Shepherd

Shepherd
I would there were no age between ten and
three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the
rest, for there is nothing in the between but getting
wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing,
fighting—Hark you now. Would any but these
boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt
this weather? They have scared away two of my best
sheep,
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Polixenes, removing his disguise
Mark your divorce, young sir,
Whom son I dare not call. Thou art too base
To be acknowledged. Thou a scepter’s heir
That thus affects a sheep-hook!—Thou, old traitor,
I am sorry that by hanging thee I can
But shorten thy life one week.—And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft,
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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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