. The comedies of William Shakespeare . summer, and I think they are givenTo men of middle age. You are very welcome. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,And only live by gazing. Per. Out, alas ! Youd be so lean that blasts of JanuaryWould blow you through and through.—Now, my fair-est friend,I would I had some flowers o the spring, that mightBecome your time of day ; and yours ; and yours ;That wear upon your virgin branches yetYuur maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou letst fallI^rom Diss wagon ! come before the swallow dare
. The comedies of William Shakespeare . summer, and I think they are givenTo men of middle age. You are very welcome. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,And only live by gazing. Per. Out, alas ! Youd be so lean that blasts of JanuaryWould blow you through and through.—Now, my fair-est friend,I would I had some flowers o the spring, that mightBecome your time of day ; and yours ; and yours ;That wear upon your virgin branches yetYuur maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou letst fallI^rom Diss wagon ! come before the swallow dares, and takeThe winds of March with beauty; violets, dimBut sweeter than the lids of Junos Cythereas breath ; pale primroses,That die unmarried, ere they can beholdBright Phoebus in his strength, a maladyMost incident to maids ; bold oxlips, andThe crown-imperial; lilies of all flower-de-luce being one! Oh, these I make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,To strew him oer and oer. ^^^io. What .Mike a THE WINTERS TALE 217 Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;Not like a corse; or if—not to be buried,But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your I play as I have seen them doIn Whitsun pastorals: sure, this robe of mineDoes change my disposition. Flo. What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,Id have you do it ever; when you sing,Id have you buy and sell so; so give alms;Pray so; and for the ordring your sing them too. When you do dance, I wish youA wave o the sea, that you might ever doNothing but that; move still, still so, and ownNo other function. Each your singular in each particular,Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,That all your acts are queens. Per. O Doricles, Your praises are too large; but that your the true blood which peeps fairly through it,Do plainly give you out an unstaind wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,You wood me the f
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