• The Shepherd’s cottage.
    Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA

    FLORIZEL

    These your unusual weeds to each part of you
    Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora
    Peering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing
    Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
    5And you the queen on’t.

    PERDITA

    Sir, my gracious lord,
    To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:
    O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self,
    The gracious mark o’ the land, you have obscured
    10With a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,
    Most goddess-like prank’d up: but that our feasts
    In every mess have folly and the feeders
    Digest it with a custom, I should blush
    To see you so attired, swoon, I think,
    15To show myself a glass.

    FLORIZEL

    I bless the time
    When my good falcon made her flight across
    Thy father’s ground.

    PERDITA

    Now Jove afford you cause!
    20To me the difference forges dread; your greatness
    Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble
    To think your father, by some accident,
    Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!
    How would he look, to see his work so noble
    25Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
    Should I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, behold
    The sternness of his presence?
  • The Shepherd’s cottage.
    FLORIZEL and PERDITA enter.

    FLORIZEL

    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.

    PERDITA

    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.

    FLORIZEL

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

    PERDITA

    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?