PERDITA.
Sir, my gracious lord,
To chide at your extremes it not becomes me;
O pardon that I name them: your high self,
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured
With a swain's bearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up:—but that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired; sworn, I think
To show myself a glass.
The impression of her perfect beauty and airy elegance of demeanor is conveyed in two exquisite passages:—
What you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever. When you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms,
Pray so, and for the ordering your affairs
To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function.
I take thy hand; this hand
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er.
The artless manner in which her innate nobility of soul shines forth through her pastoral disguise, is thus brought before us at once:—
This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green sward; nothing she does or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself;
Too noble for this place.
Her natural loftiness of spirit breaks out where she is menaced and reviled by the King, as one whom his son has degraded himself by merely looking on; she bears the royal frown without quailing; but the moment he is gone, the immediate recollection of herself, and of her humble state, of her hapless love, is full of beauty, tenderness, and nature:—
Even here undone!
I was much afeard: for once or twice,
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.
Will't please, you Sir, be gone?
I told you what would come of this. Beseech you,
Of your own state take care; this dream of mine—
Being now awake—I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.