ACT VSCENE I. Athens. Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and DianaFlourish. EnterTheseus, Pirithous, Hippolytaand Attendants.THESEUS.Now let ’em enter and before the godsTender their holy prayers. Let the templesBurn bright with sacred fires, and the altarsIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling incenseTo those above us. Let no due be wanting.They have a noble work in hand, will honourThe very powers that love ’em.PIRITHOUS.Sir, they enter.EnterPalamonandArciteand their Knights.THESEUS.You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,You royal german foes, that this day comeTo blow that nearness out that flames between ye,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 ye, fight with justice.I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt yeI part my wishes.PIRITHOUS.Honour crown the worthiest.[ExeuntTheseusand his Train.]PALAMON.The glass is running now that cannot finishTill one of us expire. Think you but thus,That were there aught in me which strove to showMine enemy in this business, were ’t one eyeAgainst another, arm oppressed by arm,I would destroy th’ offender, coz, I wouldThough parcel of myself. Then from this gatherHow I should tender you.ARCITE.I am in labourTo push your name, your ancient love, our kindredOut of my memory, and i’ th’ selfsame placeTo seat something I would confound. So hoist weThe sails that must these vessels port even whereThe heavenly limiter pleases.PALAMON.You speak well.Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin.This I shall never do again.ARCITE.One farewell.PALAMON.Why, let it be so. Farewell, coz.ARCITE.Farewell, sir.[ExeuntPalamonand his Knights.]Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices,True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in youExpels the seeds of fear and th’ apprehensionWhich still is father of it, go with meBefore the god of our profession. ThereRequire of him the hearts of lions andThe 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 prizeMust be dragged out of blood; force and great featMust put my garland on, where she sticks,The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then,Must be to him that makes the camp a cisternBrimmed with the blood of men. Give me your aid,And bend your spirits towards him.[They advance to the altar of Mars, fall on their faces before it, and then kneel.]Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnedGreen Neptune into purple; whose approachComets prewarn, whose havoc in vast fieldUnearthed skulls proclaim; whose breath blows downThe teeming Ceres’ foison, who dost pluckWith hand armipotent from forth blue cloudsThe masoned turrets, that both mak’st and break’stThe stony girths of cities; me thy pupil,Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this dayWith military skill, that to thy laudI may advance my streamer, and by theeBe 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 armour, 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 deciderOf dusty and old titles, that heal’st with bloodThe earth when it is sick, and cur’st the worldO’ th’ pleurisy of people; I do takeThy signs auspiciously, and in thy nameTo my design march boldly.—Let us go.[Exeunt.]EnterPalamonand his Knights, with the former observance.PALAMON.Our stars must glister with new fire, or beToday extinct. Our argument is love,Which, if the goddess of it grant, she givesVictory too. Then blend your spirits with mine,You whose free nobleness do make my causeYour personal hazard. To the goddess VenusCommend we our proceeding, and imploreHer power unto our party.[Here they kneel as formerly.]Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast powerTo call the fiercest tyrant from his rageAnd weep unto a girl; that hast the mightEven with an eye-glance to choke Mars’s drumAnd turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst makeA cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure himBefore Apollo; that mayst force the kingTo be his subject’s vassal, and induceStale 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 powerHast thou not power upon? To Phœbus thouAdd’st flames hotter than his; the heavenly firesDid scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress,All moist and cold, some say, began to throwHer bow away and sigh. Take to thy graceMe, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yokeAs ’twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavierThan 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 practisedUpon man’s wife, nor would the libels readOf liberal wits. I never at great feastsSought to betray a beauty, but have blushedAt simpering sirs that did. I have been harshTo large confessors, and have hotly asked themIf they had mothers—I had one, a woman,And women ’twere they wronged. I knew a manOf eighty winters, this I told them, whoA lass of fourteen brided; ’twas thy powerTo put life into dust. The aged crampHad screwed his square foot round;The gout had knit his fingers into knots,Torturing convulsions from his globy eyesHad almost drawn their spheres, that what was lifeIn him seemed torture. This anatomyHad by his young fair fere a boy, and IBelieved it was his, for she swore it was,And who would not believe her? Brief, I amTo 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 officesThe foulest way, nor names concealments inThe boldest language. Such a one I am,And vow that lover never yet made sighTruer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess,Give me the victory of this question, whichIs true love’s merit, and bless me with a signOf 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’stIn mortal bosoms, whose chase is this worldAnd we in herds thy game, I give thee thanksFor this fair token, which being laid untoMine innocent true heart, arms in assuranceMy body to this business.—Let us riseAnd bow before the goddess.[They rise and bow.]Time comes on.[Exeunt.]Still music of recorders. EnterEmiliain 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 odours, which being set upon the altar ofDiana,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 pureAs wind-fanned snow, who to thy female knightsAllow’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, vouchsafeWith that thy rare green eye, which never yetBeheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin;And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear,Which ne’er heard scurrile term, into whose portNe’er entered wanton sound, to my petition,Seasoned with holy fear. This is my lastOf vestal office. I am bride-habitedBut maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed,But do not know him. Out of two I shouldChoose one, and pray for his success, but IAm guiltless of election. Of mine eyes,Were I to lose one, they are equal precious;I could doom neither; that which perished shouldGo to ’t unsentenced. Therefore, most modest queen,He of the two pretenders that best loves meAnd has the truest title in ’t, let himTake off my wheaten garland, or else grantThe file and quality I hold I mayContinue 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 flowsOut from the bowels of her holy altarWith sacred act advances: but one rose!If well inspired, this battle shall confoundBoth 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 exeunt.]SCENE II. Athens. A Room in the PrisonEnterDoctor, Jailer and Wooerin 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 companyHave 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 meShe would watch with me tonight, for well she knewWhat 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 every way.WOOER.Alas,I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way.DOCTOR.That’s all one, if ye make a noise.If she entreat again, do anything.Lie with her, if she ask you.JAILER.Hoa, 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 ye, Doctor.DOCTOR.Pray, bring her in,And let’s see how she is.JAILER.I will, and tell herHer Palamon stays for her. But, Doctor,Methinks you are i’ th’ wrong still.[ExitJailer.]DOCTOR.Go, go;You fathers are fine fools. Her honesty?An 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 perceiveHer 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 humour that infects her.WOOER.I am of your mind, Doctor.EnterJailer, Jailer’s DaughterandMaid.DOCTOR.You’ll find it so. She comes, pray, humour her.JAILER.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 ye like a top.JAILER.That’s fine, indeed.DAUGHTER.He’ll dance the morris twenty mile an hour,And that will founder the best hobby-horseIf 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’ accountsOf all his hay and provender. That hostlerMust rise betime that cozens him. You knowThe 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 oates; but he’ll ne’er have her.He lisps in’s neighing, able to enticeA miller’s mare. He’ll be the death of her.DOCTOR.What stuff she utters!JAILER.Make curtsy; here your love comes.EnterWooerandDoctorcome forward.WOOER.Pretty soul,How do ye? 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.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 findSome blind priest for the purpose, that will ventureTo 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 nothingBut 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.[Kisses her.]DAUGHTER.[Rubs off the kiss.] 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 theDoctor.]DOCTOR.Yes, sweetheart,And I am glad my cousin PalamonHas made so fair a choice.DAUGHTER.Do you think he’ll have me?DOCTOR.Yes, without doubt.DAUGHTER.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 aMessenger.MESSENGER.What do you here? You’ll lose the noblest sightThat 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.How did you like her?DOCTOR.I’ll warrant you, within these three or four daysI’ll make her right again. 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.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.[Exeunt.]SCENE III. A part of the Forest near Athens, and near the Place appointed for the CombatFlourish. EnterTheseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithousand some Attendants.EMILIA.I’ll no step further.PIRITHOUS.Will you lose this sight?EMILIA.I had rather see a wren hawk at a flyThan this decision. Every blow that fallsThreats a brave life; each stroke lamentsThe place whereon it falls, and sounds more likeA bell than blade. I will stay here.It is enough my hearing shall be punishedWith what shall happen, ’gainst the which there isNo deafing, but to hear; not taint mine eyeWith dread sights it may shun.PIRITHOUS.Sir, my good lord,Your sister will no further.THESEUS.O, she must.She shall see deeds of honour in their kind,Which sometime show well, penciled. Nature nowShall make and act the story, the beliefBoth sealed with eye and ear. You must be present;You are the victor’s meed, the price and garlandTo 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 youThe only star to shine.EMILIA.I am extinct.There is but envy in that light which showsThe one the other. Darkness, which ever wasThe dam of horror, who does stand accursedOf many mortal millions, may even now,By casting her black mantle over both,That neither could find other, get herselfSome part of a good name, and many a murderSet off whereto she’s guilty.HIPPOLYTA.You must go.EMILIA.In faith, I will not.THESEUS.Why, the knights must kindleTheir valour at your eye. Know, of this warYou are the treasure, and must needs be byTo give the service pay.EMILIA.Sir, pardon me;The title of a kingdom may be triedOut of itself.THESEUS.Well, well, then, at your pleasure.Those that remain with you could wish their officeTo any of their enemies.HIPPOLYTA.Farewell, sister.I am like to know your husband ’fore yourselfBy some small start of time. He whom the godsDo of the two know best, I pray them heBe made your lot.[Exeunt all butEmilia.]EMILIA.Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eyeIs like an engine bent, or a sharp weaponIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courageAre bedfellows in his visage. PalamonHas a most menacing aspect; his browIs graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on;Yet sometimes ’tis not so, but alters toThe quality of his thoughts. Long time his eyeWill dwell upon his object. MelancholyBecomes him nobly; so does Arcite’s mirth;But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth,So mingled as if mirth did make him sadAnd sadness merry. Those darker humours thatStick misbecomingly on others, on themLive in fair dwelling.[Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge.]Hark how yon spurs to spirit do inciteThe princes to their proof! Arcite may win meAnd yet may Palamon wound Arcite toThe spoiling of his figure. O, what pityEnough for such a chance? If I were by,I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyesTowards my seat, and in that motion mightOmit a ward or forfeit an offenceWhich craved that very time. It is much betterI am not there.[Cornets. A great cry and noise within crying “À Palamon!”]Oh better never bornThan minister to such harm.EnterServant.What is the chance?SERVANT.The cry’s “À Palamon.”EMILIA.Then he has won. ’Twas ever likely.He looked all grace and success, and he isDoubtless the prim’st of men. I prithee runAnd tell me how it goes.[Shout and cornets, crying “À Palamon!”]SERVANT.Still “Palamon.”EMILIA.Run and enquire.[ExitServant.]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; PalamonHad the best-boding chance.[Another cry and shout within, and cornets.]This burst of clamourIs sure th’ end o’ th’ combat.EnterServant.SERVANT.They said that Palamon had Arcite’s bodyWithin an inch o’ th’ pyramid, that the cryWas general “À Palamon.” But anon,Th’ assistants made a brave redemption, andThe two bold titlers at this instant areHand to hand at it.EMILIA.Were they metamorphosedBoth into one—O, why? There were no womanWorth so composed a man! Their single share,Their nobleness peculiar to them, givesThe 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 proclaimedBy the wind instruments.EMILIA.Half-sights sawThat Arcite was no babe. God’s lid, his richnessAnd costliness of spirit looked through him; it couldNo more be hid in him than fire in flax,Than humble banks can go to law with watersThat drift-winds force to raging. I did thinkGood Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew notWhy I did think so. Our reasons are not prophetsWhen oft our fancies are. They are coming off.Alas, poor Palamon!Cornets. EnterTheseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Arciteas victor, and Attendants.THESEUS.Lo, where our sister is in expectation,Yet quaking and unsettled.—Fairest Emily,The gods by their divine arbitramentHave given you this knight; he is a good oneAs ever struck at head. Give me your hands.Receive you her, you him; be plighted withA 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’erDid spur a noble steed. Surely the godsWould have him die a bachelor, lest his raceShould show i’ th’ world too godlike. His behaviourSo charmed me that methought Alcides wasTo him a sow of lead. If I could praiseEach part of him to th’ all I have spoke, your ArciteDid not lose by ’t, for he that was thus goodEncountered yet his better. I have heardTwo emulous Philomels beat the ear o’ th’ nightWith their contentious throats, now one the higher,Anon the other, then again the first,And by-and-by out-breasted, that the senseCould not be judge between ’em. So it faredGood space between these kinsmen, till heavens didMake hardly one the winner.—Wear the garlandWith joy that you have won.—For the subdued,Give them our present justice, since I knowTheir lives but pinch ’em. Let it here be done.The scene’s not for our seeing. Go we henceRight 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.[Flourish.]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 awayA life more worthy from him than all women,I should and would die too.HIPPOLYTA.Infinite pityThat four such eyes should be so fixed on oneThat two must needs be blind for ’t.THESEUS.So it is.[Exeunt.]SCENE IV. The same; a Block preparedEnterPalamonand his Knights pinioned;Jailer, Executionerand Guard.PALAMON.There’s many a man alive that hath outlivedThe love o’ th’ people; yea, i’ th’ selfsame stateStands many a father with his child. Some comfortWe have by so considering. We expire,And not without men’s pity; to live still,Have their good wishes; we preventThe loathsome misery of age, beguileThe gout and rheum that in lag hours attendFor gray approachers; we come towards the godsYoung and unwappered, not halting under crimesMany and stale. That sure shall please the godsSooner 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 beOf more content? O’er us the victors haveFortune, whose title is as momentary,As to us death is certain. A grain of honourThey not o’erweigh us.SECOND KNIGHT.Let us bid farewell;And with our patience anger tottering Fortune,Who at her certain’st reels.THIRD KNIGHT.Come; who begins?PALAMON.E’en he that led you to this banquet shallTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my friend, my friend,Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once;You’ll see ’t done now for ever. Pray, how does she?I heard she was not well; her kind of illGave 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 thingI shall be glad of; prithee, tell her so.Commend me to her, and, to piece her portion,Tender her this.[Gives him his purse.]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 deservingThen I can ’quite 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 shortAs my leave-taking.[Lays his head on the block.]FIRST KNIGHT.Lead, courageous cousin.SECOND AND THIRD KNIGHT.We’ll follow cheerfully.[A great noise within crying “Run!” “Save!” “Hold!”]Enter in haste aMessenger.MESSENGER.Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!EnterPirithousin haste.PIRITHOUS.Hold, ho! It is a cursed haste you madeIf you have done so quickly!—Noble Palamon,The gods will show their glory in a lifeThat 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 earThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.PALAMON.WhatHath waked us from our dream?PIRITHOUS.List, then. Your cousin,Mounted upon a steed that EmilyDid first bestow on him, a black one, owingNot a hair-worth of white, which some will sayWeakens his price, and many will not buyHis goodness with this note, which superstitionHere finds allowance—on this horse is ArciteTrotting the stones of Athens, which the calkinsDid rather tell than trample; for the horseWould make his length a mile, if ’t pleased his riderTo put pride in him. As he thus went countingThe flinty pavement, dancing, as ’twere, to th’ musicHis own hooves made—for, as they say, from ironCame music’s origin—what envious flint,Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessedWith 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 disorderHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,Forgets school-doing, being therein trainedAnd of kind manage. Pig-like he whinesAt the sharp rowel, which he frets at ratherThan any jot obeys; seeks all foul meansOf boist’rous and rough jad’ry to disseatHis lord that kept it bravely. When naught served,When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff’ring plungesDisroot his rider whence he grew, but thatHe kept him ’tween his legs, on his hind hoofsOn end he standsThat Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head,Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreathEven then fell off his head and presentlyBackward the jade comes o’er, and his full poiseBecomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living,But such a vessel ’tis that floats but forThe surge that next approaches. He much desiresTo have some speech with you. Lo, he appears.EnterTheseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcitein 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 EmiliaAnd 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.[EmiliakissesArcite.]’Tis done.Take her. I die.PALAMON.Thy brave soul seek Elysium![Arcitedies.]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 honour.THESEUS.In this place first you fought; e’en very hereI sundered you. Acknowledge to the godsOur thanks that you are living.His part is played, and, though it were too short,He did it well; your day is lengthened, andThe blissful dew of heaven does arrose you.The powerful Venus well hath graced her altar,And given you your love. Our master Mars,Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gaveThe grace of the contention. So the deitiesHave showed due justice.—Bear this hence.PALAMON.O cousin,That we should things desire, which do cost usThe loss of our desire! That naught could buyDear love, but loss of dear love![Arcite’sbody is carried out.]THESEUS.Never FortuneDid play a subtler game. The conquered triumphs;The victor has the loss; yet in the passageThe gods have been most equal. Palamon,Your kinsman hath confessed the right o’ th’ ladyDid lie in you, for you first saw her andEven then proclaimed your fancy. He restored herAs your stol’n jewel and desired your spiritTo send him hence forgiven. The gods my justiceTake from my hand and they themselves becomeThe executioners. Lead your lady offAnd call your lovers from the stage of death,Whom I adopt my friends. A day or twoLet us look sadly, and give grace untoThe funeral of Arcite, in whose endThe visages of bridegrooms we’ll put onAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an hour,But one hour since, I was as dearly sorryAs glad of Arcite, and am now as gladAs for him sorry. O you heavenly charmers,What things you make of us! For what we lackWe laugh, for what we have are sorry, stillAre children in some kind. Let us be thankfulFor that which is, and with you leave disputeThat are above our question. Let’s go offAnd bear us like the time.[Flourish. Exeunt.]
Flourish. EnterTheseus, Pirithous, Hippolytaand Attendants.
THESEUS.Now let ’em enter and before the godsTender their holy prayers. Let the templesBurn bright with sacred fires, and the altarsIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling incenseTo those above us. Let no due be wanting.They have a noble work in hand, will honourThe very powers that love ’em.
PIRITHOUS.Sir, they enter.
EnterPalamonandArciteand their Knights.
THESEUS.You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,You royal german foes, that this day comeTo blow that nearness out that flames between ye,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 ye, fight with justice.I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt yeI part my wishes.
PIRITHOUS.Honour crown the worthiest.
[ExeuntTheseusand his Train.]
PALAMON.The glass is running now that cannot finishTill one of us expire. Think you but thus,That were there aught in me which strove to showMine enemy in this business, were ’t one eyeAgainst another, arm oppressed by arm,I would destroy th’ offender, coz, I wouldThough parcel of myself. Then from this gatherHow I should tender you.
ARCITE.I am in labourTo push your name, your ancient love, our kindredOut of my memory, and i’ th’ selfsame placeTo seat something I would confound. So hoist weThe sails that must these vessels port even whereThe heavenly limiter pleases.
PALAMON.You speak well.Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin.This I shall never do again.
ARCITE.One farewell.
PALAMON.Why, let it be so. Farewell, coz.
ARCITE.Farewell, sir.
[ExeuntPalamonand his Knights.]
Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices,True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in youExpels the seeds of fear and th’ apprehensionWhich still is father of it, go with meBefore the god of our profession. ThereRequire of him the hearts of lions andThe 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 prizeMust be dragged out of blood; force and great featMust put my garland on, where she sticks,The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then,Must be to him that makes the camp a cisternBrimmed with the blood of men. Give me your aid,And bend your spirits towards him.
[They advance to the altar of Mars, fall on their faces before it, and then kneel.]
Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnedGreen Neptune into purple; whose approachComets prewarn, whose havoc in vast fieldUnearthed skulls proclaim; whose breath blows downThe teeming Ceres’ foison, who dost pluckWith hand armipotent from forth blue cloudsThe masoned turrets, that both mak’st and break’stThe stony girths of cities; me thy pupil,Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this dayWith military skill, that to thy laudI may advance my streamer, and by theeBe 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 armour, 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 deciderOf dusty and old titles, that heal’st with bloodThe earth when it is sick, and cur’st the worldO’ th’ pleurisy of people; I do takeThy signs auspiciously, and in thy nameTo my design march boldly.—Let us go.
[Exeunt.]
EnterPalamonand his Knights, with the former observance.
PALAMON.Our stars must glister with new fire, or beToday extinct. Our argument is love,Which, if the goddess of it grant, she givesVictory too. Then blend your spirits with mine,You whose free nobleness do make my causeYour personal hazard. To the goddess VenusCommend we our proceeding, and imploreHer power unto our party.
[Here they kneel as formerly.]
Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast powerTo call the fiercest tyrant from his rageAnd weep unto a girl; that hast the mightEven with an eye-glance to choke Mars’s drumAnd turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst makeA cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure himBefore Apollo; that mayst force the kingTo be his subject’s vassal, and induceStale 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 powerHast thou not power upon? To Phœbus thouAdd’st flames hotter than his; the heavenly firesDid scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress,All moist and cold, some say, began to throwHer bow away and sigh. Take to thy graceMe, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yokeAs ’twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavierThan 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 practisedUpon man’s wife, nor would the libels readOf liberal wits. I never at great feastsSought to betray a beauty, but have blushedAt simpering sirs that did. I have been harshTo large confessors, and have hotly asked themIf they had mothers—I had one, a woman,And women ’twere they wronged. I knew a manOf eighty winters, this I told them, whoA lass of fourteen brided; ’twas thy powerTo put life into dust. The aged crampHad screwed his square foot round;The gout had knit his fingers into knots,Torturing convulsions from his globy eyesHad almost drawn their spheres, that what was lifeIn him seemed torture. This anatomyHad by his young fair fere a boy, and IBelieved it was his, for she swore it was,And who would not believe her? Brief, I amTo 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 officesThe foulest way, nor names concealments inThe boldest language. Such a one I am,And vow that lover never yet made sighTruer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess,Give me the victory of this question, whichIs true love’s merit, and bless me with a signOf 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’stIn mortal bosoms, whose chase is this worldAnd we in herds thy game, I give thee thanksFor this fair token, which being laid untoMine innocent true heart, arms in assuranceMy body to this business.—Let us riseAnd bow before the goddess.
[They rise and bow.]
Time comes on.
[Exeunt.]
Still music of recorders. EnterEmiliain 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 odours, which being set upon the altar ofDiana,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 pureAs wind-fanned snow, who to thy female knightsAllow’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, vouchsafeWith that thy rare green eye, which never yetBeheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin;And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear,Which ne’er heard scurrile term, into whose portNe’er entered wanton sound, to my petition,Seasoned with holy fear. This is my lastOf vestal office. I am bride-habitedBut maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed,But do not know him. Out of two I shouldChoose one, and pray for his success, but IAm guiltless of election. Of mine eyes,Were I to lose one, they are equal precious;I could doom neither; that which perished shouldGo to ’t unsentenced. Therefore, most modest queen,He of the two pretenders that best loves meAnd has the truest title in ’t, let himTake off my wheaten garland, or else grantThe file and quality I hold I mayContinue 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 flowsOut from the bowels of her holy altarWith sacred act advances: but one rose!If well inspired, this battle shall confoundBoth 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 exeunt.]
EnterDoctor, Jailer and Wooerin 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 companyHave 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 meShe would watch with me tonight, for well she knewWhat 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 every way.
WOOER.Alas,I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way.
DOCTOR.That’s all one, if ye make a noise.If she entreat again, do anything.Lie with her, if she ask you.
JAILER.Hoa, 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 ye, Doctor.
DOCTOR.Pray, bring her in,And let’s see how she is.
JAILER.I will, and tell herHer Palamon stays for her. But, Doctor,Methinks you are i’ th’ wrong still.
[ExitJailer.]
DOCTOR.Go, go;You fathers are fine fools. Her honesty?An 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 perceiveHer 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 humour that infects her.
WOOER.I am of your mind, Doctor.
EnterJailer, Jailer’s DaughterandMaid.
DOCTOR.You’ll find it so. She comes, pray, humour her.
JAILER.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 ye like a top.
JAILER.That’s fine, indeed.
DAUGHTER.He’ll dance the morris twenty mile an hour,And that will founder the best hobby-horseIf 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’ accountsOf all his hay and provender. That hostlerMust rise betime that cozens him. You knowThe 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 oates; but he’ll ne’er have her.He lisps in’s neighing, able to enticeA miller’s mare. He’ll be the death of her.
DOCTOR.What stuff she utters!
JAILER.Make curtsy; here your love comes.
EnterWooerandDoctorcome forward.
WOOER.Pretty soul,How do ye? 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.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 findSome blind priest for the purpose, that will ventureTo 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 nothingBut 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.
[Kisses her.]
DAUGHTER.[Rubs off the kiss.] 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 theDoctor.]
DOCTOR.Yes, sweetheart,And I am glad my cousin PalamonHas made so fair a choice.
DAUGHTER.Do you think he’ll have me?
DOCTOR.Yes, without doubt.
DAUGHTER.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 aMessenger.
MESSENGER.What do you here? You’ll lose the noblest sightThat 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.How did you like her?
DOCTOR.I’ll warrant you, within these three or four daysI’ll make her right again. 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.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.
[Exeunt.]
Flourish. EnterTheseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithousand some Attendants.
EMILIA.I’ll no step further.
PIRITHOUS.Will you lose this sight?
EMILIA.I had rather see a wren hawk at a flyThan this decision. Every blow that fallsThreats a brave life; each stroke lamentsThe place whereon it falls, and sounds more likeA bell than blade. I will stay here.It is enough my hearing shall be punishedWith what shall happen, ’gainst the which there isNo deafing, but to hear; not taint mine eyeWith dread sights it may shun.
PIRITHOUS.Sir, my good lord,Your sister will no further.
THESEUS.O, she must.She shall see deeds of honour in their kind,Which sometime show well, penciled. Nature nowShall make and act the story, the beliefBoth sealed with eye and ear. You must be present;You are the victor’s meed, the price and garlandTo 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 youThe only star to shine.
EMILIA.I am extinct.There is but envy in that light which showsThe one the other. Darkness, which ever wasThe dam of horror, who does stand accursedOf many mortal millions, may even now,By casting her black mantle over both,That neither could find other, get herselfSome part of a good name, and many a murderSet off whereto she’s guilty.
HIPPOLYTA.You must go.
EMILIA.In faith, I will not.
THESEUS.Why, the knights must kindleTheir valour at your eye. Know, of this warYou are the treasure, and must needs be byTo give the service pay.
EMILIA.Sir, pardon me;The title of a kingdom may be triedOut of itself.
THESEUS.Well, well, then, at your pleasure.Those that remain with you could wish their officeTo any of their enemies.
HIPPOLYTA.Farewell, sister.I am like to know your husband ’fore yourselfBy some small start of time. He whom the godsDo of the two know best, I pray them heBe made your lot.
[Exeunt all butEmilia.]
EMILIA.Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eyeIs like an engine bent, or a sharp weaponIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courageAre bedfellows in his visage. PalamonHas a most menacing aspect; his browIs graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on;Yet sometimes ’tis not so, but alters toThe quality of his thoughts. Long time his eyeWill dwell upon his object. MelancholyBecomes him nobly; so does Arcite’s mirth;But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth,So mingled as if mirth did make him sadAnd sadness merry. Those darker humours thatStick misbecomingly on others, on themLive in fair dwelling.
[Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge.]
Hark how yon spurs to spirit do inciteThe princes to their proof! Arcite may win meAnd yet may Palamon wound Arcite toThe spoiling of his figure. O, what pityEnough for such a chance? If I were by,I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyesTowards my seat, and in that motion mightOmit a ward or forfeit an offenceWhich craved that very time. It is much betterI am not there.
[Cornets. A great cry and noise within crying “À Palamon!”]
Oh better never bornThan minister to such harm.
EnterServant.
What is the chance?
SERVANT.The cry’s “À Palamon.”
EMILIA.Then he has won. ’Twas ever likely.He looked all grace and success, and he isDoubtless the prim’st of men. I prithee runAnd tell me how it goes.
[Shout and cornets, crying “À Palamon!”]
SERVANT.Still “Palamon.”
EMILIA.Run and enquire.
[ExitServant.]
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; PalamonHad the best-boding chance.
[Another cry and shout within, and cornets.]
This burst of clamourIs sure th’ end o’ th’ combat.
EnterServant.
SERVANT.They said that Palamon had Arcite’s bodyWithin an inch o’ th’ pyramid, that the cryWas general “À Palamon.” But anon,Th’ assistants made a brave redemption, andThe two bold titlers at this instant areHand to hand at it.
EMILIA.Were they metamorphosedBoth into one—O, why? There were no womanWorth so composed a man! Their single share,Their nobleness peculiar to them, givesThe 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 proclaimedBy the wind instruments.
EMILIA.Half-sights sawThat Arcite was no babe. God’s lid, his richnessAnd costliness of spirit looked through him; it couldNo more be hid in him than fire in flax,Than humble banks can go to law with watersThat drift-winds force to raging. I did thinkGood Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew notWhy I did think so. Our reasons are not prophetsWhen oft our fancies are. They are coming off.Alas, poor Palamon!
Cornets. EnterTheseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Arciteas victor, and Attendants.
THESEUS.Lo, where our sister is in expectation,Yet quaking and unsettled.—Fairest Emily,The gods by their divine arbitramentHave given you this knight; he is a good oneAs ever struck at head. Give me your hands.Receive you her, you him; be plighted withA 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’erDid spur a noble steed. Surely the godsWould have him die a bachelor, lest his raceShould show i’ th’ world too godlike. His behaviourSo charmed me that methought Alcides wasTo him a sow of lead. If I could praiseEach part of him to th’ all I have spoke, your ArciteDid not lose by ’t, for he that was thus goodEncountered yet his better. I have heardTwo emulous Philomels beat the ear o’ th’ nightWith their contentious throats, now one the higher,Anon the other, then again the first,And by-and-by out-breasted, that the senseCould not be judge between ’em. So it faredGood space between these kinsmen, till heavens didMake hardly one the winner.—Wear the garlandWith joy that you have won.—For the subdued,Give them our present justice, since I knowTheir lives but pinch ’em. Let it here be done.The scene’s not for our seeing. Go we henceRight 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.
[Flourish.]
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 awayA life more worthy from him than all women,I should and would die too.
HIPPOLYTA.Infinite pityThat four such eyes should be so fixed on oneThat two must needs be blind for ’t.
THESEUS.So it is.
[Exeunt.]
EnterPalamonand his Knights pinioned;Jailer, Executionerand Guard.
PALAMON.There’s many a man alive that hath outlivedThe love o’ th’ people; yea, i’ th’ selfsame stateStands many a father with his child. Some comfortWe have by so considering. We expire,And not without men’s pity; to live still,Have their good wishes; we preventThe loathsome misery of age, beguileThe gout and rheum that in lag hours attendFor gray approachers; we come towards the godsYoung and unwappered, not halting under crimesMany and stale. That sure shall please the godsSooner 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 beOf more content? O’er us the victors haveFortune, whose title is as momentary,As to us death is certain. A grain of honourThey not o’erweigh us.
SECOND KNIGHT.Let us bid farewell;And with our patience anger tottering Fortune,Who at her certain’st reels.
THIRD KNIGHT.Come; who begins?
PALAMON.E’en he that led you to this banquet shallTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my friend, my friend,Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once;You’ll see ’t done now for ever. Pray, how does she?I heard she was not well; her kind of illGave 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 thingI shall be glad of; prithee, tell her so.Commend me to her, and, to piece her portion,Tender her this.
[Gives him his purse.]
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 deservingThen I can ’quite 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 shortAs my leave-taking.
[Lays his head on the block.]
FIRST KNIGHT.Lead, courageous cousin.
SECOND AND THIRD KNIGHT.We’ll follow cheerfully.
[A great noise within crying “Run!” “Save!” “Hold!”]
Enter in haste aMessenger.
MESSENGER.Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!
EnterPirithousin haste.
PIRITHOUS.Hold, ho! It is a cursed haste you madeIf you have done so quickly!—Noble Palamon,The gods will show their glory in a lifeThat 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 earThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.
PALAMON.WhatHath waked us from our dream?
PIRITHOUS.List, then. Your cousin,Mounted upon a steed that EmilyDid first bestow on him, a black one, owingNot a hair-worth of white, which some will sayWeakens his price, and many will not buyHis goodness with this note, which superstitionHere finds allowance—on this horse is ArciteTrotting the stones of Athens, which the calkinsDid rather tell than trample; for the horseWould make his length a mile, if ’t pleased his riderTo put pride in him. As he thus went countingThe flinty pavement, dancing, as ’twere, to th’ musicHis own hooves made—for, as they say, from ironCame music’s origin—what envious flint,Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessedWith 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 disorderHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,Forgets school-doing, being therein trainedAnd of kind manage. Pig-like he whinesAt the sharp rowel, which he frets at ratherThan any jot obeys; seeks all foul meansOf boist’rous and rough jad’ry to disseatHis lord that kept it bravely. When naught served,When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff’ring plungesDisroot his rider whence he grew, but thatHe kept him ’tween his legs, on his hind hoofsOn end he standsThat Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head,Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreathEven then fell off his head and presentlyBackward the jade comes o’er, and his full poiseBecomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living,But such a vessel ’tis that floats but forThe surge that next approaches. He much desiresTo have some speech with you. Lo, he appears.
EnterTheseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcitein 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 EmiliaAnd 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.
[EmiliakissesArcite.]
’Tis done.Take her. I die.
PALAMON.Thy brave soul seek Elysium!
[Arcitedies.]
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 honour.
THESEUS.In this place first you fought; e’en very hereI sundered you. Acknowledge to the godsOur thanks that you are living.His part is played, and, though it were too short,He did it well; your day is lengthened, andThe blissful dew of heaven does arrose you.The powerful Venus well hath graced her altar,And given you your love. Our master Mars,Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gaveThe grace of the contention. So the deitiesHave showed due justice.—Bear this hence.
PALAMON.O cousin,That we should things desire, which do cost usThe loss of our desire! That naught could buyDear love, but loss of dear love!
[Arcite’sbody is carried out.]
THESEUS.Never FortuneDid play a subtler game. The conquered triumphs;The victor has the loss; yet in the passageThe gods have been most equal. Palamon,Your kinsman hath confessed the right o’ th’ ladyDid lie in you, for you first saw her andEven then proclaimed your fancy. He restored herAs your stol’n jewel and desired your spiritTo send him hence forgiven. The gods my justiceTake from my hand and they themselves becomeThe executioners. Lead your lady offAnd call your lovers from the stage of death,Whom I adopt my friends. A day or twoLet us look sadly, and give grace untoThe funeral of Arcite, in whose endThe visages of bridegrooms we’ll put onAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an hour,But one hour since, I was as dearly sorryAs glad of Arcite, and am now as gladAs for him sorry. O you heavenly charmers,What things you make of us! For what we lackWe laugh, for what we have are sorry, stillAre children in some kind. Let us be thankfulFor that which is, and with you leave disputeThat are above our question. Let’s go offAnd bear us like the time.
[Flourish. Exeunt.]