The Winter’s Tale

Your festival clothes give you a new look. No longer a shepherdess, but the goddess of flowers appearing at the beginning of April. Your sheep-shearing is like a meeting of minor gods, and you are the queen of them.

My gracious lord, it doesn’t suit me to rebuke you for exaggerations. Oh, pardon me for naming them! You, the one whose charms make him admired by the public, have hidden yourself in rustic clothing, while I, just a poor lowly girl, am made up like a goddess. If there weren’t foolishness at every table during our feasts, and if people weren’t accustomed to such foolishness by now, I’d feel embarrassed to see you dressed like that and would faint to see myself in the mirror.

I bless the day when my hunting bird flew across your father’s land.

Now may Jove give you reason to be glad! For me the difference in rank between us fills me with dread, though you in your greatness aren’t used to fear. Even now I tremble to think that your father might by some accident pass this way, like you did. Oh, the Fates! How would he look when he discovered that his noble son was so humbly dressed! What would he say? How should I, in this borrowed finery, look upon his stern presence?

Imagine only happiness. The gods themselves have taken on the form of beasts when they’re in love. Jupiter became a bull and bellowed; Neptune became a ram and bleated. And the god of the sun, golden Apollo, became a humble shepherd just as I appear today. But their transformations were never for someone so beautiful, and neither were their loves as chaste as mine, because my desires are secondary to my honor, and my faith burns hotter than my lusts.

But sir, your feelings toward me might falter when they are opposed, as they must be, by the power of the king. Then one of the two must happen: either you will change your feelings or I will lose my life.

Dearest Perdita, don’t let these farfetched thoughts dampen the high-spirits of the feast. I’ll be yours, my fair love, and not my father’s. I can’t be myself, or anything to anyone, if I’m not yours. My feelings won’t change, even if destiny says we are not to be together. Be happy, dearest. Get rid of these thoughts by busying yourself with something else. Your guests are coming. Look happy, as if it were the day we’re getting married, as we’ve sworn we will.

Oh, Fortune, remain favorable!

See, your guests are approaching. Prepare yourself to entertain them in a lively manner, and let’s be red-faced from all our laughter.

Oh, daughter, when my old wife was still alive, on this day she was a pantry maid, butler, cook, mistress of the house, and servant. She welcomed all, served all, would sing her song and dance her share. She would sit first at the head of the table, then in the middle. She’d be on this man’s shoulder, and then on that one’s. Her face would be red from work and what she drank to quench her thirst, and she would drink a toast to each person. You are withdrawn, as if you were a guest and not the hostess of this party. Please, welcome these strangers so that we can become better acquainted. Come, stop blushing and present yourself as that which you are: the mistress of the feast. Come on and welcome us to your sheep-shearing, so that your flock will prosper.

(to Polixenes) Sir, welcome. My father wishes me to be the hostess here today.

You are welcome here, sir. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Honored sirs, for you there are rosemary and rue, which keep their appearance and scent all through the winter. May you both have grace and remembrance, and welcome to our shearing!

Fair shepherdess, since we are old, you do well to pair us with winter flowers.

Sir, the year is growing old, with the summer not yet over and the winter not yet starting. The fairest flowers of this season are carnations and two-toned gillyflowers, which some call nature’s bastards. But we don’t have any of those flowers in our garden, and I don’t care to get any cuttings of them.

Kind maiden, why do you reject them?

Because I’ve heard that their many colors are due as much to cross-breeding as to nature.

Perhaps that’s true. But any technique used to improve nature is itself made by nature, so any form of artifice that adds to nature is really a natural artifice. You see, sweet maid, we marry a more noble stem to a wild stem, so that a lesser plant produces one that is superior. This is an art that improves nature, or rather changes it, but the art itself is natural.

So it is.

Then fill your garden with gillyflowers, and don’t call them bastards.

I won’t put a shovel in the dirt to plant a single one of them, just as I wouldn’t want this youth here to think I’m attractive and want to sleep with me only because I’m wearing makeup. Here are flowers for you: lavender, mint, savory, marjoram, and the marigold, which sets with the sun and rises with it filled with dew. These are flowers that bloom in the middle of summer, and I think they should be given to men of middle age. You’re very welcome here. (She gives them flowers.)

If I were part of your flock, I would stop grazing and instead gaze on you as my only nourishment.

Oh, not at all! You’d be so skinny that the icy winds of January would blow right through you. (to Florizel) Now, my fairest friend, I wish I had flowers of the spring that would match your age, (to Mopsa and Dorcas) and yours, and yours, who are still in your adolescence. Oh, Proserpina, if only we had the flowers that you, frightened, let fall from Dis’ chariot! Daffodils that bloom before the swallows dare return from the south, and that charm the winds of March with their beauty. Modest violets that are sweeter than Juno’s eyes or Cytherea’s breath. Pale primroses that die unmarried, before they can see the bright sun at full strength—a sickness that often affects young women. Bold oxlips and the crown imperial lily, lilies of all kinds, the flower-de-luce being one! Oh, if only I had these flowers to make garlands and to throw over my sweet friend!

What, like a corpse?

No, like a riverbank for love to lie and play on. Not like a corpse—or, if so, not one to be buried, but one alive and in my arms. Come, take your flowers. I think I am playing as I’ve seen them do during Whitsun festivities. This outfit I’m wearing certainly changes my attitude.

What you do is always better than what is normally done. When you speak, sweet, I’d have you do it forever. When you sing, I’d have you buy and sell with songs, and give alms, pray, and arrange your affairs with singing. When you dance, I wish you were a wave in the sea, so that you would only ever do that and have no other purpose in life. Everything you do is so perfect that whatever you do is the best.

Oh, Doricles, you praise me too much. If your youth and your noble character didn’t shine through your disguise and reveal your purity, I might worry that you were trying to lead me astray.

I think you have as little cause to fear as I have intention to make you feel afraid. But come, dance with me please. Give me your hand, my Perdita, just as turtledoves pair for life and never part from one another.

I’ll swear to their philosophy.

She is the prettiest common girl that’s ever run across the lawn. Everything she does has an air of something greater than herself, something too noble for this place.

He’s saying something that makes her blush. Goodness, her complexion is as creamy as milk.

Come on, play the music!

Mopsa will be your dance partner. Give her garlic to make her breath better!

Now, that’s enough!

Don’t say a word. We’ll act with manners. Come, play the music!

Good shepherd, can you tell me who is the handsome young man dancing with your daughter?

They call him Doricles and say he has a valuable pasture. He’s told me so himself, and I believe him. He looks honest. He says he loves my daughter, and I think he does. He gazes into my daughter’s eyes as intently as the moon shines onto water. And, to be blunt, I don’t think there’s a way to tell from their kiss who loves the other more.

She dances well.

She does everything well. I’ll tell you something I shouldn’t: if young Doricles does marry her, she’ll bring him greater fortune than he guesses.

Oh, master, if you had heard the peddler at the door, you’d never again dance to a tambourine and a pipe, and a bagpipe wouldn’t tempt you. He sings several songs faster than you can count money. He sings them as readily as if he had digested them completely, and all men can’t help but listen.

He couldn’t have come at a better time. Let him in. I love a ballad almost too much, especially a sad subject set to a happy tune, or a pleasant subject sung mournfully.

He has songs for all men and women. He fits them to his customers closer than gloves. He has pretty love songs for the maid, without any lewdness, which is unusual, and with delicate refrains full of dildos and orgasms, like “jump her and thump her.” And if an obscene rascal would try to make mischief and interrupt the song, the peddler makes the maid answer, “Hey, do me no harm, good man,” and puts him off that way.

This is an excellent fellow.

Believe me, you are talking about a very witty fellow. Does he have any new items to sell?

He has ribbons in all the colors of the rainbow, and countless laces that he gets wholesale. He has linen tape and yarn tape, fine linens, too. Why, he sings about them as if they were gods and goddesses. You would think a ladies’ undergarment were an angel, the way he sings to the cuff and embroidery about the bodice.

Please, let him in, and have him sing while he’s approaching us.

Warn him that he musn’t use bad words in his songs.

There are some peddlers who have more bad words in them than you would think.

Ay, good brother, or wish to think.

Linen as white as wind-whipped snow;

Crepe as black as a crow;

Gloves as sweet-smelling as damask roses;

Masks to cover faces and noses;

A glittering bracelet, a necklace made of amber;

Perfume made for a ladies room;

Golden caps and dress fronts

For my young men to give to their sweethearts;

Pins and rods of steel;

Whatever young woman need from head to toe;

Come buy them from me, or your ladies will cry. Come buy.

If I weren’t in love with Mopsa, I wouldn’t give you a dime. But being infatuated as I am, I’ll have to get a few ribbons and gloves.

You promised them to me in time for the feast, but I guess it’s not too late.

He’s promised more than that, or he is a liar.

He has given you all he promised, and maybe a baby on top of it. It will shame you to pay him back with that baby in nine months.

Don’t you maids have any manners? Will you reveal your most intimate affairs in public? Isn’t there a time to tell these secrets while you are milking, or going to bed, or at the fireplace, rather than tattling in front of our guests? Good thing they are whispering among themselves. Bite your tongues, and don’t say another word.

I won’t. Come on, you promised me a cheap neckerchief and a pair of gloves.

Didn’t I tell you I was tricked along my way and lost all my money?

It’s true, sir. There are tricksters out there, so it’s in a man’s best interest to watch out.

Don’t fear, man, you won’t lose anything here.

I hope not, sir, since I have so many parcels of value.

What do you have here? Ballads?

Please, buy some. I love having a ballad written out, because then we are sure it’s true.

Here’s one that’s sung to a very mournful tune: how a money lender’s wife delivered twenty bags of money in one birth, and she wanted to eat snakes’ heads and toads grilled.

Do you think it’s true?

Very true, and only a month old.

May I never marry a loan shark!

Here’s the name of the midwife who helped at the birth, one Mistress Taleporter, and the five or six who witnessed it. Why should I spread lies around?

Please, buy it.

Come on, put it aside, and let’s see more ballads before we buy anything.

Here’s another ballad about a fish that appeared on the shore on Wednesday, the eightieth of April, two hundred and forty thousand feet above sea level, and sang this song to soften the hearts of young women. Some thought it was a woman who had been changed into a cold fish because she wouldn’t sleep with the man who loved her. The ballad is as sad as it is true.

You think it’s true, too?

Five judges would swear to it, and there are more witnesses’ statements than I could pack along with me.

Put that one aside, too, and let’s see another.

This is a happy ballad, and very pretty.

Let’s have some happy ones.

Here’s a very merry one, which goes to the tune of “Two Maids Courting a Man.” There’s hardly a woman west of here that doesn’t sing it. It’s in great demand, I can tell you.

We can both sing it. If you will sing one part, we can do it, since there are three parts and three of us.

We learned the tune for it a month ago.

I can sing my part. As you know, I’m a singer by trade. Go ahead.

Go away, because I must go to a place that you don’t know.

Where?

Oh, where?

Where?

It wouldn’t be breaking your promise to tell me your secrets.

Me, too, let me go with you.

Or perhaps you are going to the farmhouse or the mill.

If you are going either place, you are doing wrong.

I’m not going to either one.

What, neither one?

Neither one.

You’ve sworn to be my love.

You’ve sworn it more to me. Then where are you going? Tell me, where?

We’ll finish this song soon by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen are having a serious talk, and we should leave them alone. Come, bring your pack and follow me. Girls, I’ll buy things for you both. Peddler, give me first choice. Follow me, girls.

And you will pay a great deal for them!

Will you buy any ribbon,

Or lace for your cape,

My dainty little dear,

Any silk, any thread

Any ornaments for your head,

The newest and finest to wear?

Come to the peddler

Money is a meddler

When it offers all a man’s items for sale.

Master, three cart drivers, three shepherds, three cowherds, and three swineherds have arrived, dressed up in animal skins. They call themselves jumpers, and they have a dance that the wenches say is filled with many leaps and hops. If it isn’t too energetic for those more used to sedate sports like bowling, it will be greatly pleasing.

Send them away! We’ll have none of it. There has been too much vulgar foolishness already. I know, sir, that we are tiring you.

You’ll tire those that entertain us. Please, let’s see these four trios of herdsmen.

One trio tells me that they have danced before the king. And even the worst of the three jumps twelve and half feet exactly.

Stop your chattering. Since these good men would be pleased to see them, let them in, and quickly.

Why, they’re right at the door, sir.

Oh, father, you’ll know more about that soon.

Hasn’t it gone too far? It’s time to separate them. He’s naïve and tells them too much.

Come now, handsome shepherd! There is something in your heart that is keeping your mind from enjoying the feast. When I was young and enjoyed love the way you do, I tended to give my girl lots of gifts. I would have ransacked the peddler’s silks and treasures and given her them for her approval. You’ve let him go without buying a thing. If your lass interprets this as a lack of love or a lack of money, you’ll have a hard time explaining it, at least if you want her to stay with you.

Old sir, I know she doesn’t care for such trifles as these. The gifts she wants from me are from my heart, and they are hers already, though I haven’t delivered them yet. (to Perdita) Oh, listen to me telling my private thoughts to this old man, who it seems has been in love on occasion! I take your hand, as soft and as white as a dove’s downy feather, or the snow that is blown about by the wind.

What does this mean? How delicately the young man seems to wash the hand that was already beautiful. I’ve interrupted. But back to your declaration. Let me hear more about your love.

Do, and witness how I feel.

And my companion, too?

Him, and others, and all men, the earth, the heavens and everything. If I were the most powerful and worthy king, or the most handsome youth to ever draw people’s eyes, or if I had greater strength and knowledge than any other man, they would mean nothing to me without her love. I would dedicate them to her service or sentence them to damnation.

Well said.

This shows his strong affection for her.

But, my daughter, would you say the same to him?

I can’t speak as well, not nearly as well. But I couldn’t say anything more. My own thoughts are echoed in his pure words.

Shake hands. It’s a deal! And, friendly strangers, you’ll be a witness to this. I give my daughter to him in marriage and will make her dowry equal to his fortune.

Then her dowry must be her virtue, since once my father is dead I will inherit more than you can dream of. It will be enough for you to wonder at it. But, come, bind us together before these witnesses.

Give me your hand, and daughter, give me yours.

Gentle young shepherd, wait, please. Do you have a father?

I do, but what about him?

Does he know about this?

He doesn’t, and he won’t.

I think a father is the best guest at his son’s wedding. Please, once more, has your father become incapable of doing normal tasks? Is he senile from age and illness? Can he speak and hear? Does he know one man from another? Can he handle his own estate? Is he confined to his bed and unable to do the things he did when he was younger?

No, good sir, he is healthy, and indeed he is even stronger than most people of his age.

By my white beard, if this is so then you are wronging him in a way unsuitable for a son. It’s reasonable that a son should choose a wife, but it’s just as reasonable that his father should be able to have some say in the matter, since all his joy is in his family.

I agree with all you’re saying. But there are other reasons, my serious sir, which it’s best you don’t know regarding why I don’t tell my father of this.

Let him know about it.

He won’t know about it.

Please, let him.

No, he must not.

Let him know, my son. He won’t grieve when he hears your choice.

Come, come, he must not know. Sign our contract.

Sign your divorce, young sir!

I don’t dare call you son. You are too lowly for me to acknowledge. You are the heir of a king, and you want to be a shepherd! (to the Shepherd) You old traitor, I’m sorry that hanging you will only shorten your life by a week! (to Perdita) And you, you skilled little witch, you must know you are dealing with a royal fool—

Oh, my heart!

I’ll have your beautiful face scratched with thorns and made worse than your social rank. (to Florizel) As for you, foolish boy, if I ever find out that you’ve so much as sighed about not seeing this whore again—as I mean you won’t—I’ll bar you from inheriting the throne. I won’t consider you related to me at all. Listen to me: follow me to the court, you delinquent, because this time I’ll let you off easy, even though I am full of rage. (to Perdita) And you, witch, you’re only good enough for a herdsman, and would be for Florizel, too, who lowers himself to the position of shepherd, if not for the royal blood in his veins. If you ever come near him or put your arms around him again, I’ll devise a death for you that is as cruel as you are vulnerable to it.

We’re ruined even here! I was not very afraid. Once or twice I was about to speak and tell him bluntly that the same sun that illuminates his court doesn’t hide its face from our cottage but looks down here all the same. Will you please leave, sir? I told you what would come of this. Please, take care of yourself. Now that I’m awake, I won’t act the queen anymore but will milk my ewes and weep.

Why, what about you, father? Speak before you die.

I can’t speak, or think, or dare to know what I know. Oh. sir! You have ruined a man of sixty-three. I thought I would go to my grave in peace, to die in the bed my father died in, and be buried close to his honest bones. But now a hangman will put a burial shroud on me and put me in an unconsecrated grave. (to Perdita) Oh, cursed girl, you knew this was the prince and dared to exchange vows with him! Undone! If I can die within the hour, I will have died when I wish.

(to Perdita) Why do you look at me like that? I am only sorry, not afraid. Our plans are delayed, but not altered. I was in love, and I still am. Now I’m all the more determined to move forward for having been held back. I won’t be pulled against my will.

My gracious lord, you know your father’s temper. Just now he won’t let you speak, which I guess you don’t plan to do anyway, and I fear he can hardly stand to look at you yet. So, until his anger settles, don’t approach him.

I won’t try it. Is it you, Camillo?

It is I, my lord.

How often have I told you it would be this way! How often have I said that my dignity would only last as long we weren’t discovered!

Your dignity will only be hurt if I break my promise to you, and if I do, may nature crush the Earth and any sources of life within it! Lift up your eyes. Let my father disown me as his heir. I am heir to my love.

Be careful.

I am, by my heart. If my reason will obey love, I’ll welcome reason. If not, I will be happier with madness and will welcome it gladly.

This is a desperate act, sir.

You may call it that, but it does make good on what I just said, so I think it is an honest act. Camillo, I won’t break my promise to Perdita for Bohemia, or all the glamour of being its king, or even for all the world the sun shines on, or the caves under the earth, or the depths hidden by the sea. I don’t mean to see my father again. So, please, as you have been his closest friend, speak wise words to him and soothe his anger when he realizes I’m gone. Let me wrestle with fortune for some time. You can tell my father that I’ve gone to sea with the woman I’m not allowed to hold on shore. Luckily for us, a vessel is close by, though it was not there for this purpose. It won’t help either of us for me to tell you where we’re going.

Oh, my lord! I wish you had a greater inclination to take advice, or that you were stronger.

Listen, Perdita.

(to Camillo) Camillo, I’ll listen to you in a moment.

He’s made his mind up to flee. I would be happy if I could make this departure serve my own purposes. I can save him from danger and treat him with love and honor, and I can also gain sight of dear Sicilia and that unhappy king who is my master, and whom I long to see again.

Now, good Camillo, I’m so overwhelmed with this strange undertaking that I’ve forgotten my manners.

Sir, I think you have heard of the modest services and the love I have given your father?

The praise is well-deserved. My father delights to speak of your actions, and he hopes that he repays them as much as he praises them.

Well, my lord, if you do believe that I love the king and what he holds most dear, which is you, take my advice: if your determined course might be altered a bit, I swear I’ll show you a place where you’ll be received in a manner fit for your highness. There you’ll be able to enjoy life with your sweetheart, from whom I can see there is no chance of separating you except—heaven forbid!—through your ruin. Marry her, and I’ll strive in your absence to talk down your unhappy father and turn him to approval.

How might this near miracle be accomplished, Camillo? If you can do it, I would say you’re something more than a man and would always trust you.

Have you thought about where you’ll go?

Not any place yet. But since an unforeseen accident caused us to take this course of action, we’ll pledge ourselves to fate and go where the wind blows us.

Then listen to me. If you won’t change your mind and are determined to flee, head to Sicilia, and present yourself and your fair princess before Leontes. She should be dressed in a way suitable for the wife of a prince. I think Leontes will open his arms and will weep as he bids you welcome. He’ll ask your forgiveness as though he were your father, and he’ll kiss your princess’ hands. He’s caught between berating himself for his past unkindness to your father and trying to be more kind now.

Worthy Camillo, what reason should I give him for my visit?

Tell him you are sent by your father to greet him and comfort him. I’ll write you a note containing things known by the three of us telling you what to say. That and the manner with which you greet him will make him believe that you represent your father’s feelings.

I owe you for this. There’s life in this plan.

It’s a much more promising way of doing things than simply throwing yourself on unmarked waters and strange shores, which will certainly lead you to plenty of misery. There would be no hope to help you aside from casting off one shore to find another. Your anchors would be your only certainty, and the best they can do is hold you in a place you’ll be loath to remain. Besides, you know that good fortune keeps love strong, and that affliction will change the freshness of your affection and the feelings of your heart.

One of those is true. Affliction may make us less fresh, but it won’t alter our feelings.

Do you say so? There won’t be anyone like you born at your father’s house for many years.

My good Camillo, she is as superior to her upbringing as she is inferior to our noble rank.

I can’t say it’s a pity she’s uneducated, because she seems more intelligent than those that teach.

Pardon me, sir, I’ll thank you with my blushing.

My pretty Perdita! But, oh, the danger we’re in! Camillo, you’ve rescued my father and now me. You heal our family. What will we do? I’m not dressed like the king’s son, and I certainly won’t look like royalty once we reach Sicilia.

My lord, don’t worry about it. I think you know that my fortune is still in Sicilia. I’ll make sure you are dressed as royally as if I were dressing you for a play I had written. Let me have a word with you, to reassure you that you won’t be left in need.

Ha ha! Honesty is such a fool, and Trust, his brother, is so naïve! I have sold all my goods—not a fake stone, or a ribbon, glass, brooch, book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoelace, bracelet, or ring made of horn remains in my pack. They crowded around me to see who could buy first, as if my trinkets were blessed and brought grace to the buyer. It let me know who had the fullest purse, and what I saw I remembered to put to use later. The yokel, who lacks just one quality to be a reasonable man, loved the girls’ song so much that he wouldn’t leave until he had bought both the tune and the words. And all the others were so entranced that it was as though all their other senses were committed to hearing. You could have stolen a skirt because no one could feel anything. It was easy to strip a purse from a codpiece, and I could have used a file to take keys off a chain. There was no hearing or feeling anything except for that song, and admiration for it. So while they were spellbound I stole most of their purses, which were filled with money for the festival. If the old man hadn’t come in wailing about his daughter and the king’s son and scared my little birds from the feed, I would have taken purses from every one.

No, but my letters will be there as soon as you arrive, and they’ll clear up that question.

And the letter that you’ll get from King Leontes—

Will set your father at ease.

May you be happy! All your plans are good.

Who is this?

We’ll use this man, since we should use anything that will help.

If they’ve overheard me, I’ll be hanged.

How are you, good fellow? Why are you shaking? Don’t worry, man, we don’t intend you any harm.

I am a poor man, sir.

Why, be still. No one here will steal from you. But we need your poor-looking clothes. Undress right now—it’s urgent—and swap clothes with this gentleman. The bargain is bad for him, but wait, (giving him money) there’s something more in it for you.

I am a poor man, sir. (aside) I know you well enough.

No, please, hurry. The gentleman is already half undressed.

Are you serious, sir? (aside) I think it’s a trick.

Hurry, I beg you.

Indeed, I think it is sincere, but I can’t believe it.

Unbuckle, unbuckle.

(to Perdita) Lucky mistress—may you be lucky yet! You must take a disguise. Put on your sweetheart’s hat and pull it down over your eyes, wrap up your face, take off your outer garments, and, as much as you can, change your appearance as much as possible. That way I hope you’ll get to the ship without being discovered, for I fear that people are watching for you.

I understand that what we’re doing means I have to play a role.

There’s no helping it. Are you done there?

If I ran into my father now, he wouldn’t know me as his son.

No, you won’t have a hat.

Come along, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.

Goodbye, sir.

Oh, Perdita, we’ve forgotten something now! Please, let’s have a word.

(aside) Next I’ll tell the king that they’ve escaped and where they are going. Then I hope I can persuade him to follow after them, and in his company I’ll then return to Sicilia, which I’ve longed to see again.

May fortune speed us! So we set forth to sea, Camillo.

The faster the better.

I think I understand this matter and am hearing it right. It’s necessary for a thief to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand. A good nose is needed, too, to find work for the other senses. I see that this is a time when the unfair man thrives. What an exchange this would have been even without payment! What a profit I got through this exchange! Surely the gods are indulging us, and we can do whatever we want on a whim. The prince himself is doing wrong, sneaking away from his father with his girlfriend. If I thought it were an honest deed to tell the king, I wouldn’t do it. I think it is more dishonest to conceal it, so I’ll remain true to my profession and say nothing.

Aha, here is more to do for a sharp mind. Every lane, every shop, church, meeting, or hanging gives a careful man an opportunity.

See, look at the situation you are in now! There’s no way out but to tell the king that she’s a changeling and not your flesh and blood.

Perhaps, but listen to me.

No, listen to me.

Go on, then.

Since she’s not actually related to you, your family hasn’t offended the king, and so he shouldn’t punish your family. Show him what secret things you’ve found with her, everything but what she has on her. Once that’s done, the law will have nothing on you, I guarantee you.

I’ll tell the king everything, yes, every word, and I’ll reveal his son’s pranks, too. I must say, his son isn’t an honest man to either his father or to me, trying to make me the king’s brother-in-law.

Indeed, brother-in-law is the furthest you could be from him, and your blood would have been not at all more valuable.

(aside) Very wise, gullible men!

Well, let’s go to the king. There is something in this bundle that will make him reconsider things.

(aside) I don’t know how this complaint might hinder the flight of Florizel, my master.

Let’s hope that he’s at the palace.

(aside) Even if I’m not naturally honest, sometimes I happen to be. Let me take off my peddler’s beard.

Hello, countrymen! Where are you going?

To the palace, if it pleases your worship.

Tell me what your business is there, and with whom, what’s in that bundle, where you live, your names, ages, what you own and your parents, or anything else that ought to be known.

We’re just ordinary fellows, sir.

That’s a lie. You’re ragged-looking and hairy. Don’t lie to me. It only works for tradesmen, and they often call us soldiers liars and cheat us at the same time. But we pay them for it with coins rather than swords, so they’re not really giving us lies since we’re paying.

You would have given us a lie if you hadn’t stopped yourself in the middle.

Are you from the court, if you please, sir?

I am from the court, whether it please me or not. Don’t you see an air of the court in my clothes? Don’t I walk as though I’m from the court? Don’t you smell the odor of the court on me? Don’t I treat your base rank with the contempt of the court? Do you think that because I subtly draw out your business from you, that I’m not from the court? I am a courtier from head to foot. And I’ll either push along or prevent your business there, so I command you to tell me what it’s about.

My business, sir, is with the king.

Do you have an advocate with him?

I don’t know.

An advocate means a pheasant at the court; say you don’t have one.

None, sir. I don’t have a pheasant, either a male or a female one.

How blessed are we that are smart! Yet nature could have made me just like them, so I won’t treat them with contempt.

He must be a great man at the court.

His garments look expensive, but he doesn’t wear them well.

His oddness makes him seem even more noble. I’ll bet that he’s a great man. I know by the toothpicks he uses.

What about that bundle there? What is in the bundle? And in the box?

Sir, the bundle and the box hold secrets that only the king may know, and which he’ll know within the hour if I can speak to him.

Old man, you have wasted your work.

Why, sir?

The king isn’t at the palace. He’s gone on a new ship to ease his sadness and to refresh himself. If you are able to grasp such serious things, you know that the king is full of grief.

So it is said, sir, because his son meant to marry a shepherd’s daughter.

If the shepherd hasn’t been arrested already, he should flee. He’ll suffer curses so fierce and tortures so terrible that it would break the back of a man and the heart of even a monster.

Do you think so, sir?

He won’t suffer these harsh and bitter punishments alone, either. All those who are related to him, even if they are very distant relatives, will hang, too. It’s a great pity, but it’s necessary. That an old shepherd and rogue would act as a broker and offer to have his daughter marry into the royal family! Some say he’ll be stoned, but that manner of death is too soft for someone who tried to drag the throne into a sheep’s pen! He can’t die too many times, or in too painful a way.

Have you heard if the old man has a son?

He has a son who will be whipped, then covered with honey and put on a wasp’s nest until he is three quarters of the way to death. Then he’ll be revived with liquor or some other hot drink. Then, raw as his flesh is, on the hottest day that can be predicted he’ll be set against a brick wall with the sun beating down upon him, and where he will be swarmed with flies. But why are we talking about these traitors, whose offences are so terrible that their misery should cause us happiness? Tell me, since you seem to be honest, ordinary men, what business do you have with the king? Since I’m well-respected at court, I’ll take you to his ship, bring you into his presence, and whisper to him a recommendation on your behalf. If there is any man beside the king who can help your case, that’s me.

He seems to have a great deal of authority. Approach him and give his some money. No matter how stubborn and untamable authority may be, a little money can make him docile. Let him put his hand into your purse, and no more fuss. Remember: “stoned,” and “flayed alive.”

If it pleases you, sir, to take on this business for us, here is all the gold I have. I’ll pay you an equal amount more, and I’ll leave you this young man as a guarantee until I can bring the rest to you.

After I have done what I have promised?

Yes, sir.

Well then, give me the first half. Are you part of this deal?

In a way, sir. But even if my skin is pitiful, I hope I won’t be whipped out of it.

Oh no, that’s what will happen to the shepherd’s son. He’ll be hanged as an example.

(to the Shepherd) What a comfort! We must go to the king and show him our amazing proof. He must know that Perdita isn’t your daughter or my sister, or we’ll be dead. (to Autolycus) Sir, I will give you as much money as this old man does once the business is concluded, and until then, I’ll stay with you as a guarantee for payment.

I trust you. Walk straight ahead toward the sea. Go along the right hand side of the road. I just need to go to the bathroom and I’ll follow you.

We’re blessed to have this man with us, I say, blessed.

Let’s go before he has to tell us again. He was put here to help us.

Even if I wanted to be honest, I see Fate wouldn’t let me. She drops profits right in my pocket. I have two opportunities here: to get gold and to do something good for my master the prince—and who knows how that will help me in the future. I will bring these two gullible men aboard the ship with him. If he thinks their complaint to the king has nothing to do with him and wants to put them back on shore again, let him call me a rogue for being so interfering. I can’t be hurt by that name, or any shame attached to it. I’ll present them to him. There might be money in it.