s court.

Polixenes, the King of Bohemia, had an only son, whose name was
Florizel. As this young prince was hunting near the shepherd's dwelling,
he saw the old man's supposed daughter; and the beauty, modesty, and
queen-like deportment of Perdita caused him instantly to fall in love
with her. He soon, under the name of Doricles, and in the disguise of a
private gentleman, became a constant visitor at the old shepherd's
house. Florizel's frequent absences from court alarmed Polixenes; and
setting people to watch his son, he discovered his love for the
shepherd's fair daughter.

Polixenes then called for Camillo, the faithful Camillo, who had
preserved his life from the fury of Leontes, and desired that he would
accompany him to the house of the shepherd, the supposed father of
Perdita.

Polixenes and Camillo, both in disguise, arrived at the old shepherd's
dwelling while they were celebrating the feast of sheep-shearing; and
though they were strangers, yet at the sheep-shearing every guest being
made welcome, they were invited to walk in, and join in the general
festivity.

Nothing but mirth and jollity was going forward. Tables were spread, and
great preparations were making for the rustic feast. Some lads and
lasses were dancing on the green before the house, while others of the
young men were buying ribands, gloves, and such toys, of a pedlar at the
door.

While this busy scene was going forward, Florizel and Perdita sat
quietly in a retired corner, seemingly more pleased with the
conversation of each other, than desirous of engaging in the sports and
silly amusements of those around them.

The king was so disguised that it was impossible his son could know him:
he therefore advanced near enough to hear the conversation. The simple
yet elegant manner in which Perdita conversed with his son did not a
little surprise Polixenes: he said to Camillo, "This is the prettiest
low-born lass I ever saw; nothing she does or says but looks like
something greater than herself, too noble for this place."

Camillo replied, "Indeed she is the very queen of curds and cream."

"Pray, my good friend," said the king to the old shepherd, "what fair
swain is that talking with your daughter?" "They call him Doricles,"
replied the shepherd. "He says he loves my daughter; and, to speak
truth, there is not a kiss to choose which loves the other best. If
young Doricles can get her, she shall bring him that he little dreams
of;" mea