on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to
30    me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought
      of it. A prize! a prize!
Enter Clown
Clown
      Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod
      yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred
      shorn. what comes the wool to?
AUTOLYCUS
      If the springe hold, the cock's mine.
Clown
      I cannot do't without counters. Let me see; what am
      I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound
      of sugar, five pound of currants, rice,--what will
40    this sister of mine do with rice? But my father
      hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it
      on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for
      the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good
      ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but
45    one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to
      horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden
      pies; mace; dates?--none, that's out of my note;
      nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I
      may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of
50    raisins o' the sun.
AUTOLYCUS
      O that ever I was born!
Grovelling on the ground
Clown
      I' the name of me--
AUTOLYCUS
      O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and
      then, death, death!
Clown
55    Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay
      on thee, rather than have these off.
AUTOLYCUS
      O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more
      than the stripes I have received, which are mighty
      ones and millions.
Clown
60    Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a
      great matter.
AUTOLYCUS
      I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel
      ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon
      me.
Clown
65    What, by a horseman, or a footman?
AUTOLYCUS
      A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
Clown
      Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he
      has left with thee: if this be a horseman's coat,
      it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand,
70    I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.
AUTOLYCUS
      O, good sir, tenderly, O!
Clown
      Alas, poor soul!
AUTOLYCUS
      O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my
      shoulder-blade is out.
Clown
75    How now! canst stand?
AUTOLYCUS
      Softly, dear sir; good sir, softly. You ha' done me
      a charitable office.
Clown
      Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.
AUTOLYCUS
80    No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have
      a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence,
      unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or
      any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you;
      that kills my heart.
Clown
85    What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?
AUTOLYCUS
      A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with
      troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the
      prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his
      virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.
Clown
90    His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped
      out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay
      there; and yet it will no more but abide.
AUTOLYCUS
      Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he
      hath been since an ape-bearer; then a
95    process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a
      motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
      wife within a mile where my land and living lies;
      and, having flown over many knavish professions, he
      settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.
Clown
100   Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts
      wakes, fairs and bear-baitings.
AUTOLYCUS
      Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that
      put me into this apparel.
Clown
      Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had
105   but looked big and spit at him, he'ld have run.
AUTOLYCUS
      I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am
      false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant
      him.
Clown
      How do you now?
AUTOLYCUS
110   Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and
      walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace
      softly towards my kinsman's.
Clown
      Shall I bring thee on the way?
AUTOLYCUS
      No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
Clown
115   Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our
      sheep-shearing.
AUTOLYCUS
      Prosper you, sweet sir!

Exit Clown

      Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice.
      I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I
120   make not this cheat bring out another and the
      shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name
      put in the book of virtue!

Sings

      Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
      And merrily hent the stile-a:
125   A merry heart goes all the day,
      Your sad tires in a mile-a.
Exit
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