ACT IVSCENE I. Athens. A room in the prisonEnterJailerand hisFriend.JAILER.Hear you no more? Was nothing said of meConcerning the escape of Palamon?Good sir, remember.FIRST FRIEND.Nothing that I heard,For I came home before the businessWas fully ended. Yet I might perceive,Ere I departed, a great likelihoodOf both their pardons; for HippolytaAnd fair-eyed Emily, upon their knees,Begged with such handsome pity that the DukeMethought stood staggering whether he should followHis rash oath or the sweet compassionOf those two ladies. And, to second them,That truly noble prince, Pirithous,Half his own heart, set in too, that I hopeAll shall be well. Neither heard I one questionOf your name or his ’scape.JAILER.Pray heaven it hold so.EnterSecond 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 howAnd 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 manAnd ever bring good news.FIRST FRIEND.How was it ended?SECOND FRIEND.Why, as it should be; they that never beggedBut 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 ofAt better time.JAILER.I hope they are good.SECOND FRIEND.They are honourable;How good they’ll prove, I know not.FIRST FRIEND.’Twill be known.EnterWooer.WOOER.Alas, sir, where’s your daughter?JAILER.Why do you ask?WOOER.O, sir, when did you see her?SECOND FRIEND.How he looks?JAILER.This morning.WOOER.Was she well? Was she in health, sir?When did she sleep?FIRST FRIEND.These are strange questions.JAILER.I do not think she was very well, for nowYou make me mind her, but this very dayI asked her questions, and she answered meSo 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 meAs by another that less loves her.JAILER.Well, sir?FIRST FRIEND.Not right?SECOND FRIEND.Not well?WOOER.No, sir, not well:’Tis too true, she is mad.FIRST FRIEND.It cannot be.WOOER.Believe, you’ll find it so.JAILER.I half suspectedWhat you have 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 anglingIn 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 itA boy or woman. I then left my angleTo his own skill, came near, but yet perceived notWho made the sound, the rushes and the reedsHad so encompassed it. I laid me downAnd 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 herRepeat 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 sungNothing but “Willow, willow, willow,” and betweenEver was “Palamon, fair Palamon,”And “Palamon was a tall young man.” The placeWas knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses,A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuckThousand fresh water-flowers of several colours,That methought she appeared like the fair nymphThat feeds the lake with waters, or as IrisNewly dropped down from heaven. Rings she madeOf rushes that grew by, and to ’em spokeThe prettiest posies: “Thus our true love’s tied,”“This you may loose, 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 herAnd set her safe to land, when presentlyShe slipped away, and to the city madeWith such a cry and swiftness that, believe me,She left me far behind her. Three or fourI saw from far off cross her—one of ’emI knew to be your brother—where she stayedAnd fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with herAnd hither came to tell you.EnterJailer’s Brother, Jailer’s Daughterand others.Here they are.DAUGHTER.[Sings.]May you never more enjoy the light, &c.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 elseTo call the maids and pay the minstrels,For I must lose my maidenhead by cocklight.’Twill never thrive else.[Sings.]O fair, O sweet, &c.BROTHER.[To Jailer.] You must e’en take it patiently.JAILER.’Tis true.DAUGHTER.Good ev’n, good men; pray, did you ever hearOf one young Palamon?JAILER.Yes, wench, we know him.DAUGHTER.Is’t not a fine young gentleman?JAILER.’Tis, love.BROTHER.By no means cross her; she is then distemperedFar worse than now she shows.FIRST FRIEND.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 maidsOf our town are in love with him, but I laugh at ’emAnd 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 boysHe has the trick on ’t; and at ten years oldThey must be all gelt for musiciansAnd 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 ye, he had not so few last nightAs twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle ’t upIn two hours, if his hand be in.JAILER.She’s lostPast all cure.BROTHER.Heaven forbid, man!DAUGHTER.Come hither, you are a wise man.FIRST FRIEND.[Aside.] Does she know him?SECOND FRIEND.[Aside.] 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 PalamonLies longing for me. For the tackling,Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly.ALL.Owgh, owgh, owgh! ’Tis up, the wind’s fair!Top the bowline; out with the mainsail;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 Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c.[Exeunt.]SCENE II. A Room in the PalaceEnterEmiliaalone, with two pictures.EMILIA.Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must openAnd bleed to death for my sake else. I’ll choose,And end their strife. Two such young handsome menShall 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 beautiesShe sows into the births of noble bodies,Were here a mortal woman, and had in herThe coy denials of young maids, yet doubtlessShe 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 GanymedeSet Jove afire with, and enforced the godSnatch 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 Honour,Methinks, from hence, as from a promontoryPointed in heaven, should clap their wings and singTo all the under-world the loves and fightsOf gods and such men near ’em.[Looks at the other picture.]PalamonIs but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow;He’s swart and meagre, of an eye as heavyAs 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 lewdlyThat women ought to beat me. On my kneesI ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art aloneAnd only beautiful, and these the eyes,These the bright lamps of beauty, that commandAnd threaten love, and what young maid dare cross ’em?What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,Has this brown manly face! O Love, this onlyFrom 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 meWhether 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 aGentleman.EMILIA.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 soiledWith blood of princes, and my chastityBe made the altar where the lives of lovers—Two greater and two better never yetMade mothers joy—must be the sacrificeTo my unhappy beauty?EnterTheseus, Hippolyta, Pirithousand Attendants.THESEUS.Bring ’em inQuickly, by any means; I long to see ’em.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 a while.GENTLEMAN.And I.EnterMessenger.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 spiritsThan these they have brought, if we judge by the outside,I never saw nor read of. He that standsIn the first place with Arcite, by his seemingShould be a stout man, by his face a prince,His very looks so say him; his complexionNearer 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 shiningLike ravens’ wings; his shoulders broad and strong;Armed long and round; and on his thigh a swordHung by a curious baldric, when he frownsTo 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 showHas all the ornament of honour in ’t:He’s somewhat bigger than the knight he spoke of,But of a face far sweeter; his complexionIs, as a ripe grape, ruddy. He has feltWithout doubt what he fights for, and so apterTo make this cause his own. In ’s face appearsAll the fair hopes of what he undertakesAnd when he’s angry, then a settled valour,Not tainted with extremes, runs through his bodyAnd 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 faceThe 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 valour.His nose stands high, a character of honour;His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies.EMILIA.Must these men die too?PIRITHOUS.When he speaks, his tongueSounds like a trumpet. All his lineamentsAre 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, seemingAs great as any; fairer promisesIn 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 showGreat and fine art in nature. He’s white-haired,Not wanton white, but such a manly colourNext to an auburn; tough and nimble-set,Which shows an active soul. His arms are brawny,Lined with strong sinews. To the shoulder-pieceGently they swell, like women new-conceived,Which speaks him prone to labour, never faintingUnder the weight of arms; stout-hearted still,But when he stirs, a tiger. He’s grey-eyed,Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharpTo 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 smilesHe shows a lover; when he frowns, a soldier.About his head he wears the winner’s oak,And in it stuck the favour of his lady.His age some six-and-thirty. In his handHe bears a charging-staff embossed with silver.THESEUS.Are they all thus?PIRITHOUS.They are all the sons of honour.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 showBravely 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.You have steeled ’em with your beauty.Honoured friend,To you I give the field; pray order itFitting 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.[Exeunt all butEmilia.]EMILIA.Poor wench, go weep, for whosoever wins,Loses a noble cousin for thy sins.[Exit.]SCENE III. A room in the prisonEnterJailer, WooerandDoctor.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 every business withal, fits it to every question.Enter Jailer’sDaughter.Look where she comes; you shall perceive her behaviour.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 Æneas.DOCTOR.What stuff’s here? Poor soul!JAILER.Even 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, chattering, 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 brain 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 the 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, &c.[Exit Jailer’sDaughter.]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 intemperate 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 odours which are grateful to the sense. All this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet and every good thing. Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still among intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her favour. Learn what maids have been her companions and play-feres, 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.[Exeunt.]
EnterJailerand hisFriend.
JAILER.Hear you no more? Was nothing said of meConcerning the escape of Palamon?Good sir, remember.
FIRST FRIEND.Nothing that I heard,For I came home before the businessWas fully ended. Yet I might perceive,Ere I departed, a great likelihoodOf both their pardons; for HippolytaAnd fair-eyed Emily, upon their knees,Begged with such handsome pity that the DukeMethought stood staggering whether he should followHis rash oath or the sweet compassionOf those two ladies. And, to second them,That truly noble prince, Pirithous,Half his own heart, set in too, that I hopeAll shall be well. Neither heard I one questionOf your name or his ’scape.
JAILER.Pray heaven it hold so.
EnterSecond 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 howAnd 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 manAnd ever bring good news.
FIRST FRIEND.How was it ended?
SECOND FRIEND.Why, as it should be; they that never beggedBut 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 ofAt better time.
JAILER.I hope they are good.
SECOND FRIEND.They are honourable;How good they’ll prove, I know not.
FIRST FRIEND.’Twill be known.
EnterWooer.
WOOER.Alas, sir, where’s your daughter?
JAILER.Why do you ask?
WOOER.O, sir, when did you see her?
SECOND FRIEND.How he looks?
JAILER.This morning.
WOOER.Was she well? Was she in health, sir?When did she sleep?
FIRST FRIEND.These are strange questions.
JAILER.I do not think she was very well, for nowYou make me mind her, but this very dayI asked her questions, and she answered meSo 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 meAs by another that less loves her.
JAILER.Well, sir?
FIRST FRIEND.Not right?
SECOND FRIEND.Not well?
WOOER.No, sir, not well:’Tis too true, she is mad.
FIRST FRIEND.It cannot be.
WOOER.Believe, you’ll find it so.
JAILER.I half suspectedWhat you have 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 anglingIn 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 itA boy or woman. I then left my angleTo his own skill, came near, but yet perceived notWho made the sound, the rushes and the reedsHad so encompassed it. I laid me downAnd 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 herRepeat 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 sungNothing but “Willow, willow, willow,” and betweenEver was “Palamon, fair Palamon,”And “Palamon was a tall young man.” The placeWas knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses,A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuckThousand fresh water-flowers of several colours,That methought she appeared like the fair nymphThat feeds the lake with waters, or as IrisNewly dropped down from heaven. Rings she madeOf rushes that grew by, and to ’em spokeThe prettiest posies: “Thus our true love’s tied,”“This you may loose, 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 herAnd set her safe to land, when presentlyShe slipped away, and to the city madeWith such a cry and swiftness that, believe me,She left me far behind her. Three or fourI saw from far off cross her—one of ’emI knew to be your brother—where she stayedAnd fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with herAnd hither came to tell you.
EnterJailer’s Brother, Jailer’s Daughterand others.
Here they are.
DAUGHTER.[Sings.]
May you never more enjoy the light, &c.
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 elseTo call the maids and pay the minstrels,For I must lose my maidenhead by cocklight.’Twill never thrive else.[Sings.]O fair, O sweet, &c.
BROTHER.[To Jailer.] You must e’en take it patiently.
JAILER.’Tis true.
DAUGHTER.Good ev’n, good men; pray, did you ever hearOf one young Palamon?
JAILER.Yes, wench, we know him.
DAUGHTER.Is’t not a fine young gentleman?
JAILER.’Tis, love.
BROTHER.By no means cross her; she is then distemperedFar worse than now she shows.
FIRST FRIEND.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 maidsOf our town are in love with him, but I laugh at ’emAnd 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 boysHe has the trick on ’t; and at ten years oldThey must be all gelt for musiciansAnd 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 ye, he had not so few last nightAs twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle ’t upIn two hours, if his hand be in.
JAILER.She’s lostPast all cure.
BROTHER.Heaven forbid, man!
DAUGHTER.Come hither, you are a wise man.
FIRST FRIEND.[Aside.] Does she know him?
SECOND FRIEND.[Aside.] 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 PalamonLies longing for me. For the tackling,Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly.
ALL.Owgh, owgh, owgh! ’Tis up, the wind’s fair!Top the bowline; out with the mainsail;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 Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c.
[Exeunt.]
EnterEmiliaalone, with two pictures.
EMILIA.Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must openAnd bleed to death for my sake else. I’ll choose,And end their strife. Two such young handsome menShall 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 beautiesShe sows into the births of noble bodies,Were here a mortal woman, and had in herThe coy denials of young maids, yet doubtlessShe 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 GanymedeSet Jove afire with, and enforced the godSnatch 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 Honour,Methinks, from hence, as from a promontoryPointed in heaven, should clap their wings and singTo all the under-world the loves and fightsOf gods and such men near ’em.
[Looks at the other picture.]
PalamonIs but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow;He’s swart and meagre, of an eye as heavyAs 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 lewdlyThat women ought to beat me. On my kneesI ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art aloneAnd only beautiful, and these the eyes,These the bright lamps of beauty, that commandAnd threaten love, and what young maid dare cross ’em?What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,Has this brown manly face! O Love, this onlyFrom 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 meWhether 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 aGentleman.
EMILIA.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 soiledWith blood of princes, and my chastityBe made the altar where the lives of lovers—Two greater and two better never yetMade mothers joy—must be the sacrificeTo my unhappy beauty?
EnterTheseus, Hippolyta, Pirithousand Attendants.
THESEUS.Bring ’em inQuickly, by any means; I long to see ’em.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 a while.
GENTLEMAN.And I.
EnterMessenger.
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 spiritsThan these they have brought, if we judge by the outside,I never saw nor read of. He that standsIn the first place with Arcite, by his seemingShould be a stout man, by his face a prince,His very looks so say him; his complexionNearer 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 shiningLike ravens’ wings; his shoulders broad and strong;Armed long and round; and on his thigh a swordHung by a curious baldric, when he frownsTo 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 showHas all the ornament of honour in ’t:He’s somewhat bigger than the knight he spoke of,But of a face far sweeter; his complexionIs, as a ripe grape, ruddy. He has feltWithout doubt what he fights for, and so apterTo make this cause his own. In ’s face appearsAll the fair hopes of what he undertakesAnd when he’s angry, then a settled valour,Not tainted with extremes, runs through his bodyAnd 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 faceThe 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 valour.His nose stands high, a character of honour;His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies.
EMILIA.Must these men die too?
PIRITHOUS.When he speaks, his tongueSounds like a trumpet. All his lineamentsAre 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, seemingAs great as any; fairer promisesIn 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 showGreat and fine art in nature. He’s white-haired,Not wanton white, but such a manly colourNext to an auburn; tough and nimble-set,Which shows an active soul. His arms are brawny,Lined with strong sinews. To the shoulder-pieceGently they swell, like women new-conceived,Which speaks him prone to labour, never faintingUnder the weight of arms; stout-hearted still,But when he stirs, a tiger. He’s grey-eyed,Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharpTo 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 smilesHe shows a lover; when he frowns, a soldier.About his head he wears the winner’s oak,And in it stuck the favour of his lady.His age some six-and-thirty. In his handHe bears a charging-staff embossed with silver.
THESEUS.Are they all thus?
PIRITHOUS.They are all the sons of honour.
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 showBravely 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.You have steeled ’em with your beauty.Honoured friend,To you I give the field; pray order itFitting 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.
[Exeunt all butEmilia.]
EMILIA.Poor wench, go weep, for whosoever wins,Loses a noble cousin for thy sins.
[Exit.]
EnterJailer, WooerandDoctor.
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 every business withal, fits it to every question.
Enter Jailer’sDaughter.
Look where she comes; you shall perceive her behaviour.
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 Æneas.
DOCTOR.What stuff’s here? Poor soul!
JAILER.Even 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, chattering, 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 brain 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 the 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, &c.
[Exit Jailer’sDaughter.]
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 intemperate 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 odours which are grateful to the sense. All this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet and every good thing. Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still among intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her favour. Learn what maids have been her companions and play-feres, 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.
[Exeunt.]