Clown Come on, strike up!
DORCAS Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,
To mend her kissing with!
MOPSA Now, in good time!
Clown Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
Come, strike up!
[Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and
Shepherdesses]
POLIXENES Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Which dances with your daughter?
Shepherd They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding: but I have it
Upon his own report and I believe it;
He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:
I think so too; for never gazed the moon
Upon the water as he'll stand and read
As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain.
I think there is not half a kiss to choose
Who loves another best.
POLIXENES She dances featly.
Shepherd So she does any thing; though I report it,
That should be silent: if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
[Enter Servant]
Servant O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the
door, you would never dance again after a tabour and
pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings
several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he
utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men's
ears grew to his tunes.
Clown He could never come better; he shall come in. I
love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful
matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing
indeed and sung lamentably.
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