general festivity.

Nothing but mirth and jolity 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 ribbands, 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:" meaning the remainder of Perdita's jewels; which, after he had
bought herds of sheep with part of them, he had carefully hoarded up
for her marriage-portion.