Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savor all the winter long;
Grace and remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!
POLIXENES.
Shepherdess,
(A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
PERDITA.
Sir, the year growing ancient,
Nor yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations, and streaked gilliflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
POLIXENES.
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
PERDITA.
For I have heard it said,
There is an art, which in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature.
POLIXENES.