Shepherd. 
They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding; but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it: 
He looks like sooth.  He says he loves my daughter: 
I think so too; for never gaz’d the moon
Upon the water as he’ll stand, and read,
As ’twere, my daughter’s eyes:  and, to be plain,
I think there is not half a kiss to choose
Who loves another best.

Polixenes. 
                        She dances featly.

Shepherd. 
So she does anything; though I report it,
That should be silent; if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.

[Enter a servant.]

Servant.  O master, if you did but hear the pedlar 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.

Clown.  He could never come better:  he shall come in.  I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.

Servant.  He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves:  he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of ‘dildos’ and ‘fadings’, ’jump her and thump her’; and where some stretch-mouth’d rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer ’Whoop, do me no harm, good man’,—­puts him off, slights him, with ‘Whoop, do me no harm, good man.’

Polixenes. 
This is a brave fellow.

Clown. 
Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. 
Has he any unbraided wares?

Servant.  He hath ribbons of all the colours i’ the rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why he sings ’em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on’t.

Clown. 
Pr’ythee bring him in; and let him approach singing.

Perdita. 
Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes.

[Exit servant.]

Clown. 
You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you’d
think, sister.

Perdita. 
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

[Enter autolycus, singing.]