Autolycus speaks in two registers simultaneously: warm, confiding directness to the audience (his real voice) and theatrical performance for whoever he's conning. He's never more honest than when describing his own dishonesty. Watch for how he uses the third person — 'Some call him Autolycus' — to describe himself with a kind of delighted detachment, as if his own roguery is a comedy he's watching. His energy is spring energy: the play has thawed.
_When daffodils begin to peer,
With, hey! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o’ the year,
For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._
_The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._
_The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,
With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay._
I have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now
I am out of service.
_But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
The pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right._
_If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget,
Then my account I well may give
And in the stocks avouch it._
My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My
father named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury,
was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I
purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows
and knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are
terrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A
prize! a prize!
_When daffodils begin to peer, With, hey! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o’ the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._ _The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! does set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._ _The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay._ I have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now I am out of service. _But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right._ _If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give And in the stocks avouch it._ My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize!
_When daffodils begin to peer, With, hey! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o’ the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._ _The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! does set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._ _The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay._ I have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now I'm out of service. _But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right._ _If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give And in the stocks avouch it._ My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize!
_when daffodils begin to peer hey! the doxy over the dale
Let me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd
shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?
Let me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?
Let me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?
let me see every ’leven wether tods every tod yields pound and odd shilling fifteen hundred shorn
I cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our
sheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants,
rice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath
made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me
four-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and
very good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one
puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have
saffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of
my note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg;
“four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.”
I cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father has made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She has made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of my note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg; “four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.”
I can't do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father has made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She has made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of my note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg; “four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.”
i cannot do’t without counters let me see what am i to buy for our sheep-shearing five pound of currants
I’ th’ name of me!
I’ th’ name of me!
I’ th’ name of me!
i’ th’ name of me!
O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!
O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!
O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!
help me help me! pluck but off these rags and then
Autolycus is one of the most beloved characters in Shakespeare partly because he comes trailing no tragic consequence. In a play that has just put us through infanticide, a collapsed trial, a death-by-bear, and sixteen years of grief, he walks onstage singing about spring and stealing sheets off hedges — and the play immediately brightens. This is by design. The second half of The Winter's Tale operates in a different emotional key from the first, and Autolycus is the key-change made flesh. He is also remarkably honest: he describes his own crimes directly, names himself at the end of his autobiography, and doesn't pretend to be other than what he is. The paradox is that the most dishonest character in the play is the most transparent with the audience. We are his accomplices — and we consent to it gladly. His name comes from Greek myth: Autolykos was the grandfather of Odysseus, a famous thief who could make stolen goods unrecognizable. Shakespeare's version inherits the mythological genealogy but drops the gravity; his Autolycus is Mercury's child in the most lighthearted sense.
Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather
than have these off.
Alack, poor soul! you have need of more rags to lay on you, rather than have these off.
Alack, poor soul! you have need of more rags to lay on you, rather than have these off.
poor soul! you have need of more rags rather than have these off
O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I
have received, which are mighty ones and millions.
O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.
O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.
the loathsomeness of them offends me more than which are mighty ones and millions
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.
poor man! a million of beating may come
I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and
these detestable things put upon me.
I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and these detestable things put upon me.
I'm robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and these detestable things put upon me.
i am robbed and beaten my money and apparel ta’en from me
What, by a horseman or a footman?
What, by a horseman or a footman?
What, by a horseman or a footman?
by a horseman or a footman?
A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
a footman sweet sir a footman
Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee:
if this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me
thy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.
Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with you: if this be a horseman’s coat, it has seen very hot service. Lend me your hand, I’ll help you: come, lend me your hand.
Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with you: if this be a horseman’s coat, it has seen very hot service. Lend me your hand, I’ll help you: come, lend me your hand.
indeed he should be a footman by the garments if this be a horseman’s coat it has seen very hot service
O, good sir, tenderly, O!
O, good sir, tenderly, O!
O, good sir, tenderly, O!
good sir tenderly
The theft in 4-3 is a rare case where Shakespeare's stage direction is embedded in the speech text: Autolycus says 'Softly, dear sir! [Picks his pocket.] good sir, softly.' This was a deliberate choice to make the stage business unmissable — the direction appears mid-line so that actors couldn't miss it. The theatrical mechanics are a lesson in misdirection: Autolycus screams about being in pain (drawing the Clown's attention upward, to his face), complains about the rags (drawing attention to his torso), and then groans about the shoulder (drawing attention right), all while his hands are doing something else entirely. Every complaint is a new distraction. Contemporary audiences at the Globe may well have recognized these techniques — public pickpocketing was a well-known hazard at exactly the kinds of gatherings Autolycus mentions: wakes, fairs, bear-baitings. The scene works because it is accurate.
Alas, poor soul!
Alas, poor soul!
Alas, poor soul!
poor soul!
O, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.
O, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.
O, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.
good sir softly good sir
How now! canst stand?
How now! canst stand?
How now! canst stand?
how now! canst stand?
Softly, dear sir! [_Picks his pocket._] good sir, softly. You ha’ done
me a charitable office.
Softly, dear sir! good sir, softly. You ha’ done me a charitable office.
Softly, dear sir! good sir, softly. You ha’ done me a charitable office.
softly dear sir! good sir softly you ha’ done me a charitable office
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for you.
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for you.
dost lack any money? i have a little money for you
No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past
three-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there
have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that
kills my heart.
No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past three-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart.
No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past three-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart.
good sweet sir i beseech you
What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?
What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?
What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?
what manner of fellow was he that robbed you?
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I
knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for
which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the
court.
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I knew him once a servant of the prince; I can't tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.
a fellow that i have known to go about with troll-my-dames i knew him once a servant of the prince
His vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court.
They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but
abide.
His vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.
His vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.
his vices you would say there’s no virtue whipped out of the court they cherish it to make it stay there
The Clown's shopping arithmetic might seem like mere padding between Autolycus's entrance and the pickpocketing, but it does something essential: it grounds us in domestic agricultural reality. We hear about the shearers, the food, the festival. We hear that Perdita is running the feast. We hear that there's a Puritan singer who can't help himself dancing. This is Bohemia in summer, and the Clown's obsessive list-making is its texture. He is also a consistent comic type throughout the play — earnest, literal, easily gulled, good-natured. He takes Autolycus's invented robbery at face value, does arithmetic out loud, worries about nutmegs, and gets robbed while helping a stranger. His goodness makes him the perfect victim; his bumbling makes him impossible to resent. Watch for how he develops through the play — by 5-2, he and his father will have been made gentlemen by Leontes, and his attempts to perform the role of gentleman are among the funniest moments in the play.
Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an
ape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a
motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile
where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish
professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.
Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He has been since an ape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.
Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He has been since an ape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.
i would say i know this man well
Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and
bear-baitings.
Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.
Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.
out upon him! prig for my life he haunts wakes
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this
apparel.
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this apparel.
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this apparel.
very true
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and
spit at him, he’d have run.
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and spit at him, he’d have run.
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and spit at him, he’d have run.
not a more cowardly rogue in all bohemia if you had but looked big and spit at him he’d have run
I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that
way; and that he knew, I warrant him.
I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him.
I must confess to you, sir, I'm no fighter. I'm false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him.
i must confess to you i am no fighter i am false of heart that way
How do you now?
How do you now?
How do you now?
how do you now?
Sweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even
take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s.
Sweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s.
Sweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s.
sweet sir much better than i was i can stand and walk i will even take my leave of you
Shall I bring thee on the way?
Shall I bring you on the way?
Shall I bring you on the way?
shall i bring you on the way?
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
good-faced sir sweet sir
When Autolycus describes himself to the Clown in 4-3-026 through 4-3-028, he uses the third person throughout — 'I knew him once a servant of the prince,' 'Some call him Autolycus' — as if narrating a stranger's life. This theatrical device does at least three things simultaneously. First, it lets the audience in on the joke while excluding the Clown — dramatic irony as pure comedy. Second, it lets Autolycus perform a kind of autobiography that is too honest to deliver in the first person: he can brag about his criminal career by pretending to condemn it. Third, it echoes the earlier moment in 4-3-002 when he names himself directly ('My father named me Autolycus') — we already know who he is, so when the name arrives at the end of the third-person description, the recognition is a pleasure rather than a revelation. Shakespeare uses this technique sparingly; its closest relative in the canon is Iago's 'I am not what I am,' but where Iago uses disguise to deceive everyone, Autolycus uses it to delight everyone.
Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.
Then fare you well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.
Then fare you well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.
then fare you well i must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing
Prosper you, sweet sir!
Prosper you, sweet sir!
Prosper you, sweet sir!
prosper you sweet sir!
The Reckoning
After the formal machinery of the Time Chorus, Shakespeare detonates a character who is pure theatrical pleasure: Autolycus, pickpocket, ballad-monger, former royal servant, self-confessed rogue, and the play's engine of comic energy for the next two acts. He enters singing a spring song — which is itself a kind of seasonal announcement — and within two minutes has charmed the audience with his absolute candor about who he is, robbed the Clown blind while helping him to his feet, and set off in pursuit of more victims. There is no villain in him, exactly; just a man who has chosen freedom over respectability and finds the choice bracing. The Clown's oblivious arithmetic — sheep mathematics for the feast — is the perfect foil: earnest, specific, easily gulled.
If this happened today…
A charming con artist in a denim jacket walks onto screen singing to himself. He spots a tourist doing the math on a currency converter app to figure out how much to spend at the market. Within sixty seconds, he's on the ground groaning about being mugged, the tourist is helping him up, and the con artist has the tourist's wallet in his other hand — all while describing the mugger as 'some guy named me' in the third person. He walks off singing the same song, following the tourist toward the festival he just learned about.