I have; but what of him?

POLIXENES.
Knows he of this?

FLORIZEL.
He neither does nor shall.

POLIXENES.
Methinks a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more;
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing
But what he did being childish?

FLORIZEL.
No, good sir;
He has his health, and ampler strength indeed
Than most have of his age.

POLIXENES.
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: reason my son
Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason
The father,--all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity,--should hold some counsel
In such a business.

FLORIZEL.
I yield all this;
But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.

POLIXENES.
Let him know't.

FLORIZEL.
He shall not.

POLIXENES.
Pr'ythee let him.

FLORIZEL.
No, he must not.

SHEPHERD.
Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.

FLORIZEL.
Come, come, he must not.--
Mark our contract.

POLIXENES.
[Discovering himself.] Mark your divorce, young sir,
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre'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, who of force must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with,--

SHEPHERD.
O, my heart!

POLIXENES.
I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,--
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
That thou no more shalt see this knack,--as never
I mean thou shalt,--we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Far than Deucalion off:--mark thou my words:
Follow us to the court.--Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it.--And you, enchantment,--
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too
That makes him