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, And 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 With 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, sworn, I think, To 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! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath