The Two Noble Kinsmen
by William Shakespeare
Edited by Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine
  with Michael Poston and Rebecca Niles
Folger Shakespeare Library
https://shakespeare.folger.edu/shakespeares-works/the-two-noble-kinsmen/
Created on Jul 31, 2015, from FDT version 0.9.2

Characters in the Play
======================
PROLOGUE
The two noble kinsmen, cousins, nephews of Creon, King of Thebes:
  ARCITE
  PALAMON
THESEUS, Duke of Athens
HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, later Duchess of Athens
EMILIA, her sister
PIRITHOUS, friend to Theseus
Three QUEENS, widows of the kings killed in laying siege to Thebes
The JAILER of Theseus's prison
The Jailer's DAUGHTER
The Jailer's BROTHER
The WOOER of the Jailer's daughter
Two FRIENDS of the Jailer
A DOCTOR
ARTESIUS, an Athenian soldier
VALERIUS, a Theban
WOMAN, attending on Emilia
An Athenian GENTLEMAN
Six KNIGHTS, three accompanying Arcite, three Palamon
Six COUNTRYMEN, one dressed as a BAVIAN or baboon
A SCHOOLMASTER
NELL, a countrywoman
A TABORER
A singing BOY, a HERALD, MESSENGERS, a SERVANT
EPILOGUE
Hymen (god of weddings), lords, soldiers, four countrywomen (Fritz, Maudlin, Luce, and Barbary), nymphs, attendants, maids, executioner, guard


[Flourish. Enter Prologue.]


PROLOGUE
New plays and maidenheads are near akin:
Much followed both, for both much money giv'n,
If they stand sound and well. And a good play,
Whose modest scenes blush on his marriage day
And shake to lose his honor, is like her
That after holy tie and first night's stir
Yet still is modesty, and still retains
More of the maid, to sight, than husband's pains.
We pray our play may be so, for I am sure
It has a noble breeder and a pure,
A learned, and a poet never went
More famous yet 'twixt Po and silver Trent.
Chaucer, of all admired, the story gives;
There, constant to eternity, it lives.
If we let fall the nobleness of this,
And the first sound this child hear be a hiss,
How will it shake the bones of that good man
And make him cry from underground "O, fan
From me the witless chaff of such a writer
That blasts my bays and my famed works makes
lighter
Than Robin Hood!" This is the fear we bring;
For, to say truth, it were an endless thing
And too ambitious, to aspire to him,
Weak as we are, and, almost breathless, swim
In this deep water. Do but you hold out
Your helping hands, and we shall tack about
And something do to save us. You shall hear
Scenes, though below his art, may yet appear
Worth two hours' travel. To his bones sweet sleep;
Content to you. If this play do not keep
A little dull time from us, we perceive
Our losses fall so thick we must needs leave.
[Flourish. He exits.]



ACT 1
=====

Scene 1
=======
[Music. Enter Hymen with a torch burning, a Boy in
a white robe before, singing and strewing flowers.
After Hymen, a Nymph encompassed in her tresses,
bearing a wheaten garland; then Theseus between
two other Nymphs with wheaten chaplets on their
heads. Then Hippolyta, the bride, led by Pirithous,
and another holding a garland over her head, her
tresses likewise hanging. After her, Emilia, holding
up her train. Then Artesius and Attendants.]

The Song, sung by the Boy.

	Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
	Not royal in their smells alone,
	   But in their hue;
	Maiden pinks, of odor faint,
	Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
	   And sweet thyme true;
	Primrose, firstborn child of Ver,
	Merry springtime's harbinger,
	   With her bells dim;
	Oxlips in their cradles growing,
	Marigolds on deathbeds blowing,
	   Lark's-heels trim;
	All dear Nature's children sweet
	Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
[Strew flowers.]
	   Blessing their sense.
	Not an angel of the air,
	Bird melodious or bird fair,
	   Is absent hence.
	The crow, the sland'rous cuckoo, nor
	The boding raven, nor chough hoar,
	   Nor chatt'ring pie,
	May on our bridehouse perch or sing,
	Or with them any discord bring,
	   But from it fly.

[Enter three Queens in black, with veils stained, with
imperial crowns. The first Queen falls down at the foot
of Theseus; the second falls down at the foot of
Hippolyta; the third before Emilia.]


FIRST QUEEN, [to Theseus]
For pity's sake and true gentility's,
Hear and respect me.

SECOND QUEEN, [to Hippolyta]  For your mother's sake,
And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair
ones,
Hear and respect me.

THIRD QUEEN, [to Emilia]
Now for the love of him whom Jove hath marked
The honor of your bed, and for the sake
Of clear virginity, be advocate
For us and our distresses. This good deed
Shall raze you out o' th' book of trespasses
All you are set down there.

THESEUS, [to First Queen]
Sad lady, rise.

HIPPOLYTA, [to Second Queen]  Stand up.

EMILIA, [to Third Queen]  No knees to me.
What woman I may stead that is distressed
Does bind me to her.

THESEUS, [to First Queen]
What's your request? Deliver you for all.

FIRST QUEEN
We are three queens whose sovereigns fell before
The wrath of cruel Creon; who endured
The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites,
And pecks of crows in the foul fields of Thebes.
He will not suffer us to burn their bones,
To urn their ashes, nor to take th' offense
Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye
Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds
With stench of our slain lords. O, pity, duke!
Thou purger of the Earth, draw thy feared sword
That does good turns to th' world; give us the bones
Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them;
And of thy boundless goodness take some note
That for our crowned heads we have no roof
Save this, which is the lion's and the bear's,
And vault to everything.

THESEUS  Pray you, kneel not.
I was transported with your speech and suffered
Your knees to wrong themselves. I have heard the
fortunes
Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting
As wakes my vengeance and revenge for 'em.
King Capaneus was your lord. The day
That he should marry you, at such a season
As now it is with me, I met your groom
By Mars's altar. You were that time fair--
Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses,
Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten
wreath
Was then nor threshed nor blasted. Fortune at you
Dimpled her cheek with smiles. Hercules, our
kinsman,
Then weaker than your eyes, laid by his club;
He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide
And swore his sinews thawed. O grief and time,
Fearful consumers, you will all devour!

FIRST QUEEN  O, I hope some god,
Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood,
Whereto he'll infuse power, and press you forth
Our undertaker.

THESEUS  O, no knees, none, widow!
Unto the helmeted Bellona use them
And pray for me, your soldier.	[The First Queen rises.]
Troubled I am.	[Turns away.]

SECOND QUEEN  Honored Hippolyta,
Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain
The scythe-tusked boar; that with thy arm, as strong
As it is white, wast near to make the male
To thy sex captive, but that this thy lord,
Born to uphold creation in that honor
First nature styled it in, shrunk thee into
The bound thou wast o'erflowing, at once subduing
Thy force and thy affection; soldieress
That equally canst poise sternness with pity,
Whom now I know hast much more power on him
Than ever he had on thee, who ow'st his strength
And his love too, who is a servant for
The tenor of thy speech, dear glass of ladies,
Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch,
Under the shadow of his sword may cool us;
Require him he advance it o'er our heads;
Speak 't in a woman's key, like such a woman
As any of us three; weep ere you fail.
Lend us a knee;
But touch the ground for us no longer time
Than a dove's motion when the head's plucked off.
Tell him if he i' th' blood-sized field lay swoll'n,
Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon,
What you would do.

HIPPOLYTA  Poor lady, say no more.
I had as lief trace this good action with you
As that whereto I am going, and never yet
Went I so willing way. My lord is taken
Heart-deep with your distress; let him consider.
I'll speak anon.	[Second Queen rises.]

THIRD QUEEN  O, my petition was
Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied
Melts into drops; so sorrow, wanting form,
Is pressed with deeper matter.

EMILIA  Pray stand up.
Your grief is written in your cheek.

THIRD QUEEN  O, woe!
You cannot read it there.	[She rises.]
There through my tears,
Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream,
You may behold 'em. Lady, lady, alack!
He that will all the treasure know o' th' Earth
Must know the center too; he that will fish
For my least minnow, let him lead his line
To catch one at my heart. O, pardon me!
Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits,
Makes me a fool.

EMILIA  Pray you say nothing, pray you.
Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in 't,
Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were
The groundpiece of some painter, I would buy you
T' instruct me 'gainst a capital grief--indeed,
Such heart-pierced demonstration. But, alas,
Being a natural sister of our sex,
Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me
That it shall make a counter-reflect 'gainst
My brother's heart and warm it to some pity,
Though it were made of stone. Pray have good
comfort.

THESEUS, [coming forward]
Forward to th' temple. Leave not out a jot
O' th' sacred ceremony.

FIRST QUEEN  O, this celebration
Will longer last and be more costly than
Your suppliants' war. Remember that your fame
Knolls in the ear o' th' world; what you do quickly
Is not done rashly; your first thought is more
Than others' labored meditance, your premeditating
More than their actions. But, O Jove, your actions,
Soon as they move, as ospreys do the fish,
Subdue before they touch. Think, dear duke, think
What beds our slain kings have!

SECOND QUEEN  What griefs our beds,
That our dear lords have none!

THIRD QUEEN  None fit for th' dead.
Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance,
Weary of this world's light, have to themselves
Been death's most horrid agents, human grace
Affords them dust and shadow.

FIRST QUEEN  But our lords
Lie blist'ring 'fore the visitating sun,
And were good kings when living.

THESEUS
It is true, and I will give you comfort
To give your dead lords graves;
The which to do must make some work with Creon.

FIRST QUEEN
And that work presents itself to th' doing.
Now 'twill take form; the heats are gone tomorrow.
Then, bootless toil must recompense itself
With its own sweat. Now he's secure,
Not dreams we stand before your puissance,
Rinsing our holy begging in our eyes
To make petition clear.

SECOND QUEEN  Now you may take him,
Drunk with his victory.

THIRD QUEEN  And his army full
Of bread and sloth.

THESEUS  Artesius, that best knowest
How to draw out, fit to this enterprise,
The prim'st for this proceeding, and the number
To carry such a business: forth and levy
Our worthiest instruments, whilst we dispatch
This grand act of our life, this daring deed
Of fate in wedlock.

FIRST QUEEN, [to Second and Third Queens]
Dowagers, take hands.
Let us be widows to our woes. Delay
Commends us to a famishing hope.

ALL THE QUEENS  Farewell.

SECOND QUEEN
We come unseasonably; but when could grief
Cull forth, as unpanged judgment can, fitt'st time
For best solicitation?

THESEUS  Why, good ladies,
This is a service whereto I am going
Greater than any was; it more imports me
Than all the actions that I have foregone,
Or futurely can cope.

FIRST QUEEN  The more proclaiming
Our suit shall be neglected when her arms,
Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall
By warranting moonlight corselet thee. O, when
Her twinning cherries shall their sweetness fall
Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think
Of rotten kings or blubbered queens? What care
For what thou feel'st not, what thou feel'st being
able
To make Mars spurn his drum? O, if thou couch
But one night with her, every hour in 't will
Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and
Thou shalt remember nothing more than what
That banquet bids thee to.

HIPPOLYTA, [to Theseus]  Though much unlike
You should be so transported, as much sorry
I should be such a suitor, yet I think
Did I not, by th' abstaining of my joy--
Which breeds a deeper longing--cure their surfeit
That craves a present med'cine, I should pluck
All ladies' scandal on me.	[She kneels.]
Therefore, sir,
As I shall here make trial of my prayers,
Either presuming them to have some force,
Or sentencing for aye their vigor dumb,
Prorogue this business we are going about, and
hang
Your shield afore your heart--about that neck
Which is my fee, and which I freely lend
To do these poor queens service.

ALL QUEENS, [to Emilia]  O, help now!
Our cause cries for your knee.

EMILIA, [to Theseus, kneeling]  If you grant not
My sister her petition in that force,
With that celerity and nature which
She makes it in, from henceforth I'll not dare
To ask you anything, nor be so hardy
Ever to take a husband.

THESEUS  Pray stand up.
[Hippolyta and Emilia rise.]
I am entreating of myself to do
That which you kneel to have me.--Pirithous,
Lead on the bride; get you and pray the gods
For success and return; omit not anything
In the pretended celebration.--Queens,
Follow your soldier. [To Artesius.] As before, hence
you,
And at the banks of Aulis meet us with
The forces you can raise, where we shall find
The moiety of a number for a business
More bigger looked.	[Artesius exits.]
[To Hippolyta.] Since that our theme is haste,
I stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip;
Sweet, keep it as my token.--Set you forward,
For I will see you gone.
[The wedding procession begins to exit
towards the temple.]
Farewell, my beauteous sister.--Pirithous,
Keep the feast full; bate not an hour on 't.

PIRITHOUS  Sir,
I'll follow you at heels. The feast's solemnity
Shall want till your return.

THESEUS  Cousin, I charge you,
Budge not from Athens. We shall be returning
Ere you can end this feast, of which I pray you
Make no abatement.--Once more, farewell all.
[All but Theseus and the Queens exit.]

FIRST QUEEN
Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o' th'
world.

SECOND QUEEN
And earn'st a deity equal with Mars.

THIRD QUEEN  If not above him, for
Thou, being but mortal, makest affections bend
To godlike honors; they themselves, some say,
Groan under such a mast'ry.

THESEUS  As we are men,
Thus should we do; being sensually subdued,
We lose our human title. Good cheer, ladies.
Now turn we towards your comforts.
[Flourish. They exit.]

Scene 2
=======
[Enter Palamon and Arcite.]


ARCITE
Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood
And our prime cousin, yet unhardened in
The crimes of nature, let us leave the city
Thebes, and the temptings in 't, before we further
Sully our gloss of youth,
And here to keep in abstinence we shame
As in incontinence; for not to swim
I' th' aid o' th' current were almost to sink,
At least to frustrate striving; and to follow
The common stream, 'twould bring us to an eddy
Where we should turn or drown; if labor through,
Our gain but life and weakness.

PALAMON  Your advice
Is cried up with example. What strange ruins,
Since first we went to school, may we perceive
Walking in Thebes! Scars and bare weeds
The gain o' th' martialist, who did propound
To his bold ends honor and golden ingots,
Which though he won, he had not, and now flirted
By peace for whom he fought. Who then shall offer
To Mars's so-scorned altar? I do bleed
When such I meet, and wish great Juno would
Resume her ancient fit of jealousy
To get the soldier work, that peace might purge
For her repletion, and retain anew
Her charitable heart, now hard and harsher
Than strife or war could be.

ARCITE  Are you not out?
Meet you no ruin but the soldier in
The cranks and turns of Thebes? You did begin
As if you met decays of many kinds.
Perceive you none that do arouse your pity
But th' unconsidered soldier?

PALAMON  Yes, I pity
Decays where'er I find them, but such most
That, sweating in an honorable toil,
Are paid with ice to cool 'em.

ARCITE  'Tis not this
I did begin to speak of. This is virtue
Of no respect in Thebes. I spake of Thebes--
How dangerous, if we will keep our honors,
It is for our residing, where every evil
Hath a good color; where every seeming good's
A certain evil; where not to be e'en jump
As they are here were to be strangers, and,
Such things to be, mere monsters.

PALAMON  'Tis in our power--
Unless we fear that apes can tutor 's--to
Be masters of our manners. What need I
Affect another's gait, which is not catching
Where there is faith? Or to be fond upon
Another's way of speech, when by mine own
I may be reasonably conceived--saved too,
Speaking it truly? Why am I bound
By any generous bond to follow him
Follows his tailor, haply so long until
The followed make pursuit? Or let me know
Why mine own barber is unblessed, with him
My poor chin too, for 'tis not scissored just
To such a favorite's glass? What canon is there
That does command my rapier from my hip
To dangle 't in my hand, or to go tiptoe
Before the street be foul? Either I am
The forehorse in the team, or I am none
That draw i' th' sequent trace. These poor slight
sores
Need not a plantain. That which rips my bosom
Almost to th' heart's--

ARCITE  Our Uncle Creon.

PALAMON  He.
A most unbounded tyrant, whose successes
Makes heaven unfeared and villainy assured
Beyond its power there's nothing; almost puts
Faith in a fever, and deifies alone
Voluble chance; who only attributes
The faculties of other instruments
To his own nerves and act; commands men service,
And what they win in 't, boot and glory; one
That fears not to do harm; good, dares not. Let
The blood of mine that's sib to him be sucked
From me with leeches; let them break and fall
Off me with that corruption.

ARCITE  Clear-spirited cousin,
Let's leave his court, that we may nothing share
Of his loud infamy; for our milk
Will relish of the pasture, and we must
Be vile or disobedient, not his kinsmen
In blood unless in quality.

PALAMON  Nothing truer.
I think the echoes of his shames have deafed
The ears of heav'nly justice. Widows' cries
Descend again into their throats and have not
Due audience of the gods.

[Enter Valerius.]

Valerius.

VALERIUS
The King calls for you; yet be leaden-footed
Till his great rage be off him. Phoebus, when
He broke his whipstock and exclaimed against
The horses of the sun, but whispered to
The loudness of his fury.

PALAMON  Small winds shake him.
But what's the matter?

VALERIUS
Theseus, who where he threats appalls, hath sent
Deadly defiance to him and pronounces
Ruin to Thebes, who is at hand to seal
The promise of his wrath.

ARCITE  Let him approach.
But that we fear the gods in him, he brings not
A jot of terror to us. Yet what man
Thirds his own worth--the case is each of ours--
When that his action's dregged with mind assured
'Tis bad he goes about?

PALAMON  Leave that unreasoned.
Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon.
Yet to be neutral to him were dishonor,
Rebellious to oppose. Therefore we must
With him stand to the mercy of our fate,
Who hath bounded our last minute.

ARCITE  So we must.
[To Valerius.] Is 't said this war's afoot? Or, it shall
be,
On fail of some condition?

VALERIUS  'Tis in motion;
The intelligence of state came in the instant
With the defier.

PALAMON  Let's to the King, who, were he
A quarter carrier of that honor which
His enemy come in, the blood we venture
Should be as for our health, which were not spent,
Rather laid out for purchase. But alas,
Our hands advanced before our hearts, what will
The fall o' th' stroke do damage?

ARCITE  Let th' event,
That never-erring arbitrator, tell us
When we know all ourselves, and let us follow
The becking of our chance.
[They exit.]

Scene 3
=======
[Enter Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia.]


PIRITHOUS
No further.

HIPPOLYTA  Sir, farewell. Repeat my wishes
To our great lord, of whose success I dare not
Make any timorous question; yet I wish him
Excess and overflow of power, an 't might be,
To dure ill-dealing fortune. Speed to him.
Store never hurts good governors.

PIRITHOUS  Though I know
His ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they
Must yield their tribute there.--My precious maid,
Those best affections that the heavens infuse
In their best-tempered pieces keep enthroned
In your dear heart!

EMILIA  Thanks, sir. Remember me
To our all-royal brother, for whose speed
The great Bellona I'll solicit; and
Since in our terrene state petitions are not
Without gifts understood, I'll offer to her
What I shall be advised she likes. Our hearts
Are in his army, in his tent.

HIPPOLYTA  In 's bosom.
We have been soldiers, and we cannot weep
When our friends don their helms or put to sea,
Or tell of babes broached on the lance, or women
That have sod their infants in--and after ate them--
The brine they wept at killing 'em. Then if
You stay to see of us such spinsters, we
Should hold you here forever.

PIRITHOUS  Peace be to you
As I pursue this war, which shall be then
Beyond further requiring.	[Pirithous exits.]

EMILIA  How his longing
Follows his friend! Since his depart, his sports,
Though craving seriousness and skill, passed slightly
His careless execution, where nor gain
Made him regard, or loss consider, but
Playing one business in his hand, another
Directing in his head, his mind nurse equal
To these so diff'ring twins. Have you observed him
Since our great lord departed?

HIPPOLYTA  With much labor,
And I did love him for 't. They two have cabined
In many as dangerous as poor a corner,
Peril and want contending; they have skiffed
Torrents whose roaring tyranny and power
I' th' least of these was dreadful, and they have
Fought out together where Death's self was lodged.
Yet fate hath brought them off. Their knot of love,
Tied, weaved, entangled, with so true, so long,
And with a finger of so deep a cunning,
May be outworn, never undone. I think
Theseus cannot be umpire to himself,
Cleaving his conscience into twain and doing
Each side like justice, which he loves best.

EMILIA  Doubtless
There is a best, and reason has no manners
To say it is not you. I was acquainted
Once with a time when I enjoyed a playfellow;
You were at wars when she the grave enriched,
Who made too proud the bed; took leave o' th' moon,
Which then looked pale at parting, when our count
Was each eleven.

HIPPOLYTA  'Twas Flavina.

EMILIA  Yes.
You talk of Pirithous' and Theseus' love.
Theirs has more ground, is more maturely seasoned,
More buckled with strong judgment, and their needs
The one of th' other may be said to water
Their intertangled roots of love. But I,
And she I sigh and spoke of, were things innocent,
Loved for we did, and like the elements
That know not what nor why, yet do effect
Rare issues by their operance, our souls
Did so to one another. What she liked
Was then of me approved, what not, condemned,
No more arraignment. The flower that I would pluck
And put between my breasts--O, then but beginning
To swell about the blossom--she would long
Till she had such another, and commit it
To the like innocent cradle, where, Phoenix-like,
They died in perfume. On my head no toy
But was her pattern; her affections--pretty,
Though haply hers careless were--I followed
For my most serious decking. Had mine ear
Stol'n some new air, or at adventure hummed one
From musical coinage, why, it was a note
Whereon her spirits would sojourn--rather, dwell
on--
And sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsal--
Which fury-innocent wots well comes in
Like old importment's bastard--has this end,
That the true love 'tween maid and maid may be
More than in sex individual.

HIPPOLYTA  You're out of breath,
And this high-speeded pace is but to say
That you shall never--like the maid Flavina--
Love any that's called man.

EMILIA  I am sure I shall not.

HIPPOLYTA  Now, alack, weak sister,
I must no more believe thee in this point--
Though in 't I know thou dost believe thyself--
Than I will trust a sickly appetite,
That loathes even as it longs. But sure, my sister,
If I were ripe for your persuasion, you
Have said enough to shake me from the arm
Of the all-noble Theseus, for whose fortunes
I will now in and kneel, with great assurance
That we, more than his Pirithous, possess
The high throne in his heart.

EMILIA  I am not
Against your faith, yet I continue mine.
[They exit.]

Scene 4
=======
[Cornets. A battle struck within; then a retreat.
Flourish. Then enter, through one door, Theseus,
victor, accompanied by Lords and Soldiers.
Entering through another door, the three Queens
meet him, and fall on their faces before him.]


FIRST QUEEN
To thee no star be dark!

SECOND QUEEN  Both heaven and Earth
Friend thee forever.

THIRD QUEEN  All the good that may
Be wished upon thy head, I cry "Amen" to 't!

THESEUS
Th' impartial gods, who from the mounted heavens
View us their mortal herd, behold who err
And, in their time, chastise. Go and find out
The bones of your dead lords and honor them
With treble ceremony; rather than a gap
Should be in their dear rites, we would supply 't;
But those we will depute which shall invest
You in your dignities and even each thing
Our haste does leave imperfect. So, adieu,
And heaven's good eyes look on you.	[Queens exit.]

[Enter a Herald and Soldiers bearing Palamon
and Arcite on biers.]

What are those?

HERALD
Men of great quality, as may be judged
By their appointment. Some of Thebes have told 's
They are sisters' children, nephews to the King.

THESEUS
By th' helm of Mars, I saw them in the war,
Like to a pair of lions, smeared with prey,
Make lanes in troops aghast. I fixed my note
Constantly on them, for they were a mark
Worth a god's view. What prisoner was 't that told me
When I enquired their names?

HERALD  Wi' leave, they're called
Arcite and Palamon.

THESEUS  'Tis right; those, those.
They are not dead?

HERALD
Nor in a state of life. Had they been taken
When their last hurts were given, 'twas possible
They might have been recovered. Yet they breathe
And have the name of men.

THESEUS  Then like men use 'em.
The very lees of such, millions of rates,
Exceed the wine of others. All our surgeons
Convent in their behoof; our richest balms,
Rather than niggard, waste. Their lives concern us
Much more than Thebes is worth. Rather than have
'em
Freed of this plight, and in their morning state,
Sound and at liberty, I would 'em dead.
But forty-thousandfold we had rather have 'em
Prisoners to us than Death. Bear 'em speedily
From our kind air, to them unkind, and minister
What man to man may do--for our sake, more,
Since I have known frights, fury, friends' behests,
Love's provocations, zeal, a mistress' task,
Desire of liberty, a fever, madness,
Hath set a mark which nature could not reach to
Without some imposition, sickness in will
O'er-wrestling strength in reason. For our love
And great Apollo's mercy, all our best
Their best skill tender.--Lead into the city,
Where, having bound things scattered, we will post
To Athens 'fore our army.
[Flourish. They exit.]

Scene 5
=======
[Music. Enter the Queens with the hearses of their
knights, in a funeral solemnity, &c.]

The dirge.

	   Urns and odors bring away;
	   Vapors, sighs, darken the day;
	Our dole more deadly looks than dying;
	   Balms and gums and heavy cheers,
	   Sacred vials filled with tears,
	And clamors through the wild air flying.
	   Come, all sad and solemn shows
	   That are quick-eyed Pleasure's foes;
	   We convent naught else but woes.
	   We convent naught else but woes.

THIRD QUEEN, [to Second Queen]
This funeral path brings to your household's grave.
Joy seize on you again; peace sleep with him.

SECOND QUEEN, [to First Queen]
And this to yours.

FIRST QUEEN, [to Third Queen]  Yours this way. Heavens
lend
A thousand differing ways to one sure end.

THIRD QUEEN
This world's a city full of straying streets,
And death's the market-place where each one meets.
[They exit severally.]


ACT 2
=====

Scene 1
=======
[Enter Jailer and Wooer.]


JAILER  I may depart with little while I live; something I
may cast to you, not much. Alas, the prison I keep,
though it be for great ones, yet they seldom come;
before one salmon you shall take a number of minnows.
I am given out to be better lined than it can
appear to me report is a true speaker. I would I
were really that I am delivered to be. Marry, what
I have, be it what it will, I will assure upon my
daughter at the day of my death.

WOOER  Sir, I demand no more than your own offer,
and I will estate your daughter in what I have
promised.

JAILER  Well, we will talk more of this when the solemnity
is past. But have you a full promise of her?
When that shall be seen, I tender my consent.

[Enter the Jailer's Daughter, carrying rushes.]


WOOER  I have sir. Here she comes.

JAILER, [to Daughter]  Your friend and I have chanced
to name you here, upon the old business. But no
more of that now; so soon as the court hurry is
over, we will have an end of it. I' th' meantime,
look tenderly to the two prisoners. I can tell you
they are princes.

DAUGHTER  These strewings are for their chamber. 'Tis
pity they are in prison, and 'twere pity they should
be out. I do think they have patience to make any
adversity ashamed. The prison itself is proud of
'em, and they have all the world in their chamber.

JAILER  They are famed to be a pair of absolute men.

DAUGHTER  By my troth, I think fame but stammers
'em. They stand a grise above the reach of report.

JAILER  I heard them reported in the battle to be the
only doers.

DAUGHTER  Nay, most likely, for they are noble suff'rers.
I marvel how they would have looked had they
been victors, that with such a constant nobility enforce
a freedom out of bondage, making misery
their mirth and affliction a toy to jest at.

JAILER  Do they so?

DAUGHTER  It seems to me they have no more sense
of their captivity than I of ruling Athens. They eat
well, look merrily, discourse of many things, but
nothing of their own restraint and disasters. Yet
sometimes a divided sigh, martyred as 'twere i' th'
deliverance, will break from one of them--when
the other presently gives it so sweet a rebuke that
I could wish myself a sigh to be so chid, or at least
a sigher to be comforted.

WOOER  I never saw 'em.

JAILER  The Duke himself came privately in the night,
and so did they.

[Enter Palamon and Arcite, in shackles, above.]

What the reason of it is, I know not. Look, yonder
they are; that's Arcite looks out.

DAUGHTER  No, sir, no, that's Palamon. Arcite is the
lower of the twain; you may perceive a part of
him.

JAILER  Go to, leave your pointing; they would not
make us their object. Out of their sight.

DAUGHTER  It is a holiday to look on them. Lord, the
diff'rence of men!
[Jailer, Daughter, and Wooer exit.]

Scene 2
=======
[Palamon and Arcite remain, above.]



PALAMON
How do you, noble cousin?

ARCITE  How do you, sir?

PALAMON
Why, strong enough to laugh at misery
And bear the chance of war; yet we are prisoners
I fear forever, cousin.

ARCITE  I believe it,
And to that destiny have patiently
Laid up my hour to come.

PALAMON  O, cousin Arcite,
Where is Thebes now? Where is our noble country?
Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more
Must we behold those comforts, never see
The hardy youths strive for the games of honor,
Hung with the painted favors of their ladies,
Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst 'em
And as an east wind leave 'em all behind us,
Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite,
Even in the wagging of a wanton leg,
Outstripped the people's praises, won the garlands
Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. O, never
Shall we two exercise, like twins of honor,
Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses
Like proud seas under us. Our good swords now--
Better the red-eyed god of war ne'er wore--
Ravished our sides, like age must run to rust
And deck the temples of those gods that hate us;
These hands shall never draw 'em out like lightning
To blast whole armies more.

ARCITE  No, Palamon,
Those hopes are prisoners with us. Here we are
And here the graces of our youths must wither
Like a too-timely spring. Here age must find us
And--which is heaviest, Palamon--unmarried.
The sweet embraces of a loving wife,
Loaden with kisses, armed with thousand Cupids,
Shall never clasp our necks; no issue know us--
No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see,
To glad our age, and like young eagles teach 'em
Boldly to gaze against bright arms and say
"Remember what your fathers were, and conquer!"
The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments
And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune
Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done
To youth and nature. This is all our world.
We shall know nothing here but one another,
Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes.
The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it;
Summer shall come, and with her all delights,
But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still.

PALAMON
'Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds
That shook the aged forest with their echoes
No more now must we halloo; no more shake
Our pointed javelins whilst the angry swine
Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages,
Struck with our well-steeled darts. All valiant uses,
The food and nourishment of noble minds,
In us two here shall perish; we shall die,
Which is the curse of honor, lastly,
Children of grief and ignorance.

ARCITE  Yet, cousin,
Even from the bottom of these miseries,
From all that fortune can inflict upon us,
I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings,
If the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,
And the enjoying of our griefs together.
Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish
If I think this our prison!

PALAMON  Certainly
'Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes
Were twined together. 'Tis most true, two souls
Put in two noble bodies, let 'em suffer
The gall of hazard, so they grow together,
Will never sink; they must not, say they could.
A willing man dies sleeping and all's done.

ARCITE
Shall we make worthy uses of this place
That all men hate so much?

PALAMON  How, gentle cousin?

ARCITE
Let's think this prison holy sanctuary
To keep us from corruption of worse men.
We are young and yet desire the ways of honor
That liberty and common conversation,
The poison of pure spirits, might like women
Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing
Can be but our imaginations
May make it ours? And here being thus together,
We are an endless mine to one another;
We are one another's wife, ever begetting
New births of love; we are father, friends,
acquaintance;
We are, in one another, families;
I am your heir, and you are mine. This place
Is our inheritance; no hard oppressor
Dare take this from us; here with a little patience
We shall live long and loving. No surfeits seek us;
The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas
Swallow their youth. Were we at liberty,
A wife might part us lawfully, or business;
Quarrels consume us; envy of ill men
Crave our acquaintance. I might sicken, cousin,
Where you should never know it, and so perish
Without your noble hand to close mine eyes,
Or prayers to the gods. A thousand chances,
Were we from hence, would sever us.

PALAMON  You have made
me--
I thank you, cousin Arcite--almost wanton
With my captivity. What a misery
It is to live abroad and everywhere!
'Tis like a beast, methinks. I find the court here,
I am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures
That woo the wills of men to vanity
I see through now, and am sufficient
To tell the world 'tis but a gaudy shadow
That old Time as he passes by takes with him.
What had we been, old in the court of Creon,
Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance
The virtues of the great ones? Cousin Arcite,
Had not the loving gods found this place for us,
We had died as they do, ill old men, unwept,
And had their epitaphs, the people's curses.
Shall I say more?

ARCITE  I would hear you still.

PALAMON  You shall.
Is there record of any two that loved
Better than we do, Arcite?

ARCITE  Sure there cannot.

PALAMON
I do not think it possible our friendship
Should ever leave us.

ARCITE  Till our deaths it cannot.

[Enter Emilia and her Woman, below.]

And after death our spirits shall be led
To those that love eternally.	[Palamon catches sight
of Emilia.]
Speak on, sir.

EMILIA, [to her Woman]
This garden has a world of pleasures in 't.
What flower is this?

WOMAN  'Tis called narcissus, madam.

EMILIA
That was a fair boy certain, but a fool
To love himself. Were there not maids enough?

ARCITE, [to Palamon, who is stunned by the sight of Emilia]
Pray, forward.

PALAMON  Yes.

EMILIA, [to Woman]  Or were they all hard-hearted?

WOMAN
They could not be to one so fair.

EMILIA  Thou wouldst not.

WOMAN
I think I should not, madam.

EMILIA  That's a good wench.
But take heed to your kindness, though.

WOMAN  Why,
madam?

EMILIA
Men are mad things.

ARCITE, [to Palamon]  Will you go forward,
cousin?

EMILIA, [to Woman]
Canst not thou work such flowers in silk, wench?

WOMAN  Yes.

EMILIA
I'll have a gown full of 'em, and of these.
This is pretty color. Will 't not do
Rarely upon a skirt, wench?

WOMAN  Dainty, madam.

ARCITE, [to Palamon]
Cousin, cousin! How do you, sir? Why, Palamon!

PALAMON
Never till now I was in prison, Arcite.

ARCITE
Why, what's the matter, man?

PALAMON  Behold, and wonder!
By heaven, she is a goddess.

ARCITE, [seeing Emilia]  Ha!

PALAMON  Do reverence.
She is a goddess, Arcite.

EMILIA, [to Woman]  Of all flowers
Methinks a rose is best.

WOMAN  Why, gentle madam?

EMILIA
It is the very emblem of a maid.
For when the west wind courts her gently,
How modestly she blows and paints the sun
With her chaste blushes! When the north comes
near her,
Rude and impatient, then, like chastity,
She locks her beauties in her bud again,
And leaves him to base briers.

WOMAN  Yet, good madam,
Sometimes her modesty will blow so far
She falls for 't. A maid,
If she have any honor, would be loath
To take example by her.

EMILIA  Thou art wanton!

ARCITE, [to Palamon]
She is wondrous fair.

PALAMON  She is all the beauty extant.

EMILIA, [to Woman]
The sun grows high. Let's walk in. Keep these
flowers.
We'll see how near art can come near their colors.
I am wondrous merry-hearted. I could laugh now.

WOMAN
I could lie down, I am sure.

EMILIA  And take one with you?

WOMAN
That's as we bargain, madam.

EMILIA  Well, agree then.
[Emilia and Woman exit.]

PALAMON
What think you of this beauty?

ARCITE  'Tis a rare one.

PALAMON
Is 't but a rare one?

ARCITE  Yes, a matchless beauty.

PALAMON
Might not a man well lose himself and love her?

ARCITE
I cannot tell what you have done; I have,
Beshrew mine eyes for 't! Now I feel my shackles.

PALAMON
You love her, then?

ARCITE  Who would not?

PALAMON  And desire her?

ARCITE
Before my liberty.

PALAMON  I saw her first.

ARCITE
That's nothing.

PALAMON  But it shall be.

ARCITE  I saw her, too.

PALAMON  Yes, but you must not love her.

ARCITE
I will not, as you do, to worship her
As she is heavenly and a blessed goddess.
I love her as a woman, to enjoy her.
So both may love.

PALAMON  You shall not love at all.

ARCITE  Not love at all! Who shall deny me?

PALAMON
I, that first saw her; I that took possession
First with mine eye of all those beauties
In her revealed to mankind. If thou lov'st her,
Or entertain'st a hope to blast my wishes,
Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow
False as thy title to her. Friendship, blood,
And all the ties between us I disclaim
If thou once think upon her.

ARCITE  Yes, I love her,
And, if the lives of all my name lay on it,
I must do so. I love her with my soul.
If that will lose you, farewell, Palamon.
I say again, I love, and in loving her maintain
I am as worthy and as free a lover
And have as just a title to her beauty
As any Palamon or any living
That is a man's son.

PALAMON  Have I called thee friend?

ARCITE
Yes, and have found me so. Why are you moved
thus?
Let me deal coldly with you: am not I
Part of your blood, part of your soul? You have
told me
That I was Palamon and you were Arcite.

PALAMON
Yes.

ARCITE  Am not I liable to those affections,
Those joys, griefs, angers, fears, my friend shall
suffer?

PALAMON
You may be.

ARCITE  Why then would you deal so cunningly,
So strangely, so unlike a noble kinsman,
To love alone? Speak truly, do you think me
Unworthy of her sight?

PALAMON  No, but unjust
If thou pursue that sight.

ARCITE  Because another
First sees the enemy, shall I stand still
And let mine honor down, and never charge?

PALAMON
Yes, if he be but one.

ARCITE  But say that one
Had rather combat me?

PALAMON  Let that one say so,
And use thy freedom. Else, if thou pursuest her,
Be as that cursed man that hates his country,
A branded villain.

ARCITE  You are mad.

PALAMON  I must be.
Till thou art worthy, Arcite, it concerns me.
And in this madness if I hazard thee
And take thy life, I deal but truly.

ARCITE  Fie, sir!
You play the child extremely. I will love her;
I must, I ought to do so, and I dare,
And all this justly.

PALAMON  O, that now, that now,
Thy false self and thy friend had but this fortune
To be one hour at liberty, and grasp
Our good swords in our hands, I would quickly
teach thee
What 'twere to filch affection from another.
Thou art baser in it than a cutpurse.
Put but thy head out of this window more
And, as I have a soul, I'll nail thy life to 't.

ARCITE
Thou dar'st not, fool; thou canst not; thou art feeble.
Put my head out? I'll throw my body out
And leap the garden when I see her next,
And pitch between her arms to anger thee.

[Enter Jailer, above.]


PALAMON
No more; the keeper's coming. I shall live
To knock thy brains out with my shackles.

ARCITE  Do!

JAILER
By your leave, gentlemen.

PALAMON  Now, honest keeper?

JAILER
Lord Arcite, you must presently to th' Duke;
The cause I know not yet.

ARCITE  I am ready, keeper.

JAILER
Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you
Of your fair cousin's company.
[Arcite and Jailer exit.]

PALAMON  And me too,
Even when you please, of life.--Why is he sent for?
It may be he shall marry her; he's goodly,
And like enough the Duke hath taken notice
Both of his blood and body. But his falsehood!
Why should a friend be treacherous? If that
Get him a wife so noble and so fair,
Let honest men ne'er love again. Once more
I would but see this fair one. Blessed garden
And fruit and flowers more blessed that still
blossom
As her bright eyes shine on you, would I were,
For all the fortune of my life hereafter,
Yon little tree, yon blooming apricock!
How I would spread and fling my wanton arms
In at her window; I would bring her fruit
Fit for the gods to feed on; youth and pleasure
Still as she tasted should be doubled on her;
And, if she be not heavenly, I would make her
So near the gods in nature, they should fear her.

[Enter Jailer, above.]

And then I am sure she would love me.--How now,
keeper,
Where's Arcite?

JAILER  Banished. Prince Pirithous
Obtained his liberty, but never more
Upon his oath and life must he set foot
Upon this kingdom.

PALAMON  He's a blessed man.
He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms
The bold young men that, when he bids 'em charge,
Fall on like fire. Arcite shall have a fortune,
If he dare make himself a worthy lover,
Yet in the field to strike a battle for her,
And, if he lose her then, he's a cold coward.
How bravely may he bear himself to win her
If he be noble Arcite--thousand ways!
Were I at liberty, I would do things
Of such a virtuous greatness that this lady,
This blushing virgin, should take manhood to her
And seek to ravish me.

JAILER  My lord, for you
I have this charge to--

PALAMON  To discharge my life?

JAILER
No, but from this place to remove your Lordship;
The windows are too open.

PALAMON  Devils take 'em
That are so envious to me! Prithee, kill me.

JAILER
And hang for 't afterward!

PALAMON  By this good light,
Had I a sword I would kill thee.

JAILER  Why, my lord?

PALAMON
Thou bringst such pelting, scurvy news continually,
Thou art not worthy life. I will not go.

JAILER
Indeed you must, my lord.

PALAMON  May I see the garden?

JAILER
No.

PALAMON  Then I am resolved, I will not go.

JAILER
I must constrain you then; and, for you are
dangerous,
I'll clap more irons on you.

PALAMON  Do, good keeper.
I'll shake 'em so, you shall not sleep;
I'll make you a new morris. Must I go?

JAILER
There is no remedy.

PALAMON  Farewell, kind window.
May rude wind never hurt thee. O, my lady,
If ever thou hast felt what sorrow was,
Dream how I suffer.--Come; now bury me.
[Palamon and Jailer exit.]

Scene 3
=======
[Enter Arcite.]


ARCITE
Banished the kingdom? 'Tis a benefit,
A mercy I must thank 'em for; but banished
The free enjoying of that face I die for,
O, 'twas a studied punishment, a death
Beyond imagination--such a vengeance
That, were I old and wicked, all my sins
Could never pluck upon me. Palamon,
Thou hast the start now; thou shalt stay and see
Her bright eyes break each morning 'gainst thy
window
And let in life into thee; thou shalt feed
Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty
That nature ne'er exceeded nor ne'er shall.
Good gods, what happiness has Palamon!
Twenty to one he'll come to speak to her,
And if she be as gentle as she's fair,
I know she's his. He has a tongue will tame
Tempests and make the wild rocks wanton.
Come what can come,
The worst is death. I will not leave the kingdom.
I know mine own is but a heap of ruins,
And no redress there. If I go, he has her.
I am resolved another shape shall make me
Or end my fortunes. Either way I am happy.
I'll see her and be near her, or no more.

[Enter four Country people, and one with
a garland before them.]

[Arcite steps aside.]

FIRST COUNTRYMAN  My masters, I'll be there, that's
certain.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  And I'll be there.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  And I.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  Why, then, have with you, boys.
'Tis but a chiding. Let the plough play today; I'll
tickle 't out of the jades' tails tomorrow.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN  I am sure to have my wife as jealous
as a turkey, but that's all one. I'll go through;
let her mumble.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  Clap her aboard tomorrow night
and stow her, and all's made up again.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  Ay, do but put a fescue in her fist
and you shall see her take a new lesson out and be
a good wench. Do we all hold against the Maying?

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  Hold? What should ail us?

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  Arcas will be there.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  And Sennois and Rycas; and
three better lads ne'er danced under green tree.
And you know what wenches, ha! But will the
dainty domine, the Schoolmaster, keep touch, do
you think? For he does all, you know.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  He'll eat a hornbook ere he fail.
Go to, the matter's too far driven between him and
the tanner's daughter to let slip now; and she must
see the Duke, and she must dance too.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  Shall we be lusty?

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  All the boys in Athens blow wind
i' th' breech on 's. And here I'll be and there I'll be,
for our town, and here again, and there again. Ha,
boys, hey for the weavers!

FIRST COUNTRYMAN  This must be done i' th' woods.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  O pardon me.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  By any means; our thing of learning
says so--where he himself will edify the Duke
most parlously in our behalfs. He's excellent i' th'
woods; bring him to th' plains, his learning makes
no cry.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  We'll see the sports, then every
man to 's tackle. And, sweet companions, let's rehearse,
by any means, before the ladies see us, and
do sweetly, and God knows what may come on 't.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  Content. The sports once ended,
we'll perform. Away, boys, and hold.
[Arcite comes forward.]

ARCITE  By your leaves, honest friends: pray you,
whither go you?

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  Whither?
Why, what a question's that?

ARCITE  Yes, 'tis a question
To me that know not.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  To the games, my friend.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN
Where were you bred, you know it not?

ARCITE  Not far, sir.
Are there such games today?

FIRST COUNTRYMAN  Yes, marry, are there,
And such as you never saw. The Duke himself
Will be in person there.

ARCITE  What pastimes are they?

SECOND COUNTRYMAN
Wrestling and running.--'Tis a pretty fellow.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN
Thou wilt not go along?

ARCITE  Not yet, sir.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  Well, sir,
Take your own time.--Come, boys.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN, [aside to the others]  My mind misgives
me. This fellow has a vengeance trick o' th'
hip. Mark how his body's made for 't.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN, [aside to the others]  I'll be
hanged, though, if he dare venture. Hang him,
plum porridge! He wrestle? He roast eggs! Come,
let's be gone, lads.	[The four exit.]

ARCITE
This is an offered opportunity
I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled--
The best men called it excellent--and run
Swifter than wind upon a field of corn,
Curling the wealthy ears, never flew. I'll venture,
And in some poor disguise be there. Who knows
Whether my brows may not be girt with garlands,
And happiness prefer me to a place
Where I may ever dwell in sight of her?
[Arcite exits.]

Scene 4
=======
[Enter Jailer's Daughter, alone.]


DAUGHTER
Why should I love this gentleman? 'Tis odds
He never will affect me. I am base,
My father the mean keeper of his prison,
And he a prince. To marry him is hopeless;
To be his whore is witless. Out upon 't!
What pushes are we wenches driven to
When fifteen once has found us! First, I saw him;
I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man;
He has as much to please a woman in him,
If he please to bestow it so, as ever
These eyes yet looked on. Next, I pitied him,
And so would any young wench, o' my conscience,
That ever dreamed, or vowed her maidenhead
To a young handsome man. Then I loved him,
Extremely loved him, infinitely loved him!
And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too.
But in my heart was Palamon, and there,
Lord, what a coil he keeps! To hear him
Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is!
And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken
Was never gentleman. When I come in
To bring him water in a morning, first
He bows his noble body, then salutes me thus:
"Fair, gentle maid, good morrow. May thy goodness
Get thee a happy husband." Once he kissed me;
I loved my lips the better ten days after.
Would he would do so ev'ry day! He grieves much--
And me as much to see his misery.
What should I do to make him know I love him?
For I would fain enjoy him. Say I ventured
To set him free? What says the law then?
Thus much for law or kindred! I will do it,
And this night, or tomorrow, he shall love me.
[She exits.]

Scene 5
=======
[This short flourish of cornets and shouts within.
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Emilia, Arcite
in disguise, with a garland, Attendants, and others.]


THESEUS, [to Arcite]
You have done worthily. I have not seen,
Since Hercules, a man of tougher sinews.
Whate'er you are, you run the best and wrestle
That these times can allow.

ARCITE  I am proud to please you.

THESEUS
What country bred you?

ARCITE  This; but far off, prince.

THESEUS
Are you a gentleman?

ARCITE  My father said so,
And to those gentle uses gave me life.

THESEUS
Are you his heir?

ARCITE  His youngest, sir.

THESEUS  Your father,
Sure, is a happy sire, then. What proves you?

ARCITE
A little of all noble qualities.
I could have kept a hawk and well have hallowed
To a deep cry of dogs. I dare not praise
My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me
Would say it was my best piece. Last, and greatest,
I would be thought a soldier.

THESEUS  You are perfect.

PIRITHOUS
Upon my soul, a proper man.

EMILIA  He is so.

PIRITHOUS, [to Hippolyta]
How do you like him, lady?

HIPPOLYTA  I admire him.
I have not seen so young a man so noble,
If he say true, of his sort.

EMILIA  Believe,
His mother was a wondrous handsome woman;
His face, methinks, goes that way.

HIPPOLYTA  But his body
And fiery mind illustrate a brave father.

PIRITHOUS
Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun,
Breaks through his baser garments.

HIPPOLYTA  He's well got, sure.

THESEUS, [to Arcite]
What made you seek this place, sir?

ARCITE  Noble Theseus,
To purchase name and do my ablest service
To such a well-found wonder as thy worth;
For only in thy court, of all the world,
Dwells fair-eyed Honor.

PIRITHOUS  All his words are worthy.

THESEUS
Sir, we are much indebted to your travel,
Nor shall you lose your wish.--Pirithous,
Dispose of this fair gentleman.

PIRITHOUS  Thanks, Theseus.--
Whate'er you are, you're mine, and I shall give you
To a most noble service: to this lady,
This bright young virgin.
[He brings Arcite to Emilia.]
Pray observe her goodness;
You have honored her fair birthday with your
virtues,
And, as your due, you're hers. Kiss her fair hand, sir.

ARCITE
Sir, you're a noble giver.--Dearest beauty,
Thus let me seal my vowed faith.
[He kisses her hand.]
When your servant,
Your most unworthy creature, but offends you,
Command him die, he shall.

EMILIA  That were too cruel.
If you deserve well, sir, I shall soon see 't.
You're mine, and somewhat better than your rank
I'll use you.

PIRITHOUS, [to Arcite]
I'll see you furnished, and because you say
You are a horseman, I must needs entreat you
This afternoon to ride--but 'tis a rough one.

ARCITE
I like him better, prince; I shall not then
Freeze in my saddle.

THESEUS, [to Hippolyta]  Sweet, you must be ready,--
And you, Emilia,--and you, friend,--and all,
Tomorrow by the sun, to do observance
To flowery May in Dian's wood.--Wait well, sir,
Upon your mistress.--Emily, I hope
He shall not go afoot.

EMILIA  That were a shame, sir,
While I have horses.--Take your choice, and what
You want at any time, let me but know it.
If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you
You'll find a loving mistress.

ARCITE  If I do not,
Let me find that my father ever hated,
Disgrace and blows.

THESEUS  Go lead the way; you have won it.
It shall be so; you shall receive all dues
Fit for the honor you have won. 'Twere wrong else.--
Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a servant
That, if I were a woman, would be master;
But you are wise.

EMILIA  I hope too wise for that, sir.
[Flourish. They all exit.]

Scene 6
=======
[Enter Jailer's Daughter alone.]


DAUGHTER
Let all the dukes and all the devils roar!
He is at liberty. I have ventured for him,
And out I have brought him; to a little wood
A mile hence I have sent him, where a cedar
Higher than all the rest spreads like a plane
Fast by a brook, and there he shall keep close
Till I provide him files and food, for yet
His iron bracelets are not off. O Love,
What a stout-hearted child thou art! My father
Durst better have endured cold iron than done it.
I love him beyond love and beyond reason
Or wit or safety. I have made him know it;
I care not, I am desperate. If the law
Find me and then condemn me for 't, some wenches,
Some honest-hearted maids, will sing my dirge
And tell to memory my death was noble,
Dying almost a martyr. That way he takes
I purpose is my way too. Sure he cannot
Be so unmanly as to leave me here.
If he do, maids will not so easily
Trust men again. And yet he has not thanked me
For what I have done; no, not so much as kissed me,
And that, methinks, is not so well; nor scarcely
Could I persuade him to become a free man,
He made such scruples of the wrong he did
To me and to my father. Yet I hope,
When he considers more, this love of mine
Will take more root within him. Let him do
What he will with me, so he use me kindly;
For use me so he shall, or I'll proclaim him,
And to his face, no man. I'll presently
Provide him necessaries and pack my clothes up,
And where there is a path of ground I'll venture,
So he be with me. By him like a shadow
I'll ever dwell. Within this hour the hubbub
Will be all o'er the prison. I am then
Kissing the man they look for. Farewell, father!
Get many more such prisoners and such daughters,
And shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him.
[She exits.]


ACT 3
=====

Scene 1
=======
[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing
as people a-Maying. Enter Arcite alone.]


ARCITE
The Duke has lost Hippolyta; each took
A several laund. This is a solemn rite
They owe bloomed May, and the Athenians pay it
To th' heart of ceremony. O Queen Emilia,
Fresher than May, sweeter
Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all
Th' enameled knacks o' th' mead or garden--yea,
We challenge too the bank of any nymph
That makes the stream seem flowers; thou, O jewel
O' th' wood, o' th' world, hast likewise blessed a pace
With thy sole presence. In thy rumination
That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between
And chop on some cold thought! Thrice blessed
chance
To drop on such a mistress, expectation
Most guiltless on 't. Tell me, O Lady Fortune,
Next after Emily my sovereign, how far
I may be proud. She takes strong note of me,
Hath made me near her; and this beauteous morn,
The prim'st of all the year, presents me with
A brace of horses; two such steeds might well
Be by a pair of kings backed, in a field
That their crowns' titles tried. Alas, alas,
Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner, thou
So little dream'st upon my fortune that
Thou think'st thyself the happier thing, to be
So near Emilia; me thou deem'st at Thebes,
And therein wretched, although free. But if
Thou knew'st my mistress breathed on me, and that
I eared her language, lived in her eye--O coz,
What passion would enclose thee!

[Enter Palamon as out of a bush, with his shackles;
he bends his fist at Arcite.]


PALAMON  Traitor kinsman,
Thou shouldst perceive my passion if these signs
Of prisonment were off me, and this hand
But owner of a sword. By all oaths in one,
I and the justice of my love would make thee
A confessed traitor, O thou most perfidious
That ever gently looked, the void'st of honor
That e'er bore gentle token, falsest cousin
That ever blood made kin! Call'st thou her thine?
I'll prove it in my shackles, with these hands,
Void of appointment, that thou liest, and art
A very thief in love, a chaffy lord,
Nor worth the name of villain. Had I a sword,
And these house clogs away--

ARCITE  Dear cousin Palamon--

PALAMON
Cozener Arcite, give me language such
As thou hast showed me feat.

ARCITE  Not finding in
The circuit of my breast any gross stuff
To form me like your blazon holds me to
This gentleness of answer: 'tis your passion
That thus mistakes, the which, to you being enemy,
Cannot to me be kind. Honor and honesty
I cherish and depend on, howsoe'er
You skip them in me, and with them, fair coz,
I'll maintain my proceedings. Pray be pleased
To show in generous terms your griefs, since that
Your question's with your equal, who professes
To clear his own way with the mind and sword
Of a true gentleman.

PALAMON  That thou durst, Arcite!

ARCITE
My coz, my coz, you have been well advertised
How much I dare; you've seen me use my sword
Against th' advice of fear. Sure, of another
You would not hear me doubted, but your silence
Should break out, though i' th' sanctuary.

PALAMON  Sir,
I have seen you move in such a place which well
Might justify your manhood; you were called
A good knight and a bold. But the whole week's not
fair
If any day it rain; their valiant temper
Men lose when they incline to treachery,
And then they fight like compelled bears--would fly
Were they not tied.

ARCITE  Kinsman, you might as well
Speak this and act it in your glass as to
His ear which now disdains you.

PALAMON  Come up to me;
Quit me of these cold gyves, give me a sword
Though it be rusty, and the charity
Of one meal lend me. Come before me then,
A good sword in thy hand, and do but say
That Emily is thine, I will forgive
The trespass thou hast done me--yea, my life,
If then thou carry 't; and brave souls in shades
That have died manly, which will seek of me
Some news from Earth, they shall get none but this:
That thou art brave and noble.

ARCITE  Be content.
Again betake you to your hawthorn house.
With counsel of the night I will be here
With wholesome viands. These impediments
Will I file off. You shall have garments and
Perfumes to kill the smell o' th' prison. After,
When you shall stretch yourself and say but "Arcite,
I am in plight," there shall be at your choice
Both sword and armor.

PALAMON  O you heavens, dares any
So noble bear a guilty business? None
But only Arcite. Therefore none but Arcite
In this kind is so bold.

ARCITE  Sweet Palamon.

PALAMON
I do embrace you and your offer; for
Your offer do 't I only. Sir, your person
Without hypocrisy I may not wish
More than my sword's edge on 't.
[Wind horns off; sound cornets.]

ARCITE  You hear the horns.
Enter your muset, lest this match between 's
Be crossed ere met. Give me your hand; farewell.
I'll bring you every needful thing. I pray you,
Take comfort and be strong.

PALAMON  Pray hold your promise,
And do the deed with a bent brow. Most certain
You love me not; be rough with me, and pour
This oil out of your language. By this air,
I could for each word give a cuff, my stomach
Not reconciled by reason.

ARCITE  Plainly spoken,
Yet pardon me hard language. When I spur
My horse, I chide him not; content and anger
In me have but one face.	[Wind horns.]
Hark, sir, they call
The scattered to the banquet; you must guess
I have an office there.

PALAMON  Sir, your attendance
Cannot please heaven, and I know your office
Unjustly is achieved.

ARCITE  'Tis a good title.
I am persuaded this question, sick between 's,
By bleeding must be cured. I am a suitor
That to your sword you will bequeath this plea,
And talk of it no more.

PALAMON  But this one word:
You are going now to gaze upon my mistress,
For note you, mine she is--

ARCITE  Nay then,--

PALAMON  Nay, pray you,
You talk of feeding me to breed me strength.
You are going now to look upon a sun
That strengthens what it looks on; there
You have a vantage o'er me, but enjoy 't till
I may enforce my remedy. Farewell.
[They exit.]

Scene 2
=======
[Enter Jailer's Daughter, alone.]


DAUGHTER
He has mistook the brake I meant, is gone
After his fancy. 'Tis now well-nigh morning.
No matter; would it were perpetual night,
And darkness lord o' th' world. Hark, 'tis a wolf!
In me hath grief slain fear, and but for one thing,
I care for nothing, and that's Palamon.
I reck not if the wolves would jaw me, so
He had this file. What if I hallowed for him?
I cannot hallow. If I whooped, what then?
If he not answered, I should call a wolf,
And do him but that service. I have heard
Strange howls this livelong night; why may 't not be
They have made prey of him? He has no weapons;
He cannot run; the jingling of his gyves
Might call fell things to listen, who have in them
A sense to know a man unarmed and can
Smell where resistance is. I'll set it down
He's torn to pieces; they howled many together,
And then they fed on him; so much for that.
Be bold to ring the bell. How stand I then?
All's chared when he is gone. No, no, I lie.
My father's to be hanged for his escape;
Myself to beg, if I prized life so much
As to deny my act, but that I would not,
Should I try death by dozens. I am moped;
Food took I none these two days;
Sipped some water. I have not closed mine eyes
Save when my lids scoured off their brine. Alas,
Dissolve, my life! Let not my sense unsettle,
Lest I should drown, or stab, or hang myself.
O state of nature, fail together in me,
Since thy best props are warped! So, which way now?
The best way is the next way to a grave;
Each errant step beside is torment. Lo,
The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech
owl
Calls in the dawn. All offices are done
Save what I fail in. But the point is this--
An end, and that is all.
[She exits.]

Scene 3
=======
[Enter Arcite with meat, wine, and files.]


ARCITE
I should be near the place.--Ho! Cousin Palamon!

PALAMON, [within]
Arcite?

ARCITE  The same. I have brought you food and files.
Come forth and fear not; here's no Theseus.

[Enter Palamon.]


PALAMON
Nor none so honest, Arcite.

ARCITE  That's no matter.
We'll argue that hereafter. Come, take courage;
You shall not die thus beastly. Here, sir, drink--
I know you are faint--then I'll talk further with you.

PALAMON
Arcite, thou mightst now poison me.

ARCITE  I might;
But I must fear you first. Sit down and, good now,
No more of these vain parleys. Let us not,
Having our ancient reputation with us,
Make talk for fools and cowards. To your health.
[He drinks.]

PALAMON  Do!

ARCITE
Pray sit down, then, and let me entreat you,
By all the honesty and honor in you,
No mention of this woman; 'twill disturb us.
We shall have time enough.

PALAMON  Well, sir, I'll pledge you.
[He drinks.]

ARCITE
Drink a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood,
man.
Do not you feel it thaw you?

PALAMON  Stay, I'll tell you
After a draught or two more.

ARCITE  Spare it not.
The Duke has more, coz. Eat now.

PALAMON  Yes.	[He eats.]

ARCITE  I am glad
You have so good a stomach.

PALAMON  I am gladder
I have so good meat to 't.

ARCITE  Is 't not mad lodging
Here in the wild woods, cousin?

PALAMON  Yes, for them
That have wild consciences.

ARCITE  How tastes your
victuals?
Your hunger needs no sauce, I see.

PALAMON  Not much.
But if it did, yours is too tart, sweet cousin.
What is this?

ARCITE  Venison.

PALAMON  'Tis a lusty meat.
Give me more wine. Here, Arcite, to the wenches
We have known in our days!
[He raises his cup in a toast.]
The Lord Steward's
daughter!
Do you remember her?

ARCITE  After you, coz.

PALAMON
She loved a black-haired man.

ARCITE  She did so; well, sir?

PALAMON
And I have heard some call him Arcite, and--

ARCITE
Out with 't, faith.

PALAMON  She met him in an arbor.
What did she there, coz? Play o' th' virginals?

ARCITE
Something she did, sir.

PALAMON  Made her groan a month
for 't--
Or two, or three, or ten.

ARCITE  The Marshal's sister
Had her share, too, as I remember, cousin,
Else there be tales abroad. You'll pledge her?

PALAMON  Yes.
[He lifts his cup and then drinks.]

ARCITE
A pretty brown wench 'tis. There was a time
When young men went a-hunting, and a wood,
And a broad beech--and thereby hangs a tale.
Heigh ho!

PALAMON  For Emily, upon my life! Fool,
Away with this strained mirth. I say again
That sigh was breathed for Emily. Base cousin,
Dar'st thou break first?

ARCITE  You are wide.

PALAMON  By heaven and
Earth,
There's nothing in thee honest.

ARCITE  Then I'll leave you.
You are a beast now.

PALAMON  As thou mak'st me, traitor.

ARCITE
There's all things needful: files and shirts and
perfumes.
I'll come again some two hours hence and bring
That that shall quiet all.

PALAMON  A sword and armor.

ARCITE
Fear me not. You are now too foul. Farewell.
Get off your trinkets; you shall want naught.

PALAMON  Sirrah--

ARCITE
I'll hear no more.
[He exits.]

PALAMON  If he keep touch, he dies for 't.
[He exits.]

Scene 4
=======
[Enter Jailer's Daughter.]


DAUGHTER
I am very cold, and all the stars are out too,
The little stars and all, that look like aglets.
The sun has seen my folly.--Palamon!
Alas, no; he's in heaven. Where am I now?
Yonder's the sea, and there's a ship. How 't tumbles!
And there's a rock lies watching under water.
Now, now, it beats upon it; now, now, now,
There's a leak sprung, a sound one! How they cry!
Open her before the wind; you'll lose all else.
Up with a course or two, and tack about, boys!
Good night, good night; you're gone. I am very
hungry.
Would I could find a fine frog; he would tell me
News from all parts o' th' world; then would I make
A carrack of a cockleshell, and sail
By east and northeast to the king of pygmies,
For he tells fortunes rarely. Now my father,
Twenty to one, is trussed up in a trice
Tomorrow morning. I'll say never a word.
[Sing.]
	For I'll cut my green coat a foot above my knee,
	And I'll clip my yellow locks an inch below mine
eye.
	   Hey nonny, nonny, nonny.
	He's buy me a white cut, forth for to ride,
	And I'll go seek him through the world that is so
wide.
	   Hey nonny, nonny, nonny.
O, for a prick now, like a nightingale,
To put my breast against. I shall sleep like a top else.
[She exits.]

Scene 5
=======
[Enter a Schoolmaster and six Countrymen,
one dressed as a Bavian.]


SCHOOLMASTER  Fie, fie, what tediosity and disinsanity
is here among you! Have my rudiments been labored
so long with you, milked unto you, and, by a
figure, even the very plum broth and marrow of
my understanding laid upon you, and do you still
cry "Where?" and "How?" and "Wherefore?" You
most coarse-frieze capacities, you jean judgments,
have I said "Thus let be" and "There let be"
and "Then let be" and no man understand me? Proh
deum, medius fidius, you are all dunces! Forwhy,
here stand I; here the Duke comes; there are you,
close in the thicket; the Duke appears; I meet him
and unto him I utter learned things and many figures;
he hears, and nods, and hums, and then cries
"Rare!" and I go forward. At length I fling my cap
up--mark there! Then do you as once did Meleager
and the boar--break comely out before him;
like true lovers, cast yourselves in a body decently,
and sweetly, by a figure, trace and turn, boys.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN  And sweetly we will do it, Master
Gerald.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  Draw up the company. Where's
the taborer?

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  Why, Timothy!

[Enter the Taborer.]


TABORER  Here, my mad boys. Have at you!

SCHOOLMASTER  But I say, where's their women?

[Enter five Wenches.]


FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  Here's Fritz and Maudlin.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  And little Luce with the white
legs, and bouncing Barbary.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN  And freckled Nell, that never failed
her master.

SCHOOLMASTER  Where be your ribbons, maids? Swim
with your bodies, and carry it sweetly and deliverly,
and now and then a favor and a frisk.

NELL  Let us alone, sir.

SCHOOLMASTER  Where's the rest o' th' music?

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  Dispersed, as you commanded.

SCHOOLMASTER  Couple, then, and see what's wanting.
Where's the Bavian?--My friend, carry your tail
without offense or scandal to the ladies; and be
sure you tumble with audacity and manhood, and
when you bark, do it with judgment.

BAVIAN  Yes, sir.

SCHOOLMASTER  Quo usque tandem? Here is a woman
wanting.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  We may go whistle; all the fat's i'
th' fire.

SCHOOLMASTER  We have, as learned authors utter,
washed a tile; we have been fatuus and labored
vainly.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  This is that scornful piece, that
scurvy hilding that gave her promise faithfully she
would be here--Cicely, the sempster's daughter.
The next gloves that I give her shall be dogskin;
nay, an she fail me once--you can tell, Arcas, she
swore by wine and bread she would not break.

SCHOOLMASTER  An eel and woman, a learned poet
says, unless by th' tail and with thy teeth thou hold,
will either fail. In manners, this was false
position.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN  A fire ill take her! Does she flinch
now?

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  What shall we determine, sir?

SCHOOLMASTER  Nothing. Our business is become a
nullity, yea, and a woeful and a piteous nullity.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN  Now, when the credit of our town
lay on it, now to be frampold, now to piss o' th'
nettle! Go thy ways; I'll remember thee. I'll fit
thee!

[Enter Jailer's Daughter.]


DAUGHTER, [sings]
	The George Alow came from the south,
	From the coast of Barbary-a,
	And there he met with brave gallants of war,
	By one, by two, by three-a.
	"Well hailed, well hailed, you jolly gallants,
	And whither now are you bound-a?
	O, let me have your company
	Till I come to the sound-a."
There was three fools, fell out about an owlet--
[Sings] 	The one he said it was an owl,
	   The other he said nay,
	The third he said it was a hawk,
	   And her bells were cut away.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  There's a dainty madwoman, master,
comes i' th' nick, as mad as a March hare. If we
can get her dance, we are made again. I warrant
her, she'll do the rarest gambols.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN  A madwoman? We are made, boys.

SCHOOLMASTER, [to Jailer's Daughter]  And are you mad,
good woman?

DAUGHTER  I would be sorry else. Give me your hand.

SCHOOLMASTER  Why?

DAUGHTER  I can tell your fortune. [She looks at his
hand.] You are a fool. Tell ten.--I have posed him.
Buzz!--Friend, you must eat no white bread; if
you do, your teeth will bleed extremely. Shall we
dance, ho? I know you, you're a tinker. Sirrah tinker,
stop no more holes but what you should.

SCHOOLMASTER  Dii boni! A tinker, damsel?

DAUGHTER  Or a conjurer. Raise me a devil now, and let
him play Chi passa o' th' bells and bones.

SCHOOLMASTER  Go, take her, and fluently persuade her
to a peace. Et opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira, nec
ignis. Strike up, and lead her in.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN  Come, lass, let's trip it.

DAUGHTER  I'll lead.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN  Do, do!

SCHOOLMASTER  Persuasively, and cunningly.
[Wind horns.]
Away, boys! I hear the horns. Give me some
meditation, and mark your cue.
[All but Schoolmaster exit.]
Pallas, inspire me!

[Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia, and train.]


THESEUS  This way the stag took.

SCHOOLMASTER  Stay, and edify!

THESEUS  What have we here?

PIRITHOUS  Some country sport, upon my life, sir.

THESEUS, [to Schoolmaster]  Well, sir, go forward. We
will "edify."	[Chairs and stools brought out.]
Ladies, sit down. We'll stay it.
[Theseus, Hippolyta, and Emilia sit.]

SCHOOLMASTER
Thou doughty duke, all hail!--All hail, sweet ladies!

THESEUS, [aside]  This is a cold beginning.

SCHOOLMASTER
If you but favor, our country pastime made is.
We are a few of those collected here
That ruder tongues distinguish "villager."
And to say verity, and not to fable,
We are a merry rout, or else a rabble,
Or company, or by a figure, chorus,
That 'fore thy dignity will dance a morris.
And I that am the rectifier of all,
By title pedagogus, that let fall
The birch upon the breeches of the small ones,
And humble with a ferula the tall ones,
Do here present this machine, or this frame.
And, dainty duke, whose doughty dismal fame
From Dis to Daedalus, from post to pillar,
Is blown abroad, help me, thy poor well-willer,
And with thy twinkling eyes look right and straight
Upon this mighty "Morr," of mickle weight--
"Is" now comes in, which being glued together
Makes "Morris," and the cause that we came hither.
The body of our sport, of no small study,
I first appear, though rude, and raw, and muddy,
To speak before thy noble grace this tenner,
At whose great feet I offer up my penner.
The next, the Lord of May and Lady bright,
The Chambermaid and Servingman by night
That seek out silent hanging; then mine Host
And his fat Spouse, that welcomes to their cost
The galled traveler, and with a beck'ning
Informs the tapster to inflame the reck'ning;
Then the beest-eating Clown; and next the Fool,
The Bavian with long tail and eke long tool,
Cum multis aliis that make a dance;
Say "ay," and all shall presently advance.

THESEUS
Ay, ay, by any means, dear Domine.

PIRITHOUS  Produce!

SCHOOLMASTER
Intrate, filii. Come forth and foot it.

[Music. Enter the Countrymen, Countrywomen, and
Jailer's Daughter; they perform a morris dance.]


SCHOOLMASTER
	Ladies, if we have been merry
	And have pleased ye with a derry,
	And a derry and a down,
	Say the Schoolmaster's no clown.--
	Duke, if we have pleased thee too
	And have done as good boys should do,
	Give us but a tree or twain
	For a Maypole, and again,
	Ere another year run out,
	We'll make thee laugh, and all this rout.

THESEUS
Take twenty, Domine.--How does my sweetheart?

HIPPOLYTA
Never so pleased, sir.

EMILIA  'Twas an excellent dance,
And, for a preface, I never heard a better.

THESEUS
Schoolmaster, I thank you.--One see 'em all
rewarded.	[An Attendant gives money.]

PIRITHOUS
And here's something to paint your pole withal.
[He gives money.]

THESEUS  Now to our sports again.

SCHOOLMASTER
	May the stag thou hunt'st stand long,
	And thy dogs be swift and strong;
	May they kill him without lets,
	And the ladies eat his dowsets.
[Wind horns within. Theseus, Hippolyta,
Emilia, Pirithous, and Train exit.]
Come, we are all made. Dii deaeque omnes,
You have danced rarely, wenches.
[They exit.]

Scene 6
=======
[Enter Palamon from the bush.]


PALAMON
About this hour my cousin gave his faith
To visit me again, and with him bring
Two swords and two good armors. If he fail,
He's neither man nor soldier. When he left me,
I did not think a week could have restored
My lost strength to me, I was grown so low
And crestfall'n with my wants. I thank thee, Arcite,
Thou art yet a fair foe, and I feel myself,
With this refreshing, able once again
To outdure danger. To delay it longer
Would make the world think, when it comes to
hearing,
That I lay fatting like a swine to fight
And not a soldier. Therefore, this blest morning
Shall be the last; and that sword he refuses,
If it but hold, I kill him with. 'Tis justice.
So, love and fortune for me!

[Enter Arcite with armors and swords.]

O, good morrow.

ARCITE
Good morrow, noble kinsman.

PALAMON  I have put you
To too much pains, sir.

ARCITE  That too much, fair cousin,
Is but a debt to honor and my duty.

PALAMON
Would you were so in all, sir; I could wish you
As kind a kinsman as you force me find
A beneficial foe, that my embraces
Might thank you, not my blows.

ARCITE  I shall think either,
Well done, a noble recompense.

PALAMON  Then I shall quit you.

ARCITE
Defy me in these fair terms, and you show
More than a mistress to me. No more anger,
As you love anything that's honorable!
We were not bred to talk, man; when we are armed
And both upon our guards, then let our fury,
Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,
And then to whom the birthright of this beauty
Truly pertains--without upbraidings, scorns,
Despisings of our persons, and such poutings,
Fitter for girls and schoolboys--will be seen,
And quickly, yours or mine. Will 't please you arm,
sir?
Or if you feel yourself not fitting yet
And furnished with your old strength, I'll stay,
cousin,
And ev'ry day discourse you into health,
As I am spared. Your person I am friends with,
And I could wish I had not said I loved her,
Though I had died. But loving such a lady,
And justifying my love, I must not fly from 't.

PALAMON
Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy
That no man but thy cousin's fit to kill thee.
I am well and lusty. Choose your arms.

ARCITE  Choose you, sir.

PALAMON
Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it
To make me spare thee?

ARCITE  If you think so, cousin,
You are deceived, for as I am a soldier,
I will not spare you.

PALAMON  That's well said.

ARCITE  You'll find it.

PALAMON
Then, as I am an honest man and love
With all the justice of affection,
I'll pay thee soundly.	[He chooses armor.]
This I'll take.

ARCITE [taking the other]  That's mine, then.
I'll arm you first.

PALAMON  Do.	[Arcite begins arming him.]
Pray thee tell me, cousin,
Where got'st thou this good armor?

ARCITE  'Tis the Duke's,
And to say true, I stole it. Do I pinch you?

PALAMON  No.

ARCITE
Is 't not too heavy?

PALAMON  I have worn a lighter,
But I shall make it serve.

ARCITE  I'll buckle 't close.

PALAMON
By any means.

ARCITE  You care not for a grand guard?

PALAMON
No, no, we'll use no horses. I perceive
You would fain be at that fight.

ARCITE  I am indifferent.

PALAMON
Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle
Through far enough.

ARCITE  I warrant you.

PALAMON  My casque now.

ARCITE
Will you fight bare-armed?

PALAMON  We shall be the nimbler.

ARCITE
But use your gauntlets though. Those are o' th' least.
Prithee take mine, good cousin.

PALAMON  Thank you, Arcite.
How do I look? Am I fall'n much away?

ARCITE
Faith, very little; love has used you kindly.

PALAMON
I'll warrant thee, I'll strike home.

ARCITE  Do, and spare not.
I'll give you cause, sweet cousin.

PALAMON  Now to you, sir.
[He begins to arm Arcite.]
Methinks this armor's very like that, Arcite,
Thou wor'st that day the three kings fell, but lighter.

ARCITE
That was a very good one, and that day,
I well remember, you outdid me, cousin.
I never saw such valor. When you charged
Upon the left wing of the enemy,
I spurred hard to come up, and under me
I had a right good horse.

PALAMON  You had, indeed;
A bright bay, I remember.

ARCITE  Yes, but all
Was vainly labored in me; you outwent me,
Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little
I did by imitation.

PALAMON  More by virtue;
You are modest, cousin.

ARCITE  When I saw you charge first,
Methought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder
Break from the troop.

PALAMON  But still before that flew
The lightning of your valor. Stay a little;
Is not this piece too strait?

ARCITE  No, no, 'tis well.

PALAMON
I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword.
A bruise would be dishonor.

ARCITE  Now I am perfect.

PALAMON
Stand off, then.

ARCITE  Take my sword; I hold it better.

PALAMON
I thank you, no; keep it; your life lies on it.
Here's one; if it but hold, I ask no more
For all my hopes. My cause and honor guard me!

ARCITE
And me my love!
[They bow several ways, then advance and stand.]
Is there aught else to say?

PALAMON
This only, and no more: thou art mine aunt's son.
And that blood we desire to shed is mutual--
In me thine, and in thee mine. My sword
Is in my hand, and if thou kill'st me,
The gods and I forgive thee. If there be
A place prepared for those that sleep in honor,
I wish his weary soul that falls may win it.
Fight bravely, cousin. Give me thy noble hand.

ARCITE, [as they shake hands]
Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more
Come near thee with such friendship.

PALAMON  I commend thee.

ARCITE
If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,
For none but such dare die in these just trials.
Once more farewell, my cousin.

PALAMON  Farewell, Arcite.
[Fight.]
[Horns within. They stand.]

ARCITE
Lo, cousin, lo, our folly has undone us!

PALAMON  Why?

ARCITE
This is the Duke, a-hunting, as I told you.
If we be found, we are wretched. O, retire,
For honor's sake, and safely, presently
Into your bush again. Sir, we shall find
Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin,
If you be seen, you perish instantly
For breaking prison, and I, if you reveal me,
For my contempt. Then all the world will scorn us,
And say we had a noble difference,
But base disposers of it.

PALAMON  No, no, cousin,
I will no more be hidden, nor put off
This great adventure to a second trial.
I know your cunning, and I know your cause.
He that faints now, shame take him! Put thyself
Upon thy present guard--

ARCITE  You are not mad?

PALAMON
Or I will make th' advantage of this hour
Mine own, and what to come shall threaten me
I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin,
I love Emilia, and in that I'll bury
Thee and all crosses else.

ARCITE  Then come what can come,
Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well
Die as discourse or sleep. Only this fears me:
The law will have the honor of our ends.
Have at thy life!

PALAMON  Look to thine own well, Arcite.
[Fight again.]

[Horns. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia,
Pirithous and train.]


THESEUS
What ignorant and mad malicious traitors
Are you, that 'gainst the tenor of my laws
Are making battle, thus like knights appointed,
Without my leave and officers of arms?
By Castor, both shall die.

PALAMON  Hold thy word, Theseus.
We are certainly both traitors, both despisers
Of thee and of thy goodness. I am Palamon,
That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison.
Think well what that deserves. And this is Arcite.
A bolder traitor never trod thy ground,
A falser ne'er seemed friend. This is the man
Was begged and banished; this is he contemns thee
And what thou dar'st do; and in this disguise,
Against thine own edict, follows thy sister,
That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia,
Whose servant--if there be a right in seeing
And first bequeathing of the soul to--justly
I am; and, which is more, dares think her his.
This treachery, like a most trusty lover,
I called him now to answer. If thou be'st
As thou art spoken, great and virtuous,
The true decider of all injuries,
Say "Fight again," and thou shalt see me, Theseus,
Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy.
Then take my life; I'll woo thee to 't.

PIRITHOUS  O heaven,
What more than man is this!

THESEUS  I have sworn.

ARCITE  We seek not
Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. 'Tis to me
A thing as soon to die as thee to say it,
And no more moved. Where this man calls me
traitor,
Let me say thus much: if in love be treason,
In service of so excellent a beauty,
As I love most, and in that faith will perish,
As I have brought my life here to confirm it,
As I have served her truest, worthiest,
As I dare kill this cousin that denies it,
So let me be most traitor, and you please me.
For scorning thy edict, duke, ask that lady
Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me
Stay here to love her; and if she say "traitor,"
I am a villain fit to lie unburied.

PALAMON
Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus,
If unto neither thou show mercy. Stop,
As thou art just, thy noble ear against us;
As thou art valiant, for thy cousin's soul,
Whose twelve strong labors crown his memory,
Let's die together at one instant, duke;
Only a little let him fall before me,
That I may tell my soul he shall not have her.

THESEUS
I grant your wish, for to say true, your cousin
Has ten times more offended, for I gave him
More mercy than you found, sir, your offenses
Being no more than his.--None here speak for 'em,
For ere the sun set both shall sleep forever.

HIPPOLYTA
Alas, the pity! Now or never, sister,
Speak not to be denied. That face of yours
Will bear the curses else of after ages
For these lost cousins.

EMILIA  In my face, dear sister,
I find no anger to 'em, nor no ruin.
The misadventure of their own eyes kill 'em.
Yet that I will be woman and have pity,
My knees shall grow to th' ground but I'll get mercy.
[She kneels.]
Help me, dear sister; in a deed so virtuous,
The powers of all women will be with us.
[Hippolyta kneels.]
Most royal brother--

HIPPOLYTA  Sir, by our tie of marriage--

EMILIA
By your own spotless honor--

HIPPOLYTA  By that faith,
That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me--

EMILIA
By that you would have pity in another;
By your own virtues infinite--

HIPPOLYTA  By valor;
By all the chaste nights I have ever pleased you--

THESEUS
These are strange conjurings.

PIRITHOUS  Nay, then, I'll in too.
[He kneels.]
By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers;
By all you love most, wars and this sweet lady--

EMILIA
By that you would have trembled to deny
A blushing maid--

HIPPOLYTA  By your own eyes; by strength,
In which you swore I went beyond all women,
Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus--

PIRITHOUS
To crown all this: by your most noble soul,
Which cannot want due mercy, I beg first--

HIPPOLYTA
Next hear my prayers--

EMILIA  Last let me entreat, sir--

PIRITHOUS
For mercy.

HIPPOLYTA  Mercy.

EMILIA  Mercy on these princes.

THESEUS
You make my faith reel. [(To Emilia.)] Say I felt
Compassion to 'em both, how would you place it?
[They rise from their knees.]

EMILIA
Upon their lives, but with their banishments.

THESEUS
You are a right woman, sister: you have pity,
But want the understanding where to use it.
If you desire their lives, invent a way
Safer than banishment. Can these two live,
And have the agony of love about 'em,
And not kill one another? Every day
They'd fight about you, hourly bring your honor
In public question with their swords. Be wise, then,
And here forget 'em; it concerns your credit
And my oath equally. I have said they die.
Better they fall by th' law than one another.
Bow not my honor.

EMILIA  O, my noble brother,
That oath was rashly made, and in your anger;
Your reason will not hold it. If such vows
Stand for express will, all the world must perish.
Besides, I have another oath 'gainst yours,
Of more authority, I am sure more love,
Not made in passion neither, but good heed.

THESEUS
What is it, sister?

PIRITHOUS  Urge it home, brave lady.

EMILIA
That you would ne'er deny me anything
Fit for my modest suit and your free granting.
I tie you to your word now; if you fail in 't,
Think how you maim your honor--
For now I am set a-begging, sir, I am deaf
To all but your compassion--how their lives
Might breed the ruin of my name. Opinion!
Shall anything that loves me perish for me?
That were a cruel wisdom. Do men prune
The straight young boughs that blush with thousand
blossoms
Because they may be rotten? O, Duke Theseus,
The goodly mothers that have groaned for these,
And all the longing maids that ever loved,
If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty,
And in their funeral songs for these two cousins
Despise my cruelty, and cry woe worth me,
Till I am nothing but the scorn of women.
For heaven's sake, save their lives, and banish 'em.

THESEUS
On what conditions?

EMILIA  Swear 'em never more
To make me their contention, or to know me,
To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be,
Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers
To one another.

PALAMON  I'll be cut a-pieces
Before I take this oath! Forget I love her?
O, all you gods, despise me then! Thy banishment
I not mislike, so we may fairly carry
Our swords and cause along; else never trifle,
But take our lives, duke. I must love, and will,
And for that love must and dare kill this cousin
On any piece the Earth has.

THESEUS  Will you, Arcite,
Take these conditions?

PALAMON  He's a villain, then.

PIRITHOUS  These are men!

ARCITE
No, never, duke. 'Tis worse to me than begging
To take my life so basely; though I think
I never shall enjoy her, yet I'll preserve
The honor of affection, and die for her,
Make death a devil!

THESEUS
What may be done? For now I feel compassion.

PIRITHOUS
Let it not fall again, sir.

THESEUS  Say, Emilia,
If one of them were dead, as one must, are you
Content to take th' other to your husband?
They cannot both enjoy you. They are princes
As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble
As ever fame yet spoke of. Look upon 'em,
And, if you can love, end this difference.
I give consent.--Are you content too, princes?

BOTH
With all our souls.

THESEUS  He that she refuses
Must die then.

BOTH  Any death thou canst invent, duke.

PALAMON
If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favor,
And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.

ARCITE
If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,
And soldiers sing my epitaph.

THESEUS, [to Emilia]  Make choice, then.

EMILIA
I cannot, sir; they are both too excellent.
For me, a hair shall never fall of these men.

HIPPOLYTA
What will become of 'em?

THESEUS  Thus I ordain it--
And, by mine honor, once again, it stands,
Or both shall die: you shall both to your country,
And each within this month, accompanied
With three fair knights, appear again in this place,
In which I'll plant a pyramid; and whether,
Before us that are here, can force his cousin
By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar,
He shall enjoy her; the other lose his head,
And all his friends; nor shall he grudge to fall,
Nor think he dies with interest in this lady.
Will this content you?

PALAMON  Yes.--Here, Cousin Arcite,
I am friends again till that hour.	[He offers his hand.]

ARCITE  I embrace you.
[They shake hands.]

THESEUS
Are you content, sister?

EMILIA  Yes, I must, sir,
Else both miscarry.

THESEUS, [to Palamon and Arcite]
Come, shake hands again, then,
And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel
Sleep till the hour prefixed, and hold your course.

PALAMON
We dare not fail thee, Theseus.
[They shake hands again.]

THESEUS  Come, I'll give you
Now usage like to princes and to friends.
When you return, who wins I'll settle here;
Who loses, yet I'll weep upon his bier.
[They exit.]


ACT 4
=====

Scene 1
=======
[Enter Jailer and his Friend.]


JAILER
Heard you no more? Was nothing said of me
Concerning the escape of Palamon?
Good sir, remember!

FIRST FRIEND  Nothing that I heard,
For I came home before the business
Was fully ended. Yet I might perceive,
Ere I departed, a great likelihood
Of both their pardons; for Hippolyta
And fair-eyed Emily, upon their knees,
Begged with such handsome pity that the Duke,
Methought, stood staggering whether he should
follow
His rash oath or the sweet compassion
Of those two ladies. And, to second them,
That truly noble prince, Pirithous--
Half his own heart--set in too, that I hope
All shall be well. Neither heard I one question
Of your name or his 'scape.

JAILER  Pray heaven it hold so.

[Enter Second Friend.]


SECOND FRIEND
Be of good comfort, man; I bring you news,
Good news.

JAILER  They are welcome.

SECOND FRIEND  Palamon has cleared
you
And got your pardon, and discovered how
And by whose means he escaped, which was your
daughter's,
Whose pardon is procured too; and the prisoner,
Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness,
Has given a sum of money to her marriage--
A large one, I'll assure you.

JAILER  You are a good man
And ever bring good news.

FIRST FRIEND  How was it ended?

SECOND FRIEND
Why, as it should be: they that ne'er begged
But they prevailed had their suits fairly granted;
The prisoners have their lives.

FIRST FRIEND  I knew 'twould be so.

SECOND FRIEND
But there be new conditions, which you'll hear of
At better time.

JAILER  I hope they are good.

SECOND FRIEND  They are
honorable;
How good they'll prove I know not.

FIRST FRIEND  'Twill be known.

[Enter Wooer.]


WOOER
Alas, sir, where's your daughter?

JAILER  Why do you ask?

WOOER
O, sir, when did you see her?

SECOND FRIEND, [aside]  How he looks!

JAILER
This morning.

WOOER  Was she well? Was she in health?
Sir, when did she sleep?

FIRST FRIEND, [aside]  These are strange questions.

JAILER
I do not think she was very well--for now
You make me mind her; but this very day
I asked her questions, and she answered me
So far from what she was, so childishly,
So sillily, as if she were a fool,
An innocent, and I was very angry.
But what of her, sir?

WOOER  Nothing but my pity;
But you must know it, and as good by me
As by another that less loves her.

JAILER  Well, sir?

WOOER
No, sir, not well.

FIRST FRIEND  Not right?

SECOND FRIEND  Not well?

WOOER
'Tis too true; she is mad.

FIRST FRIEND  It cannot be.

WOOER
Believe you'll find it so.

JAILER  I half suspected
What you told me. The gods comfort her!
Either this was her love to Palamon,
Or fear of my miscarrying on his 'scape,
Or both.

WOOER  'Tis likely.

JAILER  But why all this haste, sir?

WOOER
I'll tell you quickly. As I late was angling
In the great lake that lies behind the palace,
From the far shore--thick set with reeds and
sedges--
As patiently I was attending sport,
I heard a voice, a shrill one; and, attentive,
I gave my ear, when I might well perceive
'Twas one that sung, and by the smallness of it
A boy or woman. I then left my angle
To his own skill, came near, but yet perceived not
Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds
Had so encompassed it. I laid me down
And listened to the words she sung, for then,
Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,
I saw it was your daughter.

JAILER  Pray go on, sir.

WOOER
She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her
Repeat this often: "Palamon is gone,
Is gone to th' wood to gather mulberries;
I'll find him out tomorrow."

FIRST FRIEND  Pretty soul!

WOOER
"His shackles will betray him; he'll be taken,
And what shall I do then? I'll bring a bevy,
A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do,
With chaplets on their heads of daffadillies,
With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses,
And all we'll dance an antic 'fore the Duke,
And beg his pardon." Then she talked of you, sir--
That you must lose your head tomorrow morning,
And she must gather flowers to bury you,
And see the house made handsome. Then she sung
Nothing but "Willow, willow, willow," and between
Ever was "Palamon, fair Palamon,"
And "Palamon was a tall young man." The place
Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses,
A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand freshwater flowers of several colors,
That methought she appeared like the fair nymph
That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropped down from heaven. Rings she made
Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
The prettiest posies: "Thus our true love's tied,"
"This you may lose, not me," and many a one;
And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed,
And with the same breath smiled and kissed her
hand.

SECOND FRIEND
Alas, what pity it is!

WOOER  I made in to her.
She saw me, and straight sought the flood. I saved
her
And set her safe to land, when presently
She slipped away, and to the city made
With such a cry and swiftness that, believe me,
She left me far behind her. Three or four
I saw from far off cross her--one of 'em
I knew to be your brother--where she stayed
And fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with her
And hither came to tell you.

[Enter Jailer's Brother, Jailer's Daughter, and others.]

Here they are.

DAUGHTER, [sings]
	May you never more enjoy the light, etc.
Is not this a fine song?

BROTHER  O, a very fine one.

DAUGHTER  I can sing twenty more.

BROTHER  I think you can.

DAUGHTER  Yes, truly can I. I can sing "The Broom"
and "Bonny Robin." Are not you a tailor?

BROTHER  Yes.

DAUGHTER  Where's my wedding gown?

BROTHER  I'll bring it tomorrow.

DAUGHTER  Do, very rarely, I must be abroad else to
call the maids and pay the minstrels, for I must
lose my maidenhead by cocklight. 'Twill never
thrive else.
[Sings.]O fair, O sweet, etc.

BROTHER, [to Jailer]  You must e'en take it patiently.

JAILER  'Tis true.

DAUGHTER  Good e'en, good men. Pray, did you ever
hear of one young Palamon?

JAILER  Yes, wench, we know him.

DAUGHTER  Is 't not a fine young gentleman?

JAILER  'Tis, love.

BROTHER, [aside to others]  By no mean cross her; she
is then distempered far worse than now she
shows.

FIRST FRIEND, [to Daughter]  Yes, he's a fine man.

DAUGHTER  O , is he so? You have a sister.

FIRST FRIEND  Yes.

DAUGHTER  But she shall never have him--tell her so--
for a trick that I know; you'd best look to her, for
if she see him once, she's gone, she's done and
undone in an hour. All the young maids of our
town are in love with him, but I laugh at 'em and
let 'em all alone. Is 't not a wise course?

FIRST FRIEND  Yes.

DAUGHTER  There is at least two hundred now with
child by him--there must be four; yet I keep close
for all this, close as a cockle; and all these must be
boys--he has the trick on 't--and at ten years old
they must be all gelt for musicians and sing the
wars of Theseus.

SECOND FRIEND  This is strange.

DAUGHTER  As ever you heard, but say nothing.

FIRST FRIEND  No.

DAUGHTER  They come from all parts of the dukedom
to him; I'll warrant you, he had not so few last
night as twenty to dispatch. He'll tickle 't up in two
hours, if his hand be in.

JAILER, [aside]  She's lost past all cure.

BROTHER  Heaven forbid, man!

DAUGHTER, [to Jailer]  Come hither; you are a wise
man.

FIRST FRIEND, [aside]  Does she know him?

SECOND FRIEND  No; would she did.

DAUGHTER  You are master of a ship?

JAILER  Yes.

DAUGHTER  Where's your compass?

JAILER  Here.

DAUGHTER  Set it to th' north. And now direct your
course to th' wood, where Palamon lies longing for
me. For the tackling, let me alone.--Come, weigh,
my hearts, cheerly.

ALL, [as if sailing a ship]  Owgh, owgh, owgh!--'Tis up!
The wind's fair!--Top the bowline!--Out with the
main sail! Where's your whistle, master?

BROTHER  Let's get her in!

JAILER  Up to the top, boy!

BROTHER  Where's the pilot?

FIRST FRIEND  Here.

DAUGHTER  What kenn'st thou?

SECOND FRIEND  A fair wood.

DAUGHTER  Bear for it, master. Tack about!
[Sings.]
	When Cynthia with her borrowed light, etc.
[They exit.]

Scene 2
=======
[Enter Emilia alone, with two pictures.]


EMILIA
Yet I may bind those wounds up that must open
And bleed to death for my sake else. I'll choose,
And end their strife. Two such young handsome men
Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers,
Following the dead cold ashes of their sons,
Shall never curse my cruelty.
[Looks at one of the pictures.]
Good heaven,
What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise Nature,
With all her best endowments, all those beauties
She sows into the births of noble bodies,
Were here a mortal woman, and had in her
The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless
She would run mad for this man. What an eye,
Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness,
Has this young prince! Here Love himself sits
smiling;
Just such another wanton Ganymede
Set Jove afire with, and enforced the god
Snatch up the goodly boy and set him by him,
A shining constellation. What a brow,
Of what a spacious majesty, he carries,
Arched like the great-eyed Juno's but far sweeter,
Smoother than Pelops' shoulder! Fame and Honor,
Methinks, from hence as from a promontory
Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings and sing
To all the under world the loves and fights
Of gods and such men near 'em.
[Looks at the other picture.]
Palamon
Is but his foil, to him a mere dull shadow;
He's swart and meager, of an eye as heavy
As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,
No stirring in him, no alacrity;
Of all this sprightly sharpness not a smile.
Yet these that we count errors may become him;
Narcissus was a sad boy but a heavenly.
O, who can find the bent of woman's fancy?
I am a fool; my reason is lost in me;
I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly
That women ought to beat me. On my knees
I ask thy pardon: Palamon, thou art alone
And only beautiful, and these the eyes,
These the bright lamps of beauty, that command
And threaten love, and what young maid dare cross
'em?
What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,
Has this brown manly face! O Love, this only
From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite.
[She puts aside his picture.]
Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,
And this the noble body. I am sotted,
Utterly lost. My virgin's faith has fled me.
For if my brother but even now had asked me
Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite.
Now, if my sister, more for Palamon.
Stand both together. Now, come ask me, brother.
Alas, I know not! Ask me now, sweet sister.
I may go look! What a mere child is Fancy,
That, having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,
Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both.

[Enter a Gentleman.]

How now, sir?

GENTLEMAN  From the noble duke, your brother,
Madam, I bring you news: the knights are come.

EMILIA
To end the quarrel?

GENTLEMAN  Yes.

EMILIA  Would I might end first!
What sins have I committed, chaste Diana,
That my unspotted youth must now be soiled
With blood of princes, and my chastity
Be made the altar where the lives of lovers--
Two greater and two better never yet
Made mothers joy--must be the sacrifice
To my unhappy beauty?

[Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous and Attendants.]


THESEUS, [to Attendant]  Bring 'em in
Quickly, by any means; I long to see 'em.
[To Emilia.] Your two contending lovers are
returned,
And with them their fair knights. Now, my fair
sister,
You must love one of them.

EMILIA  I had rather both,
So neither for my sake should fall untimely.

THESEUS
Who saw 'em?

PIRITHOUS  I awhile.

GENTLEMAN  And I.

[Enter a Messenger.]


THESEUS
From whence come you, sir?

MESSENGER  From the knights.

THESEUS  Pray
speak,
You that have seen them, what they are.

MESSENGER  I will, sir,
And truly what I think. Six braver spirits
Than these they have brought, if we judge by the
outside,
I never saw nor read of. He that stands
In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,
Should be a stout man, by his face a prince--
His very looks so say him; his complexion
Nearer a brown than black--stern and yet noble--
Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers;
The circles of his eyes show fire within him,
And as a heated lion, so he looks.
His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining
Like ravens' wings; his shoulders broad and strong,
Armed long and round; and on his thigh a sword
Hung by a curious baldric, when he frowns
To seal his will with. Better, o' my conscience,
Was never soldier's friend.

THESEUS
Thou hast well described him.

PIRITHOUS  Yet a great
deal short,
Methinks, of him that's first with Palamon.

THESEUS
Pray speak him, friend.

PIRITHOUS  I guess he is a prince too,
And, if it may be, greater; for his show
Has all the ornament of honor in 't:
He's somewhat bigger than the knight he spoke of,
But of a face far sweeter; his complexion
Is, as a ripe grape, ruddy. He has felt
Without doubt what he fights for, and so apter
To make this cause his own. In 's face appears
All the fair hopes of what he undertakes,
And when he's angry, then a settled valor,
Not tainted with extremes, runs through his body
And guides his arm to brave things. Fear he cannot;
He shows no such soft temper. His head's yellow,
Hard-haired and curled, thick-twined like ivy tods,
Not to undo with thunder. In his face
The livery of the warlike maid appears,
Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blessed him.
And in his rolling eyes sits Victory,
As if she ever meant to crown his valor.
His nose stands high, a character of honor;
His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies.

EMILIA
Must these men die too?

PIRITHOUS  When he speaks, his tongue
Sounds like a trumpet. All his lineaments
Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and clean.
He wears a well-steeled axe, the staff of gold;
His age some five-and-twenty.

MESSENGER  There's another--
A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming
As great as any; fairer promises
In such a body yet I never looked on.

PIRITHOUS
O, he that's freckle-faced?

MESSENGER  The same, my lord.
Are they not sweet ones?

PIRITHOUS  Yes, they are well.

MESSENGER  Methinks,
Being so few, and well disposed, they show
Great and fine art in nature. He's white-haired--
Not wanton white, but such a manly color
Next to an auburn; tough and nimble-set,
Which shows an active soul. His arms are brawny,
Lined with strong sinews--to the shoulder-piece
Gently they swell, like women new-conceived,
Which speaks him prone to labor, never fainting
Under the weight of arms; stout-hearted still,
But when he stirs, a tiger. He's grey-eyed,
Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharp
To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em,
He's swift to make 'em his. He does no wrongs,
Nor takes none. He's round-faced, and when he
smiles
He shows a lover; when he frowns, a soldier.
About his head he wears the winner's oak,
And in it stuck the favor of his lady.
His age some six-and-thirty. In his hand
He bears a charging-staff embossed with silver.

THESEUS
Are they all thus?

PIRITHOUS  They are all the sons of honor.

THESEUS
Now, as I have a soul, I long to see 'em.--
Lady, you shall see men fight now.

HIPPOLYTA  I wish it,
But not the cause, my lord. They would show
Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms;
'Tis pity love should be so tyrannous.--
O, my soft-hearted sister, what think you?
Weep not till they weep blood. Wench, it must be.

THESEUS, [to Emilia]
You have steeled 'em with your beauty. [(To
Pirithous.)] Honored friend,
To you I give the field; pray order it
Fitting the persons that must use it.

PIRITHOUS  Yes, sir.

THESEUS
Come, I'll go visit 'em. I cannot stay--
Their fame has fired me so--till they appear.
Good friend, be royal.

PIRITHOUS  There shall want no bravery.
[All but Emilia exit.]

EMILIA
Poor wench, go weep, for whosoever wins
Loses a noble cousin for thy sins.
[She exits.]

Scene 3
=======
[Enter Jailer, Wooer, Doctor.]


DOCTOR  Her distraction is more at some time of the
moon than at other some, is it not?

JAILER  She is continually in a harmless distemper,
sleeps little, altogether without appetite, save often
drinking, dreaming of another world, and a better;
and what broken piece of matter soe'er she's about,
the name Palamon lards it, that she farces ev'ry
business withal, fits it to every question.

[Enter Jailer's Daughter.]

Look where she comes; you shall perceive her
behavior.	[They stand aside.]

DAUGHTER  I have forgot it quite. The burden on 't was
"down-a down-a," and penned by no worse man
than Geraldo, Emilia's schoolmaster. He's as fantastical,
too, as ever he may go upon 's legs, for in
the next world will Dido see Palamon, and then
will she be out of love with Aeneas.

DOCTOR, [aside to Jailer and Wooer]  What stuff's here?
Poor soul.

JAILER  E'en thus all day long.

DAUGHTER  Now for this charm that I told you of, you
must bring a piece of silver on the tip of your
tongue, or no ferry; then if it be your chance to
come where the blessed spirits are, there's a
sight now! We maids that have our livers perished,
cracked to pieces with love, we shall come there,
and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with
Proserpine. Then will I make Palamon a nosegay;
then let him mark me then.

DOCTOR  How prettily she's amiss! Note her a little
further.

DAUGHTER  Faith, I'll tell you, sometime we go to
barley-break, we of the blessed. Alas, 'tis a sore life
they have i' th' other place--such burning, frying,
boiling, hissing, howling, chatt'ring, cursing--O,
they have shrewd measure, take heed! If one be
mad, or hang or drown themselves, thither they
go, Jupiter bless us, and there shall we be put in
a cauldron of lead and usurers' grease, amongst a
whole million of cutpurses, and there boil like a
gammon of bacon that will never be enough.

DOCTOR  How her brains coins!

DAUGHTER  Lords and courtiers that have got maids
with child, they are in this place. They shall stand
in fire up to the navel and in ice up to th' heart, and
there th' offending part burns and the deceiving
part freezes: in troth, a very grievous punishment,
as one would think, for such a trifle. Believe me,
one would marry a leprous witch to be rid on 't, I'll
assure you.

DOCTOR  How she continues this fancy! 'Tis not an engraffed
madness, but a most thick and profound
melancholy.

DAUGHTER  To hear there a proud lady and a proud city
wife howl together--I were a beast an I'd call it
good sport. One cries "O this smoke!" th' other,
"This fire!"; one cries, "O, that ever I did it behind
the arras!" and then howls; th' other curses a suing
fellow and her garden house.
[Sings.]
I will be true, my stars, my fate, etc.
[Daughter exits.]

JAILER  What think you of her, sir?

DOCTOR  I think she has a perturbed mind, which I
cannot minister to.

JAILER  Alas, what then?

DOCTOR  Understand you she ever affected any man
ere she beheld Palamon?

JAILER  I was once, sir, in great hope she had fixed her
liking on this gentleman, my friend.

WOOER  I did think so, too, and would account I had a
great penn'orth on 't to give half my state that both
she and I, at this present, stood unfeignedly on the
same terms.

DOCTOR  That intemp'rate surfeit of her eye hath distempered
the other senses. They may return and
settle again to execute their preordained faculties,
but they are now in a most extravagant vagary.
This you must do: confine her to a place where
the light may rather seem to steal in than be
permitted.--Take upon you, young sir, her friend,
the name of Palamon; say you come to eat with
her, and to commune of love. This will catch her
attention, for this her mind beats upon; other
objects that are inserted 'tween her mind and eye
become the pranks and friskins of her madness.
Sing to her such green songs of love as she says
Palamon hath sung in prison. Come to her stuck
in as sweet flowers as the season is mistress of,
and thereto make an addition of some other compounded
odors which are grateful to the sense.
All this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can
sing, and Palamon is sweet and ev'ry good thing.
Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and
still among intermingle your petition of grace and
acceptance into her favor. Learn what maids have
been her companions and playferes, and let them
repair to her with Palamon in their mouths, and
appear with tokens, as if they suggested for him.--
It is a falsehood she is in, which is with falsehoods
to be combated. This may bring her to eat,
to sleep, and reduce what's now out of square in
her into their former law and regiment. I have seen
it approved, how many times I know not, but to
make the number more, I have great hope in this.
I will between the passages of this project come
in with my appliance. Let us put it in execution
and hasten the success, which doubt not will bring
forth comfort.
[They exit.]


ACT 5
=====

Scene 1
=======
[Flourish. Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta,
and Attendants. Three altars set up onstage.]


THESEUS
Now let 'em enter and before the gods
Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples
Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars
In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense
To those above us. Let no due be wanting.
They have a noble work in hand will honor
The very powers that love 'em.

PIRITHOUS  Sir, they enter.

[Flourish of cornets. Enter Palamon and Arcite
and their Knights.]


THESEUS
You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,
You royal german foes, that this day come
To blow that nearness out that flames between you,
Lay by your anger for an hour and, dove-like,
Before the holy altars of your helpers,
The all-feared gods, bow down your stubborn
bodies.
Your ire is more than mortal; so your help be.
And as the gods regard you, fight with justice.
I'll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt you
I part my wishes.

PIRITHOUS  Honor crown the worthiest!
[Theseus and his train exit.]

PALAMON
The glass is running now that cannot finish
Till one of us expire. Think you but thus,
That were there aught in me which strove to show
Mine enemy in this business, were 't one eye
Against another, arm oppressed by arm,
I would destroy th' offender, coz--I would
Though parcel of myself. Then from this gather
How I should tender you.

ARCITE  I am in labor
To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred
Out of my memory, and i' th' selfsame place
To seat something I would confound. So hoist we
The sails that must these vessels port even where
The heavenly Limiter pleases.

PALAMON  You speak well.
Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin.
[They embrace.]
This I shall never do again.

ARCITE  One farewell.

PALAMON
Why, let it be so. Farewell, coz.

ARCITE  Farewell, sir.
[Palamon and his Knights exit.]
Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices,
True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you
Expels the seeds of fear and th' apprehension
Which still is father of it, go with me
Before the god of our profession. There
Require of him the hearts of lions and
The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too,
Yea, the speed also--to go on, I mean;
Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize
Must be dragged out of blood; force and great feat
Must put my garland on, where she sticks,
The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then,
Must be to him that makes the camp a cistern
Brimmed with the blood of men. Give me your aid,
And bend your spirits towards him.
[They go to Mars's altar, fall on
their faces before it, and then kneel.]
Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turned
Green Neptune into purple, whose approach
Comets prewarn, whose havoc in vast field
Unearthed skulls proclaim, whose breath blows
down
The teeming Ceres' foison, who dost pluck
With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds
The masoned turrets, that both mak'st and break'st
The stony girths of cities; me thy pupil,
Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day
With military skill, that to thy laud
I may advance my streamer, and by thee
Be styled the lord o' th' day. Give me, great Mars,
Some token of thy pleasure.
[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and
there is heard clanging of armor, with a short
thunder, as the burst of a battle, whereupon
they all rise and bow to the altar.]
O, great corrector of enormous times,
Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider
Of dusty and old titles, that heal'st with blood
The Earth when it is sick, and cur'st the world
O' th' pleurisy of people, I do take
Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name
To my design march boldly.--Let us go.	[They exit.]

[Enter Palamon and his Knights,
with the former observance.]


PALAMON
Our stars must glister with new fire, or be
Today extinct. Our argument is love,
Which, if the goddess of it grant, she gives
Victory too. Then blend your spirits with mine,
You whose free nobleness do make my cause
Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus
Commend we our proceeding, and implore
Her power unto our party.
[Here they go to Venus's altar, fall on
their faces before it, and then kneel.]
Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power
To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage
And weep unto a girl; that hast the might
Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars's drum
And turn th' alarm to whispers; that canst make
A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him
Before Apollo; that mayst force the king
To be his subject's vassal, and induce
Stale gravity to dance. The polled bachelor,
Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires,
Have skipped thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch,
And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat,
Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power
Hast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou
Add'st flames hotter than his; the heavenly fires
Did scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress,
All moist and cold, some say, began to throw
Her bow away and sigh. Take to thy grace
Me, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yoke
As 'twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier
Than lead itself, stings more than nettles.
I have never been foul-mouthed against thy law,
Ne'er revealed secret, for I knew none--would not,
Had I kenned all that were. I never practiced
Upon man's wife, nor would the libels read
Of liberal wits. I never at great feasts
Sought to betray a beauty, but have blushed
At simp'ring sirs that did. I have been harsh
To large confessors, and have hotly asked them
If they had mothers--I had one, a woman,
And women 'twere they wronged. I knew a man
Of eighty winters--this I told them--who
A lass of fourteen brided; 'twas thy power
To put life into dust. The aged cramp
Had screwed his square foot round;
The gout had knit his fingers into knots;
Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes
Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life
In him seemed torture. This anatomy
Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I
Believed it was his, for she swore it was,
And who would not believe her? Brief, I am
To those that prate and have done, no companion;
To those that boast and have not, a defier;
To those that would and cannot, a rejoicer.
Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices
The foulest way, nor names concealments in
The boldest language. Such a one I am,
And vow that lover never yet made sigh
Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess,
Give me the victory of this question, which
Is true love's merit, and bless me with a sign
Of thy great pleasure.
[Here music is heard; doves are
seen to flutter. They fall again upon
their faces, then on their knees.]
O thou that from eleven to ninety reign'st
In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world
And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks
For this fair token, which being laid unto
Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance
My body to this business.--Let us rise
And bow before the goddess.	[They rise and bow.]
Time comes on.
[They exit.]

[Still music of recorders. Enter Emilia in white, her
hair about her shoulders, wearing a wheaten wreath;
one in white holding up her train, her hair stuck with
flowers; one before her carrying a silver hind, in which
is conveyed incense and sweet odors, which being
set upon the altar of Diana, her maids standing
aloof, she sets fire to it. Then they curtsy and kneel.]


EMILIA
O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen,
Abandoner of revels, mute contemplative,
Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
As wind-fanned snow, who to thy female knights
Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush,
Which is their order's robe, I here, thy priest,
Am humbled 'fore thine altar. O, vouchsafe
With that thy rare green eye, which never yet
Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin,
And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear--
Which ne'er heard scurrile term, into whose port
Ne'er entered wanton sound--to my petition,
Seasoned with holy fear. This is my last
Of vestal office. I am bride-habited
But maiden-hearted. A husband I have 'pointed,
But do not know him. Out of two I should
Choose one, and pray for his success, but I
Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes,
Were I to lose one--they are equal precious--
I could doom neither; that which perished should
Go to 't unsentenced. Therefore, most modest queen,
He of the two pretenders that best loves me
And has the truest title in 't, let him
Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant
The file and quality I hold I may
Continue in thy band.
[Here the hind vanishes under the
altar, and in the place ascends a rose
tree, having one rose upon it.]
See what our general of ebbs and flows
Out from the bowels of her holy altar
With sacred act advances: but one rose.
If well inspired, this battle shall confound
Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flower,
Must grow alone unplucked.
[Here is heard a sudden twang of instruments,
and the rose falls from the tree.]
The flower is fall'n, the tree descends. O mistress,
Thou here dischargest me. I shall be gathered;
I think so, but I know not thine own will.
Unclasp thy mystery!--I hope she's pleased;
Her signs were gracious.
[They curtsy and exit.]

Scene 2
=======
[Enter Doctor, Jailer, and Wooer in
the habit of Palamon.]


DOCTOR
Has this advice I told you done any good upon her?

WOOER
O, very much. The maids that kept her company
Have half-persuaded her that I am Palamon;
Within this half-hour she came smiling to me,
And asked me what I would eat, and when I would
kiss her.
I told her "Presently," and kissed her twice.

DOCTOR
'Twas well done; twenty times had been far better,
For there the cure lies mainly.

WOOER  Then she told me
She would watch with me tonight, for well she knew
What hour my fit would take me.

DOCTOR  Let her do so,
And when your fit comes, fit her home,
And presently.

WOOER  She would have me sing.

DOCTOR
You did so?

WOOER  No.

DOCTOR  'Twas very ill done, then.
You should observe her ev'ry way.

WOOER  Alas,
I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way.

DOCTOR
That's all one, if you make a noise.
If she entreat again, do anything.
Lie with her, if she ask you.

JAILER  Ho there, doctor!

DOCTOR
Yes, in the way of cure.

JAILER  But first, by your leave,
I' th' way of honesty.

DOCTOR  That's but a niceness.
Ne'er cast your child away for honesty.
Cure her first this way; then if she will be honest,
She has the path before her.

JAILER
Thank you, doctor.

DOCTOR  Pray bring her in
And let's see how she is.

JAILER  I will, and tell her
Her Palamon stays for her. But, doctor,
Methinks you are i' th' wrong still.	[Jailer exits.]

DOCTOR  Go, go.
You fathers are fine fools. Her honesty?
And we should give her physic till we find that!

WOOER
Why, do you think she is not honest, sir?

DOCTOR
How old is she?

WOOER  She's eighteen.

DOCTOR  She may be.
But that's all one; 'tis nothing to our purpose.
Whate'er her father says, if you perceive
Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of,
Videlicet, the way of flesh--you have me?

WOOER
Yes, very well, sir.

DOCTOR  Please her appetite,
And do it home; it cures her, ipso facto,
The melancholy humor that infects her.

WOOER
I am of your mind, doctor.

DOCTOR  You'll find it so.

[Enter Jailer, Daughter, and Maid.]

She comes; pray humor her.
[Wooer and Doctor stand aside.]

JAILER, [to Daughter]
Come, your love Palamon stays for you, child,
And has done this long hour, to visit you.

DAUGHTER
I thank him for his gentle patience.
He's a kind gentleman, and I am much bound to
him.
Did you ne'er see the horse he gave me?

JAILER  Yes.

DAUGHTER
How do you like him?

JAILER  He's a very fair one.

DAUGHTER
You never saw him dance?

JAILER  No.

DAUGHTER  I have, often.
He dances very finely, very comely,
And for a jig, come cut and long tail to him,
He turns you like a top.

JAILER  That's fine indeed.

DAUGHTER
He'll dance the morris twenty mile an hour,
And that will founder the best hobbyhorse,
If I have any skill, in all the parish,
And gallops to the tune of "Light o' love."
What think you of this horse?

JAILER  Having these virtues,
I think he might be brought to play at tennis.

DAUGHTER
Alas, that's nothing.

JAILER  Can he write and read too?

DAUGHTER
A very fair hand, and casts himself th' accounts
Of all his hay and provender. That hostler
Must rise betime that cozens him. You know
The chestnut mare the Duke has?

JAILER  Very well.

DAUGHTER
She is horribly in love with him, poor beast,
But he is like his master, coy and scornful.

JAILER
What dowry has she?

DAUGHTER  Some two hundred bottles,
And twenty strike of oats, but he'll ne'er have her.
He lisps in 's neighing able to entice
A miller's mare. He'll be the death of her.

DOCTOR, [aside]  What stuff she utters!

[Wooer and Doctor come forward.]



JAILER
Make curtsy; here your love comes.

WOOER  Pretty soul,
How do you?	[Daughter curtsies.]
That's a fine maid; there's a curtsy!

DAUGHTER
Yours to command i' th' way of honesty.--
How far is 't now to th' end o' th' world, my masters?

DOCTOR
Why, a day's journey, wench.

DAUGHTER, [to Wooer]  Will you go with me?

WOOER
What shall we do there, wench?

DAUGHTER  Why, play at
stool-ball.
What is there else to do?

WOOER  I am content,
If we shall keep our wedding there.

DAUGHTER  'Tis true,
For there, I will assure you, we shall find
Some blind priest for the purpose, that will venture
To marry us; for here they are nice and foolish.
Besides, my father must be hanged tomorrow,
And that would be a blot i' th' business.
Are not you Palamon?

WOOER  Do not you know me?

DAUGHTER
Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing
But this poor petticoat and two coarse smocks.

WOOER
That's all one; I will have you.

DAUGHTER  Will you surely?

WOOER, [taking her hand]
Yes, by this fair hand, will I.

DAUGHTER  We'll to bed then.

WOOER
E'en when you will.	[He kisses her.]

DAUGHTER, [wiping her face]  O , sir, you would fain
be nibbling.

WOOER
Why do you rub my kiss off?

DAUGHTER  'Tis a sweet one,
And will perfume me finely against the wedding.
Is not this your cousin Arcite?	[She indicates Doctor.]

DOCTOR  Yes, sweetheart,
And I am glad my cousin Palamon
Has made so fair a choice.

DAUGHTER  Do you think he'll have me?

DOCTOR
Yes, without doubt.

DAUGHTER, [to Jailer]  Do you think so too?

JAILER  Yes.

DAUGHTER
We shall have many children. [(To Doctor.)] Lord,
how you're grown!
My Palamon, I hope, will grow too, finely,
Now he's at liberty. Alas, poor chicken,
He was kept down with hard meat and ill lodging,
But I'll kiss him up again.

[Enter a Messenger.]


MESSENGER
What do you here? You'll lose the noblest sight
That e'er was seen.

JAILER  Are they i' th' field?

MESSENGER  They are.
You bear a charge there too.

JAILER  I'll away straight.--
I must e'en leave you here.

DOCTOR  Nay, we'll go with you.
I will not lose the sight.

JAILER, [aside to Doctor]  How did you like her?

DOCTOR
I'll warrant you, within these three or four days
I'll make her right again.	[Jailer and Messenger exit.]
[(To Wooer.)] You must not from her,
But still preserve her in this way.

WOOER  I will.

DOCTOR
Let's get her in.

WOOER  Come, sweet, we'll go to dinner
And then we'll play at cards.

DAUGHTER  And shall we kiss too?

WOOER
A hundred times.

DAUGHTER  And twenty.

WOOER  Ay, and twenty.

DAUGHTER
And then we'll sleep together.

DOCTOR, [to Wooer]  Take her offer.

WOOER
Yes, marry, will we.

DAUGHTER  But you shall not hurt me.

WOOER
I will not, sweet.

DAUGHTER  If you do, love, I'll cry.
[They exit.]

Scene 3
=======
[Flourish. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta,
Emilia, Pirithous, and some Attendants.]


EMILIA
I'll no step further.

PIRITHOUS  Will you lose this sight?

EMILIA
I had rather see a wren hawk at a fly
Than this decision; ev'ry blow that falls
Threats a brave life; each stroke laments
The place whereon it falls, and sounds more like
A bell than blade. I will stay here.
It is enough my hearing shall be punished
With what shall happen, 'gainst the which there is
No deafing but to hear; not taint mine eye
With dread sights it may shun.

PIRITHOUS, [to Theseus]  Sir, my good lord,
Your sister will no further.

THESEUS  O, she must.
She shall see deeds of honor in their kind,
Which sometime show well, penciled. Nature now
Shall make and act the story, the belief
Both sealed with eye and ear.--You must be present;
You are the victor's meed, the price and garland
To crown the question's title.

EMILIA  Pardon me.
If I were there, I'd wink.

THESEUS  You must be there;
This trial is as 'twere i' th' night, and you
The only star to shine.

EMILIA  I am extinct;
There is but envy in that light which shows
The one the other. Darkness, which ever was
The dam of horror, who does stand accursed
Of many mortal millions, may even now,
By casting her black mantle over both,
That neither could find other, get herself
Some part of a good name, and many a murder
Set off whereto she's guilty.

HIPPOLYTA  You must go.

EMILIA
In faith, I will not.

THESEUS  Why, the knights must kindle
Their valor at your eye. Know, of this war
You are the treasure, and must needs be by
To give the service pay.

EMILIA  Sir, pardon me.
The title of a kingdom may be tried
Out of itself.

THESEUS  Well, well, then; at your pleasure.
Those that remain with you could wish their office
To any of their enemies.

HIPPOLYTA  Farewell, sister.
I am like to know your husband 'fore yourself
By some small start of time. He whom the gods
Do of the two know best, I pray them he
Be made your lot.
[Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, and others,
exit. Emilia remains, comparing again
the pictures of Arcite and Palamon.]

EMILIA
Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eye
Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon
In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage
Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon
Has a most menacing aspect; his brow
Is graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on;
Yet sometimes 'tis not so, but alters to
The quality of his thoughts. Long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object. Melancholy
Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite's mirth;
But Palamon's sadness is a kind of mirth,
So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad
And sadness merry. Those darker humors that
Stick misbecomingly on others, on them
Live in fair dwelling.
[Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge.]
Hark how yon spurs to spirit do incite
The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me,
And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to
The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity
Enough for such a chance? If I were by,
I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes
Towards my seat, and in that motion might
Omit a ward or forfeit an offense
Which craved that very time.
[Cornets. A great cry and noise
within crying "A Palamon!"]
It is much better
I am not there. O, better never born
Than minister to such harm!

[Enter Servant.]

What is the chance?

SERVANT  The cry's "A Palamon."

EMILIA  Then he has won. 'Twas ever likely.
He looked all grace and success, and he is
Doubtless the prim'st of men. I prithee run
And tell me how it goes.
[Shout and cornets, crying "A Palamon!"]

SERVANT  Still "Palamon."

EMILIA
Run and inquire.	[Servant exits.]
[Addressing Arcite's picture.] Poor servant, thou hast
lost.
Upon my right side still I wore thy picture,
Palamon's on the left--why so, I know not.
I had no end in 't else; chance would have it so.
On the sinister side the heart lies; Palamon
Had the best-boding chance.
[Another cry, and shout within, and cornets.]
This burst of clamor
Is sure th' end o' th' combat.

[Enter Servant.]


SERVANT
They said that Palamon had Arcite's body
Within an inch o' th' pyramid, that the cry
Was general "A Palamon." But anon,
Th' assistants made a brave redemption, and
The two bold titlers at this instant are
Hand to hand at it.

EMILIA  Were they metamorphosed
Both into one--O, why, there were no woman
Worth so composed a man! Their single share,
Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives
The prejudice of disparity, value's shortness,
To any lady breathing.
[Cornets. Cry within, "Arcite, Arcite."]
More exulting?
"Palamon" still?

SERVANT  Nay, now the sound is "Arcite."

EMILIA
I prithee lay attention to the cry;
Set both thine ears to th' business.
[Cornets. A great shout, and cry "Arcite, victory!"]

SERVANT  The cry is "Arcite"
And "Victory! Hark, Arcite, victory!"
The combat's consummation is proclaimed
By the wind instruments.

EMILIA  Half-sights saw
That Arcite was no babe. God's lid, his richness
And costliness of spirit looked through him; it could
No more be hid in him than fire in flax,
Than humble banks can go to law with waters
That drift-winds force to raging. I did think
Good Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew not
Why I did think so. Our reasons are not prophets
When oft our fancies are. They are coming off.
Alas, poor Palamon!

[Cornets. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous,
Arcite as victor, and Attendants and others.]


THESEUS
Lo, where our sister is in expectation,
Yet quaking and unsettled.--Fairest Emily,
The gods by their divine arbitrament
Have given you this knight; he is a good one
As ever struck at head.--Give me your hands.
Receive you her, you him. Be plighted with
A love that grows as you decay.

ARCITE  Emily,
To buy you I have lost what's dearest to me
Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheaply,
As I do rate your value.

THESEUS  O loved sister,
He speaks now of as brave a knight as e'er
Did spur a noble steed. Surely the gods
Would have him die a bachelor, lest his race
Should show i' th' world too godlike. His behavior
So charmed me that methought Alcides was
To him a sow of lead. If I could praise
Each part of him to th' all I have spoke, your Arcite
Did not lose by 't, for he that was thus good
Encountered yet his better. I have heard
Two emulous Philomels beat the ear o' th' night
With their contentious throats, now one the higher,
Anon the other, then again the first,
And by-and-by out-breasted, that the sense
Could not be judge between 'em. So it fared
Good space between these kinsmen, till heavens did
Make hardly one the winner.--Wear the garland
With joy that you have won.--For the subdued,
Give them our present justice, since I know
Their lives but pinch 'em. Let it here be done.
The scene's not for our seeing. Go we hence
Right joyful, with some sorrow.--Arm your prize;
I know you will not lose her.--Hippolyta,
I see one eye of yours conceives a tear,
The which it will deliver.

EMILIA  Is this winning?
O all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?
But that your wills have said it must be so,
And charge me live to comfort this unfriended,
This miserable prince, that cuts away
A life more worthy from him than all women,
I should and would die too.

HIPPOLYTA  Infinite pity
That four such eyes should be so fixed on one
That two must needs be blind for 't.

THESEUS  So it is.
[Flourish. They exit.]

Scene 4
=======
[Enter Guard with Palamon and his Knights,
pinioned; Jailer, Executioner and Others,
carrying a block and an ax.]


PALAMON
There's many a man alive that hath outlived
The love o' th' people; yea, i' th' selfsame state
Stands many a father with his child. Some comfort
We have by so considering. We expire,
And not without men's pity. To live still,
Have their good wishes; we prevent
The loathsome misery of age, beguile
The gout and rheum that in lag hours attend
For gray approachers; we come towards the gods
Young and unwappered, not halting under crimes
Many and stale. That sure shall please the gods
Sooner than such, to give us nectar with 'em,
For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen,
Whose lives for this poor comfort are laid down,
You have sold 'em too too cheap.

FIRST KNIGHT  What ending could be
Of more content? O'er us the victors have
Fortune, whose title is as momentary
As to us death is certain. A grain of honor
They not o'er-weigh us.

SECOND KNIGHT  Let us bid farewell;
And with our patience anger tott'ring Fortune,
Who at her certain'st reels.

THIRD KNIGHT  Come, who begins?

PALAMON
E'en he that led you to this banquet shall
Taste to you all. [To Jailer.] Ah ha, my friend, my
friend,
Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once;
You'll see 't done now forever. Pray, how does she?
I heard she was not well; her kind of ill
Gave me some sorrow.

JAILER  Sir, she's well restored,
And to be married shortly.

PALAMON  By my short life,
I am most glad on 't. 'Tis the latest thing
I shall be glad of; prithee, tell her so.
Commend me to her, and to piece her portion,
Tender her this.	[He gives his purse to Jailer.]

FIRST KNIGHT  Nay, let's be offerers all.

SECOND KNIGHT
Is it a maid?

PALAMON  Verily, I think so.
A right good creature, more to me deserving
Than I can quit or speak of.

ALL KNIGHTS  Commend us to her.
[They give their purses.]

JAILER
The gods requite you all and make her thankful!

PALAMON
Adieu, and let my life be now as short
As my leave-taking.	[Lays his head on the block.]

FIRST KNIGHT  Lead, courageous cousin.

SECOND AND THIRD KNIGHTS  We'll follow cheerfully.

[A great noise within crying "Run!" "Save!" "Hold!"
Enter in haste a Messenger.]


MESSENGER
Hold, hold! O, hold, hold, hold!

[Enter Pirithous in haste.]


PIRITHOUS
Hold, ho! It is a cursed haste you made
If you have done so quickly!--Noble Palamon,
The gods will show their glory in a life
That thou art yet to lead.

PALAMON  Can that be,
When Venus, I have said, is false? How do things
fare?

PIRITHOUS
Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear
That are most dearly sweet and bitter.

PALAMON, [rising]  What
Hath waked us from our dream?

PIRITHOUS  List then: your
cousin,
Mounted upon a steed that Emily
Did first bestow on him--a black one, owing
Not a hair worth of white, which some will say
Weakens his price, and many will not buy
His goodness with this note, which superstition
Here finds allowance--on this horse is Arcite
Trotting the stones of Athens--which the calkins
Did rather tell than trample, for the horse
Would make his length a mile, if 't pleased his rider
To put pride in him. As he thus went counting
The flinty pavement, dancing, as 'twere, to th' music
His own hooves made--for, as they say, from iron
Came music's origin--what envious flint,
Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessed
With fire malevolent, darted a spark,
Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made,
I comment not; the hot horse, hot as fire,
Took toy at this and fell to what disorder
His power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,
Forgets school-doing, being therein trained
And of kind manage. Pig-like he whines
At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather
Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means
Of boist'rous and rough jadery to disseat
His lord that kept it bravely. When naught served,
When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor
diff'ring plunges
Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that
He kept him 'tween his legs, on his hind hoofs
On end he stands
That Arcite's legs, being higher than his head,
Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor's wreath
Even then fell off his head, and presently
Backward the jade comes o'er, and his full poise
Becomes the rider's load. Yet is he living,
But such a vessel 'tis that floats but for
The surge that next approaches. He much desires
To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears.

[Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia,
and Arcite carried in a chair.]


PALAMON
O, miserable end of our alliance!
The gods are mighty, Arcite. If thy heart,
Thy worthy, manly heart, be yet unbroken,
Give me thy last words. I am Palamon,
One that yet loves thee dying.

ARCITE  Take Emilia
And with her all the world's joy. Reach thy hand;
Farewell. I have told my last hour. I was false,
Yet never treacherous. Forgive me, cousin.
One kiss from fair Emilia.	[She kisses him.]
'Tis done.
Take her. I die.	[He dies.]

PALAMON  Thy brave soul seek Elysium!

EMILIA
I'll close thine eyes, prince. Blessed souls be with
thee!
Thou art a right good man, and while I live,
This day I give to tears.

PALAMON  And I to honor.

THESEUS
In this place first you fought; e'en very here
I sundered you. Acknowledge to the gods
Our thanks that you are living.
His part is played, and though it were too short,
He did it well. Your day is lengthened, and
The blissful dew of heaven does arrouse you.
The powerful Venus well hath graced her altar,
And given you your love. Our master, Mars,
Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gave
The grace of the contention. So the deities
Have showed due justice.--Bear this hence.

PALAMON  O cousin,
That we should things desire which do cost us
The loss of our desire, that naught could buy
Dear love but loss of dear love.
[Arcite's body is carried out.]

THESEUS  Never Fortune
Did play a subtler game. The conquered triumphs;
The victor has the loss; yet in the passage
The gods have been most equal.--Palamon,
Your kinsman hath confessed the right o' th' lady
Did lie in you, for you first saw her and
Even then proclaimed your fancy. He restored her
As your stol'n jewel and desired your spirit
To send him hence forgiven. The gods my justice
Take from my hand and they themselves become
The executioners. Lead your lady off,
And call your lovers from the stage of death,
Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two
Let us look sadly, and give grace unto
The funeral of Arcite, in whose end
The visages of bridegrooms we'll put on
And smile with Palamon--for whom an hour,
But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry
As glad of Arcite, and am now as glad
As for him sorry. O you heavenly charmers,
What things you make of us! For what we lack
We laugh, for what we have are sorry, still
Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful
For that which is, and with you leave dispute
That are above our question. Let's go off
And bear us like the time.
[Flourish. They exit.]




[Enter Epilogue.]


EPILOGUE
I would now ask you how you like the play,
But, as it is with schoolboys, cannot say.
I am cruel fearful! Pray yet, stay a while,
And let me look upon you. No man smile?
Then it goes hard, I see. He that has
Loved a young handsome wench, then, show his
face--
'Tis strange if none be here--and, if he will,
Against his conscience let him hiss and kill
Our market. 'Tis in vain, I see, to stay you.
Have at the worst can come, then! Now what say
you?
And yet mistake me not: I am not bold.
We have no such cause. If the tale we have told--
For 'tis no other--any way content you--
For to that honest purpose it was meant you--
We have our end; and you shall have ere long,
I dare say, many a better, to prolong
Your old loves to us. We, and all our might,
Rest at your service. Gentlemen, good night.
[Flourish. He exits.]
