Autolycus

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 an edge,
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
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Servant
O, master, if you did but hear the peddler at
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor
and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He
sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money. He
utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men’s
ears grew to his tunes.
Shepherd’s Son
He could never come better.
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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.
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Autolycus
Though I am not naturally honest,
I am so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my
peddler’s excrement.

He removes his false beard.

How now, rustics, whither are you bound?
Shepherd
To th’ palace, an it like your Worship.
Autolycus
Your affairs there? What,
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