I
willingly
obey your command.
Shakespeare
Say to me, when saw'st thou the
Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue
not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have
approved their virtues.
CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his
happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly
noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent
to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared.
POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care,
so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his
removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is
seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say,
that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his
neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.
CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of
most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be
thought to begin from such a cottage.
POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the
angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the
place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some
question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not
uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my
present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of
Sicilia.
CAMILLO.
I willingly obey your command.
POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.
Exeunt
SCENE III.
Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage
Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing
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.
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-lirra chants,
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 serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile;
but now I am out of service.
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue
not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have
approved their virtues.
CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his
happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly
noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent
to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared.
POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care,
so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his
removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is
seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say,
that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his
neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.
CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of
most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be
thought to begin from such a cottage.
POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the
angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the
place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some
question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not
uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my
present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of
Sicilia.
CAMILLO.
I willingly obey your command.
POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.
Exeunt
SCENE III.
Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage
Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing
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.
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-lirra chants,
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 serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile;
but now I am out of service.
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
