The Winter's Tale

by William Shakespeare

Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing

Lawn as white as driven snow;
Cypress black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden quoifs and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins and poking-sticks of steel-
What maids lack from head to heel.
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry.
Come, buy.

CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no
money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the
bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.
MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too
late now.
DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars.
MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you
more, which will shame you to give him again.
CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their
plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not
milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle
off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our
guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and
not a word more.
MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair
of sweet gloves.
CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost
all my money?
AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it
behoves men to be wary.
CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here.
AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.
CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads?
MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for
then we are sure they are true.
AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife
was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she
long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd.
MOPSA. Is it true, think you?
AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old.
DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer!
AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter,
and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I
carry lies abroad?
MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it.
CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll
buy the other things anon.
AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the
coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom
above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of
maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold
fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her.
The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.
DORCAS. Is it true too, think you?
AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my
pack will hold.
CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another.
AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones.
AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune
of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but
she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.
MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear;
'tis in three parts.
DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago.
AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation.
Have at it with you.

SONG

AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go
Where it fits not you to know.
DORCAS. Whither?
MOPSA. O, whither?
DORCAS. Whither?
MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well
Thou to me thy secrets tell.
DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither
MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill.
DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill.
AUTOLYCUS. Neither.
DORCAS. What, neither?
AUTOLYCUS. Neither.
DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be.
MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me.
Then whither goest? Say, whither?

CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and
the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come,
bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both.
Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls.
Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA
AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em.
Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing

Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk, any thread,
Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?
Come to the pedlar;
Money's a meddler
That doth utter all men's ware-a.

Re-enter SERVANT

SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three
neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men
of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which
the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not
in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough
for some that know little but bowling, it will please
plentifully.
SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely
foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.
POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these
four threes of herdsmen.
SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd
before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve
foot and a half by th' squier.
SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let
them come in; but quickly now.
SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit

Here a dance of twelve SATYRS