Actus QuintusScaena 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.)[Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.]THESEUS.Now let’em enter, and before the godsTender their holy prayers: Let the TemplesBurne bright with sacred fires, and the AltarsIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling IncenseTo those above us: Let no due be wanting; [Florish of Cornets.]They have a noble worke in hand, will honourThe very powers that love ’em.[Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.]PERITHOUS.Sir, they enter.THESEUS.You valiant and strong harted Enemies,You royall German foes, that this day comeTo blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye:Lay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like,Before the holy Altars of your helpers,(The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies.Your ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be,And as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice;Ile leave you to your prayers, and betwixt yeI part my wishes.PERITHOUS.Honour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.]PALAMON.The glasse is running now that cannot finishTill one of us expire: Thinke you but thus,That were there ought in me which strove to showMine enemy in this businesse, wer’t one eyeAgainst another, Arme opprest by Arme,I would destroy th’offender, Coz, I would,Though parcell of my selfe: Then from this gatherHow I should tender you.ARCITE.I am in labourTo push your name, your auncient love, our kindredOut of my memory; and i’th selfe same placeTo seate something I would confound: So hoyst weThe sayles, that must these vessells port even whereThe heavenly Lymiter pleases.PALAMON.You speake well;Before I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen:This I shall never doe agen.ARCITE.One farewell.PALAMON.Why, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and hisKnights.]ARCITE.Farewell, Sir.—Knights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices,True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in youExpells the seedes of feare, and th’apprehensionWhich still is farther off it, Goe with meBefore the god of our profession: ThereRequire of him the hearts of Lyons, andThe breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too,Yea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane,Else wish we to be Snayles: you know my prizeMust be drag’d out of blood; force and great feateMust put my Garland on, where she stickesThe Queene of Flowers: our intercession thenMust be to him that makes the Campe a CestronBrymd with the blood of men: give me your aideAnd bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.]Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turndGreene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach)Comets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste FeildVnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe,The teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth pluckeWith hand armypotent from forth blew clowdesThe masond Turrets, that both mak’st and break’stThe stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple,Yongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this dayWith military skill, that to thy lawdeI may advance my Streamer, and by thee,Be stil’d the Lord o’th day: give me, great Mars,Some token of thy pleasure.[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a Battaile, whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.]O Great Corrector of enormous times,Shaker of ore-rank States, thou grand deciderOf dustie and old tytles, that healst with bloodThe earth when it is sicke, and curst the worldO’th pluresie of people; I doe takeThy signes auspiciously, and in thy nameTo my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.][Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.]PALAMON.Our stars must glister with new fire, or beTo daie extinct; our argument is love,Which if the goddesse of it grant, she givesVictory too: then blend your spirits with mine,You, whose free noblenesse doe make my causeYour personall hazard; to the goddesse VenusCommend we our proceeding, and imploreHer power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.]Haile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast powerTo call the feircest Tyrant from his rage,And weepe unto a Girle; that ha’st the might,Even with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis DromAnd turne th’allarme to whispers; that canst makeA Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure himBefore Apollo; that may’st force the KingTo be his subjects vassaile, and induceStale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour—Whose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres,Have skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catchAnd make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate,Abuse yong laies of love: what godlike powerHast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thouAdd’st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyresDid scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresseAll moyst and cold, some say, began to throwHer Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy graceMe, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yokeAs t’wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavierThen Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles.I have never beene foule mouthd against thy law,Nev’r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not,Had I kend all that were; I never practisedVpon mans wife, nor would the Libells readeOf liberall wits; I never at great feastesSought to betray a Beautie, but have blush’dAt simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harshTo large Confessors, and have hotly ask’d themIf they had Mothers: I had one, a woman,And women t’wer they wrong’d. I knew a manOf eightie winters, this I told them, whoA Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy powerTo put life into dust; the aged CrampeHad screw’d his square foote round,The Gout had knit his fingers into knots,Torturing Convulsions from his globie eyes,Had almost drawne their spheeres, that what was lifeIn him seem’d torture: this AnatomieHad by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and IBeleev’d it was him, for she swore it was,And who would not beleeve her? briefe, I amTo those that prate and have done no Companion;To those that boast and have not a defyer;To those that would and cannot a Rejoycer.Yea, him I doe not love, that tells close officesThe fowlest way, nor names concealements inThe boldest language: such a one I am,And vow that lover never yet made sighTruer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse,Give me the victory of this question, whichIs true loves merit, and blesse me with a signeOf thy great pleasure.[Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall againe upon their faces, then on their knees.]PALAMON.O thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign’stIn mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world,And we in heards thy game: I give thee thankesFor this faire Token, which, being layd untoMine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.]My body to this businesse. Let us riseAnd bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.][Still Musicke of Records.][Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a wheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke with flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is conveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of Diana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they curtsey and kneele.]EMILIA.O sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene,Abandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative,Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pureAs windefand Snow, who to thy femall knightsAlow’st no more blood than will make a blush,Which is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest,Am humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe,With that thy rare greene eye, which never yetBeheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin;And, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare(Which nev’r heard scurrill terme, into whose portNe’re entred wanton found,) to my petitionSeasond with holy feare: This is my lastOf vestall office; I am bride habited,But mayden harted, a husband I have pointed,But doe not know him; out of two I shouldChoose one and pray for his successe, but IAm guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes,Were I to loose one, they are equall precious,I could doombe neither, that which perish’d shouldGoe too’t unsentenc’d: Therefore, most modest Queene,He of the two Pretenders, that best loves meAnd has the truest title in’t, Let himTake off my wheaten Gerland, or else grantThe fyle and qualitie I hold, I mayContinue in thy Band.[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]See what our Generall of Ebbs and FlowesOut from the bowells of her holy AltarWith sacred act advances! But one Rose:If well inspird, this Battaile shal confoundBoth these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowreMust grow alone unpluck’d.[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]The flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,Thou here dischargest me; I shall be gather’d:I thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;Vnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she’s pleas’d,Her Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]Scaena 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.)[Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]DOCTOR.Has this advice I told you, done any good upon her?WOOER.O very much; The maids that kept her companyHave halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;Within this halfe houre she came smiling to me,And asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:I told her presently, and kist her twice.DOCTOR.Twas well done; twentie times had bin far better,For there the cure lies mainely.WOOER.Then she told meShe would watch with me to night, for well she knewWhat houre my fit would take me.DOCTOR.Let her doe so,And when your fit comes, fit her home,And presently.WOOER.She would have me sing.DOCTOR.You did so?WOOER.No.DOCTOR.Twas very ill done, then;You should observe her ev’ry way.WOOER.Alas,I have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way.DOCTOR.That’s all one, if yee make a noyse;If she intreate againe, doe any thing,—Lye with her, if she aske you.IAILOR.Hoa, there, Doctor!DOCTOR.Yes, in the waie of cure.IAILOR.But first, by your leave,I’th way of honestie.DOCTOR.That’s but a nicenesse,Nev’r cast your child away for honestie;Cure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,She has the path before her.IAILOR.Thanke yee, Doctor.DOCTOR.Pray, bring her in,And let’s see how shee is.IAILOR.I will, and tell herHer Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,Me thinkes you are i’th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]DOCTOR.Goe, goe:You Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?And we should give her physicke till we finde that—WOOER.Why, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?DOCTOR.How old is she?WOOER.She’s eighteene.DOCTOR.She may be,But that’s all one; tis nothing to our purpose.What ere her Father saies, if you perceaveHer moode inclining that way that I spoke of,Videlicet, the way of flesh—you have me?WOOER.Yet, very well, Sir.DOCTOR.Please her appetite,And doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,The mellencholly humour that infects her.WOOER.I am of your minde, Doctor.[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]DOCTOR.You’l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.IAILOR.Come, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,And has done this long houre, to visite you.DAUGHTER.I thanke him for his gentle patience;He’s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.Did you nev’r see the horse he gave me?IAILOR.Yes.DAUGHTER.How doe you like him?IAILOR.He’s a very faire one.DAUGHTER.You never saw him dance?IAILOR.No.DAUGHTER.I have often.He daunces very finely, very comely,And for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him,He turnes ye like a Top.IAILOR.That’s fine, indeede.DAUGHTER.Hee’l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre,And that will founder the best hobby-horse(If I have any skill) in all the parish,And gallops to the turne of LIGHT A’ LOVE:What thinke you of this horse?IAILOR.Having these vertues,I thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.DAUGHTER.Alas, that’s nothing.IAILOR.Can he write and reade too?DAUGHTER.A very faire hand, and casts himselfe th’accountsOf all his hay and provender: That HostlerMust rise betime that cozens him. You knowThe Chestnut Mare the Duke has?IAILOR.Very well.DAUGHTER.She is horribly in love with him, poore beast,But he is like his master, coy and scornefull.IAILOR.What dowry has she?DAUGHTER.Some two hundred Bottles,And twenty strike of Oates; but hee’l ne’re have her;He lispes in’s neighing, able to enticeA Millars Mare: Hee’l be the death of her.DOCTOR.What stuffe she utters!IAILOR.Make curtsie; here your love comes.WOOER.Pretty soule,How doe ye? that’s a fine maide, ther’s a curtsie!DAUGHTER.Yours to command ith way of honestie.How far is’t now to’th end o’th world, my Masters?DOCTOR.Why, a daies Iorney, wench.DAUGHTER.Will you goe with me?WOOER.What shall we doe there, wench?DAUGHTER.Why, play at stoole ball:What is there else to doe?WOOER.I am content,If we shall keepe our wedding there.DAUGHTER.Tis true:For there, I will assure you, we shall findeSome blind Priest for the purpose, that will ventureTo marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish;Besides, my father must be hang’d to morrowAnd that would be a blot i’th businesse.Are not you Palamon?WOOER.Doe not you know me?DAUGHTER.Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothingBut this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.WOOER.That’s all one; I will have you.DAUGHTER.Will you surely?WOOER.Yes, by this faire hand, will I.DAUGHTER.Wee’l to bed, then.WOOER.Ev’n when you will. [Kisses her.]DAUGHTER.O Sir, you would faine be nibling.WOOER.Why doe you rub my kisse off?DAUGHTER.Tis a sweet one,And will perfume me finely against the wedding.Is not this your Cosen Arcite?DOCTOR.Yes, sweet heart,And I am glad my Cosen PalamonHas made so faire a choice.DAUGHTER.Doe you thinke hee’l have me?DOCTOR.Yes, without doubt.DAUGHTER.Doe you thinke so too?IAILOR.Yes.DAUGHTER.We shall have many children:—Lord, how y’ar growne!My Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,Now he’s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,He was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,But ile kisse him up againe.[Emter a Messenger.]MESSENGER.What doe you here? you’l loose the noblest sightThat ev’r was seene.IAILOR.Are they i’th Field?MESSENGER.They are.You beare a charge there too.IAILOR.Ile away straight.I must ev’n leave you here.DOCTOR.Nay, wee’l goe with you;I will not loose the Fight.IAILOR.How did you like her?DOCTOR.Ile warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daiesIle make her right againe. You must not from her,But still preserve her in this way.WOOER.I will.DOCTOR.Lets get her in.WOOER.Come, sweete, wee’l goe to dinner;And then weele play at Cardes.DAUGHTER.And shall we kisse too?WOOER.A hundred times.DAUGHTER.And twenty.WOOER.I, and twenty.DAUGHTER.And then wee’l sleepe together.DOCTOR.Take her offer.WOOER.Yes, marry, will we.DAUGHTER.But you shall not hurt me.WOOER.I will not, sweete.DAUGHTER.If you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt]Scaena 3. (A Place near the Lists.)[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants, (T. Tucke: Curtis.)]EMILIA.Ile no step further.PERITHOUS.Will you loose this sight?EMILIA.I had rather see a wren hawke at a flyThen this decision; ev’ry blow that fallsThreats a brave life, each stroake lamentsThe place whereon it fals, and sounds more likeA Bell then blade: I will stay here;It is enough my hearing shall be punishdWith what shall happen—gainst the which there isNo deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eyeWith dread sights, it may shun.PERITHOUS.Sir, my good Lord,Your Sister will no further.THESEUS.Oh, she must.She shall see deeds of honour in their kinde,Which sometime show well, pencild. Nature nowShall make and act the Story, the beleifeBoth seald with eye and eare; you must be present,You are the victours meede, the price, and garlondTo crowne the Questions title.EMILIA.Pardon me;If I were there, I’ld winke.THESEUS.You must be there;This Tryall is as t’wer i’th night, and youThe onely star to shine.EMILIA.I am extinct;There is but envy in that light, which showesThe one the other: darkenes, which ever wasThe dam of horrour, who do’s stand accurstOf many mortall Millions, may even now,By casting her blacke mantle over both,That neither coulde finde other, get her selfeSome part of a good name, and many a murtherSet off wherto she’s guilty.HIPPOLITA.You must goe.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 needes be byTo give the Service pay.EMILIA.Sir, pardon me;The tytle of a kingdome may be trideOut of it selfe.THESEUS.Well, well, then, at your pleasure;Those that remaine with you could wish their officeTo any of their Enemies.HIPPOLITA.Farewell, Sister;I am like to know your husband fore your selfeBy some small start of time: he whom the godsDoe of the two know best, I pray them heBe made your Lot.[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]EMILIA.Arcite is gently visagd; yet his eyeIs like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weaponIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courageAre bedfellowes in his visage. PalamonHas a most menacing aspect: his browIs grav’d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on;Yet sometime tis not so, but alters toThe quallity of his thoughts; long time his eyeWill dwell upon his object. MellenchollyBecomes him nobly; So do’s Arcites mirth,But Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth,So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,And sadnes, merry; those darker humours thatSticke misbecomingly on others, on themLive in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to acharge.]Harke, how yon spurs to spirit doe inciteThe Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me,And yet may Palamon wound Arcite toThe spoyling of his figure. O, what pittyEnough for such a chance; if I were by,I might doe hurt, for they would glance their eiesToward my Seat, and in that motion mightOmit a ward, or forfeit an offenceWhich crav’d that very time: it is much betterI am not there; oh better never borneThen minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within, crying ‘a Palamon’.] What is the chance?[Enter Servant.]SERVANT.The Crie’s ‘a Palamon’.EMILIA.Then he has won! Twas ever likely;He lookd all grace and successe, and he isDoubtlesse the prim’st of men: I pre’thee, runAnd tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, ‘aPalamon.’]SERVANT.Still Palamon.EMILIA.Run and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;Vpon my right side still I wore thy picture,Palamons 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 lyes; PalamonHad the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and Cornets.] This burst of clamourIs sure th’end o’th Combat.[Enter Servant.]SERVANT.They saide that Palamon had Arcites bodyWithin an inch o’th Pyramid, that the cryWas generall ‘a Palamon’: But, anon,Th’Assistants made a brave redemption, andThe two bold Tytlers, at this instant areHand to hand at it.EMILIA.Were they metamorphisdBoth into one! oh why? there were no womanWorth so composd a Man: their single share,Their noblenes peculier to them, givesThe prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within, Arcite, Arcite.]To any Lady breathing—More exulting?Palamon still?SERVANT.Nay, now the sound is Arcite.EMILIA.I pre’thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and cry, ‘Arcite, victory!’] Set both thine eares to’th busines.SERVANT.The cry is‘Arcite’, and ‘victory’, harke: ‘Arcite, victory!’The Combats consummation is proclaim’dBy the wind Instruments.EMILIA.Halfe sights sawThat Arcite was no babe; god’s lyd, his richnesAnd costlines of spirit look’t through him, it couldNo more be hid in him then fire in flax,Then humble banckes can goe to law with waters,That drift windes force to raging: I did thinkeGood Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew notWhy I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,When oft our fancies are. They are comming off:Alas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.][Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and attendants, &c.]THESEUS.Lo, where our Sister is in expectation,Yet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,The gods by their divine arbitramentHave given you this Knight; he is a good oneAs ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;Receive you her, you him; be plighted withA love that growes, as you decay.ARCITE.Emily,To buy you, I have lost what’s deerest to me,Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,As I doe rate your value.THESEUS.O loved Sister,He speakes now of as brave a Knight as ereDid spur a noble Steed: Surely, the godsWould have him die a Batchelour, least his raceShould shew i’th world too godlike: His behaviourSo charmed me, that me thought Alcides wasTo him a sow of lead: if I could praiseEach part of him to’th all I have spoke, your ArciteDid not loose by’t; For he that was thus goodEncountred yet his Better. I have heardTwo emulous Philomels beate the eare o’th nightWith their contentious throates, now one the higher,Anon the other, then againe the first,And by and by out breasted, that the senceCould not be judge betweene ’em: So it far’dGood space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens didMake hardly one the winner. Weare the GirlondWith joy that you have won: For the subdude,Give them our present Iustice, since I knowTheir lives but pinch ’em; Let it here be done.The Sceane’s not for our seeing, goe we hence,Right joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize,I know you will not loose her.—Hipolita,I see one eye of yours conceives a teareThe which it will deliver. [Florish.]EMILIA.Is this wynning?Oh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?But that your wils have saide it must be so,And charge me live to comfort this unfriended,This miserable Prince, that cuts awayA life more worthy from him then all women,I should, and would, die too.HIPPOLITA.Infinite pitty,That fowre such eies should be so fixd on oneThat two must needes be blinde fort.THESEUS.So it is. [Exeunt.]Scaena 4. (The same; a Block prepared.)[Enter Palamon and his Knightes pyniond: Iaylor, Executioner, &c. Gard.](PALAMON.)Ther’s many a man alive that hath out liv’dThe love o’th people; yea, i’th selfesame stateStands many a Father with his childe; some comfortWe have by so considering: we expireAnd not without mens pitty. To live still,Have their good wishes; we preventThe loathsome misery of age, beguileThe Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attendFor grey approachers; we come towards the godsYong and unwapper’d, not halting under CrymesMany and stale: that sure shall please the gods,Sooner than such, to give us Nectar with ’em,For we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen,Whose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe,You have sould ’em too too cheape.1. KNIGHT.What ending could beOf more content? ore us the victors haveFortune, whose title is as momentary,As to us death is certaine: A graine of honourThey not ore’-weigh us.2. KNIGHT.Let us bid farewell;And with our patience anger tottring Fortune,Who at her certain’st reeles.3. KNIGHT.Come; who begins?PALAMON.Ev’n he that led you to this Banket shallTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend,Your gentle daughter gave me freedome once;You’l see’t done now for ever: pray, how do’es she?I heard she was not well; her kind of illGave me some sorrow.IAILOR.Sir, she’s well restor’d,And to be marryed shortly.PALAMON.By my short life,I am most glad on’t; Tis the latest thingI shall be glad of; pre’thee tell her so:Commend me to her, and to peece her portion,Tender her this. [Gives purse.]1. KNIGHT.Nay lets be offerers all.2. KNIGHT.Is it a maide?PALAMON.Verily, I thinke so,A right good creature, more to me deservingThen I can quight or speake of.ALL KNIGHTS.Commend us to her. [They give their purses.]IAILOR.The gods requight you all,And make her thankefull.PALAMON.Adiew; and let my life be now as short,As my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.]1. KNIGHT.Leade, couragious Cosin.2. KNIGHT.Wee’l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, ‘run, save, hold!’][Enter in hast a Messenger.]MESSENGER.Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold![Enter Pirithous in haste.]PERITHOUS.Hold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made,If you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon,The gods will shew their glory in a life,That thou art yet to leade.PALAMON.Can that be,When Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare?PERITHOUS.Arise, great Sir, and give the tydings eareThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.PALAMON.WhatHath wakt us from our dreame?PERITHOUS.List then: your Cosen,Mounted upon a Steed that EmilyDid first bestow on him, a blacke one, owingNot a hayre worth of white—which some will sayWeakens his price, and many will not buyHis goodnesse with this note: Which superstitionHeere findes allowance—On this horse is ArciteTrotting the stones of Athens, which the CalkinsDid rather tell then trample; for the horseWould make his length a mile, if’t pleas’d his RiderTo put pride in him: as he thus went countingThe flinty pavement, dancing, as t’wer, to’th MusickeHis owne hoofes made; (for as they say from ironCame Musickes origen) what envious Flint,Cold as old Saturne, and like him possestWith fire malevolent, darted a Sparke,Or what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,I comment not;—the hot horse, hot as fire,Tooke Toy at this, and fell to what disorderHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,Forgets schoole dooing, being therein traind,And of kind mannadge; pig-like he whinesAt the sharpe Rowell, which he freats at ratherThen any jot obaies; seekes all foule meanesOf boystrous and rough Iadrie, to dis-seateHis Lord, that kept it bravely: when nought serv’d,When neither Curb would cracke, girth breake nor diffring plungesDis-roote his Rider whence he grew, but thatHe kept him tweene his legges, on his hind hoofes on end he stands,That Arcites leggs, being higher then his head,Seem’d with strange art to hand: His victors wreathEven then fell off his head: and presentlyBackeward the Iade comes ore, and his full poyzeBecomes the Riders loade: yet is he living,But such a vessell tis, that floates but forThe surge that next approaches: he much desiresTo have some speech with you: Loe he appeares.[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chaire.]PALAMON.O miserable end of our alliance!The gods are mightie, Arcite: if thy heart,Thy worthie, 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 worlds joy: Reach thy hand:Farewell: I have told my last houre. I was false,Yet never treacherous: Forgive me, Cosen:—One kisse from faire Emilia: Tis done:Take her: I die.PALAMON.Thy brave soule seeke Elizium.EMILIA.Ile close thine eyes, Prince; blessed soules be with thee!Thou art a right good man, and while I live,This day I give to teares.PALAMON.And I to honour.THESEUS.In this place first you fought: ev’n very hereI sundred you: acknowledge to the godsOur thankes that you are living.His part is playd, and though it were too short,He did it well: your day is lengthned, andThe blissefull dew of heaven do’s arowze you.The powerfull Venus well hath grac’d her Altar,And given you your love: Our Master MarsHath vouch’d his Oracle, and to Arcite gaveThe grace of the Contention: So the DeitiesHave shewd due justice: Beare this hence.PALAMON.O Cosen,That we should things desire, which doe cost usThe losse of our desire! That nought could buyDeare love, but losse of deare love!THESEUS.Never FortuneDid play a subtler Game: The conquerd triumphes,The victor has the Losse: yet in the passageThe gods have beene most equall: Palamon,Your kinseman hath confest the right o’th LadyDid lye in you, for you first saw her, andEven then proclaimd your fancie: He restord herAs your stolne Iewell, and desir’d your spiritTo send him hence forgiven; The gods my justiceTake from my hand, and they themselves becomeThe Executioners: Leade your Lady off;And call your Lovers from the stage of death,Whom I adopt my Frinds. A day or twoLet us looke sadly, and give grace untoThe Funerall of Arcite; in whose endThe visages of Bridegroomes weele put onAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an houre,But one houre, since, I was as dearely sorry,As glad of Arcite: and am now as glad,As for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,What things you make of us! For what we lackeWe laugh, for what we have, are sorry: stillAre children in some kind. Let us be thankefullFor that which is, and with you leave disputeThat are above our question. Let’s goe off,And beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.]
[Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.]
THESEUS.Now let’em enter, and before the godsTender their holy prayers: Let the TemplesBurne bright with sacred fires, and the AltarsIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling IncenseTo those above us: Let no due be wanting; [Florish of Cornets.]They have a noble worke in hand, will honourThe very powers that love ’em.
[Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.]
PERITHOUS.Sir, they enter.
THESEUS.You valiant and strong harted Enemies,You royall German foes, that this day comeTo blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye:Lay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like,Before the holy Altars of your helpers,(The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies.Your ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be,And as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice;Ile leave you to your prayers, and betwixt yeI part my wishes.
PERITHOUS.Honour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.]
PALAMON.The glasse is running now that cannot finishTill one of us expire: Thinke you but thus,That were there ought in me which strove to showMine enemy in this businesse, wer’t one eyeAgainst another, Arme opprest by Arme,I would destroy th’offender, Coz, I would,Though parcell of my selfe: Then from this gatherHow I should tender you.
ARCITE.I am in labourTo push your name, your auncient love, our kindredOut of my memory; and i’th selfe same placeTo seate something I would confound: So hoyst weThe sayles, that must these vessells port even whereThe heavenly Lymiter pleases.
PALAMON.You speake well;Before I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen:This I shall never doe agen.
ARCITE.One farewell.
PALAMON.Why, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and hisKnights.]
ARCITE.Farewell, Sir.—Knights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices,True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in youExpells the seedes of feare, and th’apprehensionWhich still is farther off it, Goe with meBefore the god of our profession: ThereRequire of him the hearts of Lyons, andThe breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too,Yea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane,Else wish we to be Snayles: you know my prizeMust be drag’d out of blood; force and great feateMust put my Garland on, where she stickesThe Queene of Flowers: our intercession thenMust be to him that makes the Campe a CestronBrymd with the blood of men: give me your aideAnd bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.]Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turndGreene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach)Comets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste FeildVnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe,The teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth pluckeWith hand armypotent from forth blew clowdesThe masond Turrets, that both mak’st and break’stThe stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple,Yongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this dayWith military skill, that to thy lawdeI may advance my Streamer, and by thee,Be stil’d the Lord o’th day: give me, great Mars,Some token of thy pleasure.
[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a Battaile, whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.]
O Great Corrector of enormous times,Shaker of ore-rank States, thou grand deciderOf dustie and old tytles, that healst with bloodThe earth when it is sicke, and curst the worldO’th pluresie of people; I doe takeThy signes auspiciously, and in thy nameTo my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.]
[Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.]
PALAMON.Our stars must glister with new fire, or beTo daie extinct; our argument is love,Which if the goddesse of it grant, she givesVictory too: then blend your spirits with mine,You, whose free noblenesse doe make my causeYour personall hazard; to the goddesse VenusCommend we our proceeding, and imploreHer power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.]Haile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast powerTo call the feircest Tyrant from his rage,And weepe unto a Girle; that ha’st the might,Even with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis DromAnd turne th’allarme to whispers; that canst makeA Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure himBefore Apollo; that may’st force the KingTo be his subjects vassaile, and induceStale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour—Whose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres,Have skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catchAnd make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate,Abuse yong laies of love: what godlike powerHast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thouAdd’st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyresDid scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresseAll moyst and cold, some say, began to throwHer Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy graceMe, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yokeAs t’wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavierThen Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles.I have never beene foule mouthd against thy law,Nev’r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not,Had I kend all that were; I never practisedVpon mans wife, nor would the Libells readeOf liberall wits; I never at great feastesSought to betray a Beautie, but have blush’dAt simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harshTo large Confessors, and have hotly ask’d themIf they had Mothers: I had one, a woman,And women t’wer they wrong’d. I knew a manOf eightie winters, this I told them, whoA Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy powerTo put life into dust; the aged CrampeHad screw’d his square foote round,The Gout had knit his fingers into knots,Torturing Convulsions from his globie eyes,Had almost drawne their spheeres, that what was lifeIn him seem’d torture: this AnatomieHad by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and IBeleev’d it was him, for she swore it was,And who would not beleeve her? briefe, I amTo those that prate and have done no Companion;To those that boast and have not a defyer;To those that would and cannot a Rejoycer.Yea, him I doe not love, that tells close officesThe fowlest way, nor names concealements inThe boldest language: such a one I am,And vow that lover never yet made sighTruer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse,Give me the victory of this question, whichIs true loves merit, and blesse me with a signeOf thy great pleasure.
[Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall againe upon their faces, then on their knees.]
PALAMON.O thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign’stIn mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world,And we in heards thy game: I give thee thankesFor this faire Token, which, being layd untoMine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.]My body to this businesse. Let us riseAnd bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.]
[Still Musicke of Records.]
[Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a wheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke with flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is conveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of Diana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they curtsey and kneele.]
EMILIA.O sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene,Abandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative,Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pureAs windefand Snow, who to thy femall knightsAlow’st no more blood than will make a blush,Which is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest,Am humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe,With that thy rare greene eye, which never yetBeheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin;And, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare(Which nev’r heard scurrill terme, into whose portNe’re entred wanton found,) to my petitionSeasond with holy feare: This is my lastOf vestall office; I am bride habited,But mayden harted, a husband I have pointed,But doe not know him; out of two I shouldChoose one and pray for his successe, but IAm guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes,Were I to loose one, they are equall precious,I could doombe neither, that which perish’d shouldGoe too’t unsentenc’d: Therefore, most modest Queene,He of the two Pretenders, that best loves meAnd has the truest title in’t, Let himTake off my wheaten Gerland, or else grantThe fyle and qualitie I hold, I mayContinue in thy Band.
[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]
See what our Generall of Ebbs and FlowesOut from the bowells of her holy AltarWith sacred act advances! But one Rose:If well inspird, this Battaile shal confoundBoth these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowreMust grow alone unpluck’d.
[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]
The flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,Thou here dischargest me; I shall be gather’d:I thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;Vnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she’s pleas’d,Her Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]
[Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]
DOCTOR.Has this advice I told you, done any good upon her?
WOOER.O very much; The maids that kept her companyHave halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;Within this halfe houre she came smiling to me,And asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:I told her presently, and kist her twice.
DOCTOR.Twas well done; twentie times had bin far better,For there the cure lies mainely.
WOOER.Then she told meShe would watch with me to night, for well she knewWhat houre my fit would take me.
DOCTOR.Let her doe so,And when your fit comes, fit her home,And presently.
WOOER.She would have me sing.
DOCTOR.You did so?
WOOER.No.
DOCTOR.Twas very ill done, then;You should observe her ev’ry way.
WOOER.Alas,I have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way.
DOCTOR.That’s all one, if yee make a noyse;If she intreate againe, doe any thing,—Lye with her, if she aske you.
IAILOR.Hoa, there, Doctor!
DOCTOR.Yes, in the waie of cure.
IAILOR.But first, by your leave,I’th way of honestie.
DOCTOR.That’s but a nicenesse,Nev’r cast your child away for honestie;Cure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,She has the path before her.
IAILOR.Thanke yee, Doctor.
DOCTOR.Pray, bring her in,And let’s see how shee is.
IAILOR.I will, and tell herHer Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,Me thinkes you are i’th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]
DOCTOR.Goe, goe:You Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?And we should give her physicke till we finde that—
WOOER.Why, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?
DOCTOR.How old is she?
WOOER.She’s eighteene.
DOCTOR.She may be,But that’s all one; tis nothing to our purpose.What ere her Father saies, if you perceaveHer moode inclining that way that I spoke of,Videlicet, the way of flesh—you have me?
WOOER.Yet, very well, Sir.
DOCTOR.Please her appetite,And doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,The mellencholly humour that infects her.
WOOER.I am of your minde, Doctor.
[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]
DOCTOR.You’l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.
IAILOR.Come, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,And has done this long houre, to visite you.
DAUGHTER.I thanke him for his gentle patience;He’s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.Did you nev’r see the horse he gave me?
IAILOR.Yes.
DAUGHTER.How doe you like him?
IAILOR.He’s a very faire one.
DAUGHTER.You never saw him dance?
IAILOR.No.
DAUGHTER.I have often.He daunces very finely, very comely,And for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him,He turnes ye like a Top.
IAILOR.That’s fine, indeede.
DAUGHTER.Hee’l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre,And that will founder the best hobby-horse(If I have any skill) in all the parish,And gallops to the turne of LIGHT A’ LOVE:What thinke you of this horse?
IAILOR.Having these vertues,I thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.
DAUGHTER.Alas, that’s nothing.
IAILOR.Can he write and reade too?
DAUGHTER.A very faire hand, and casts himselfe th’accountsOf all his hay and provender: That HostlerMust rise betime that cozens him. You knowThe Chestnut Mare the Duke has?
IAILOR.Very well.
DAUGHTER.She is horribly in love with him, poore beast,But he is like his master, coy and scornefull.
IAILOR.What dowry has she?
DAUGHTER.Some two hundred Bottles,And twenty strike of Oates; but hee’l ne’re have her;He lispes in’s neighing, able to enticeA Millars Mare: Hee’l be the death of her.
DOCTOR.What stuffe she utters!
IAILOR.Make curtsie; here your love comes.
WOOER.Pretty soule,How doe ye? that’s a fine maide, ther’s a curtsie!
DAUGHTER.Yours to command ith way of honestie.How far is’t now to’th end o’th world, my Masters?
DOCTOR.Why, a daies Iorney, wench.
DAUGHTER.Will you goe with me?
WOOER.What shall we doe there, wench?
DAUGHTER.Why, play at stoole ball:What is there else to doe?
WOOER.I am content,If we shall keepe our wedding there.
DAUGHTER.Tis true:For there, I will assure you, we shall findeSome blind Priest for the purpose, that will ventureTo marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish;Besides, my father must be hang’d to morrowAnd that would be a blot i’th businesse.Are not you Palamon?
WOOER.Doe not you know me?
DAUGHTER.Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothingBut this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.
WOOER.That’s all one; I will have you.
DAUGHTER.Will you surely?
WOOER.Yes, by this faire hand, will I.
DAUGHTER.Wee’l to bed, then.
WOOER.Ev’n when you will. [Kisses her.]
DAUGHTER.O Sir, you would faine be nibling.
WOOER.Why doe you rub my kisse off?
DAUGHTER.Tis a sweet one,And will perfume me finely against the wedding.Is not this your Cosen Arcite?
DOCTOR.Yes, sweet heart,And I am glad my Cosen PalamonHas made so faire a choice.
DAUGHTER.Doe you thinke hee’l have me?
DOCTOR.Yes, without doubt.
DAUGHTER.Doe you thinke so too?
IAILOR.Yes.
DAUGHTER.We shall have many children:—Lord, how y’ar growne!My Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,Now he’s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,He was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,But ile kisse him up againe.
[Emter a Messenger.]
MESSENGER.What doe you here? you’l loose the noblest sightThat ev’r was seene.
IAILOR.Are they i’th Field?
MESSENGER.They are.You beare a charge there too.
IAILOR.Ile away straight.I must ev’n leave you here.
DOCTOR.Nay, wee’l goe with you;I will not loose the Fight.
IAILOR.How did you like her?
DOCTOR.Ile warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daiesIle make her right againe. You must not from her,But still preserve her in this way.
WOOER.I will.
DOCTOR.Lets get her in.
WOOER.Come, sweete, wee’l goe to dinner;And then weele play at Cardes.
DAUGHTER.And shall we kisse too?
WOOER.A hundred times.
DAUGHTER.And twenty.
WOOER.I, and twenty.
DAUGHTER.And then wee’l sleepe together.
DOCTOR.Take her offer.
WOOER.Yes, marry, will we.
DAUGHTER.But you shall not hurt me.
WOOER.I will not, sweete.
DAUGHTER.If you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt]
[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants, (T. Tucke: Curtis.)]
EMILIA.Ile no step further.
PERITHOUS.Will you loose this sight?
EMILIA.I had rather see a wren hawke at a flyThen this decision; ev’ry blow that fallsThreats a brave life, each stroake lamentsThe place whereon it fals, and sounds more likeA Bell then blade: I will stay here;It is enough my hearing shall be punishdWith what shall happen—gainst the which there isNo deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eyeWith dread sights, it may shun.
PERITHOUS.Sir, my good Lord,Your Sister will no further.
THESEUS.Oh, she must.She shall see deeds of honour in their kinde,Which sometime show well, pencild. Nature nowShall make and act the Story, the beleifeBoth seald with eye and eare; you must be present,You are the victours meede, the price, and garlondTo crowne the Questions title.
EMILIA.Pardon me;If I were there, I’ld winke.
THESEUS.You must be there;This Tryall is as t’wer i’th night, and youThe onely star to shine.
EMILIA.I am extinct;There is but envy in that light, which showesThe one the other: darkenes, which ever wasThe dam of horrour, who do’s stand accurstOf many mortall Millions, may even now,By casting her blacke mantle over both,That neither coulde finde other, get her selfeSome part of a good name, and many a murtherSet off wherto she’s guilty.
HIPPOLITA.You must goe.
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 needes be byTo give the Service pay.
EMILIA.Sir, pardon me;The tytle of a kingdome may be trideOut of it selfe.
THESEUS.Well, well, then, at your pleasure;Those that remaine with you could wish their officeTo any of their Enemies.
HIPPOLITA.Farewell, Sister;I am like to know your husband fore your selfeBy some small start of time: he whom the godsDoe of the two know best, I pray them heBe made your Lot.
[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]
EMILIA.Arcite is gently visagd; yet his eyeIs like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weaponIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courageAre bedfellowes in his visage. PalamonHas a most menacing aspect: his browIs grav’d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on;Yet sometime tis not so, but alters toThe quallity of his thoughts; long time his eyeWill dwell upon his object. MellenchollyBecomes him nobly; So do’s Arcites mirth,But Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth,So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,And sadnes, merry; those darker humours thatSticke misbecomingly on others, on themLive in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to acharge.]Harke, how yon spurs to spirit doe inciteThe Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me,And yet may Palamon wound Arcite toThe spoyling of his figure. O, what pittyEnough for such a chance; if I were by,I might doe hurt, for they would glance their eiesToward my Seat, and in that motion mightOmit a ward, or forfeit an offenceWhich crav’d that very time: it is much betterI am not there; oh better never borneThen minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within, crying ‘a Palamon’.] What is the chance?
[Enter Servant.]
SERVANT.The Crie’s ‘a Palamon’.
EMILIA.Then he has won! Twas ever likely;He lookd all grace and successe, and he isDoubtlesse the prim’st of men: I pre’thee, runAnd tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, ‘aPalamon.’]
SERVANT.Still Palamon.
EMILIA.Run and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;Vpon my right side still I wore thy picture,Palamons 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 lyes; PalamonHad the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and Cornets.] This burst of clamourIs sure th’end o’th Combat.
[Enter Servant.]
SERVANT.They saide that Palamon had Arcites bodyWithin an inch o’th Pyramid, that the cryWas generall ‘a Palamon’: But, anon,Th’Assistants made a brave redemption, andThe two bold Tytlers, at this instant areHand to hand at it.
EMILIA.Were they metamorphisdBoth into one! oh why? there were no womanWorth so composd a Man: their single share,Their noblenes peculier to them, givesThe prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within, Arcite, Arcite.]To any Lady breathing—More exulting?Palamon still?
SERVANT.Nay, now the sound is Arcite.
EMILIA.I pre’thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and cry, ‘Arcite, victory!’] Set both thine eares to’th busines.
SERVANT.The cry is‘Arcite’, and ‘victory’, harke: ‘Arcite, victory!’The Combats consummation is proclaim’dBy the wind Instruments.
EMILIA.Halfe sights sawThat Arcite was no babe; god’s lyd, his richnesAnd costlines of spirit look’t through him, it couldNo more be hid in him then fire in flax,Then humble banckes can goe to law with waters,That drift windes force to raging: I did thinkeGood Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew notWhy I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,When oft our fancies are. They are comming off:Alas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]
[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and attendants, &c.]
THESEUS.Lo, where our Sister is in expectation,Yet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,The gods by their divine arbitramentHave given you this Knight; he is a good oneAs ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;Receive you her, you him; be plighted withA love that growes, as you decay.
ARCITE.Emily,To buy you, I have lost what’s deerest to me,Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,As I doe rate your value.
THESEUS.O loved Sister,He speakes now of as brave a Knight as ereDid spur a noble Steed: Surely, the godsWould have him die a Batchelour, least his raceShould shew i’th world too godlike: His behaviourSo charmed me, that me thought Alcides wasTo him a sow of lead: if I could praiseEach part of him to’th all I have spoke, your ArciteDid not loose by’t; For he that was thus goodEncountred yet his Better. I have heardTwo emulous Philomels beate the eare o’th nightWith their contentious throates, now one the higher,Anon the other, then againe the first,And by and by out breasted, that the senceCould not be judge betweene ’em: So it far’dGood space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens didMake hardly one the winner. Weare the GirlondWith joy that you have won: For the subdude,Give them our present Iustice, since I knowTheir lives but pinch ’em; Let it here be done.The Sceane’s not for our seeing, goe we hence,Right joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize,I know you will not loose her.—Hipolita,I see one eye of yours conceives a teareThe which it will deliver. [Florish.]
EMILIA.Is this wynning?Oh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?But that your wils have saide it must be so,And charge me live to comfort this unfriended,This miserable Prince, that cuts awayA life more worthy from him then all women,I should, and would, die too.
HIPPOLITA.Infinite pitty,That fowre such eies should be so fixd on oneThat two must needes be blinde fort.
THESEUS.So it is. [Exeunt.]
[Enter Palamon and his Knightes pyniond: Iaylor, Executioner, &c. Gard.]
(PALAMON.)Ther’s many a man alive that hath out liv’dThe love o’th people; yea, i’th selfesame stateStands many a Father with his childe; some comfortWe have by so considering: we expireAnd not without mens pitty. To live still,Have their good wishes; we preventThe loathsome misery of age, beguileThe Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attendFor grey approachers; we come towards the godsYong and unwapper’d, not halting under CrymesMany and stale: that sure shall please the gods,Sooner than such, to give us Nectar with ’em,For we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen,Whose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe,You have sould ’em too too cheape.
1. KNIGHT.What ending could beOf more content? ore us the victors haveFortune, whose title is as momentary,As to us death is certaine: A graine of honourThey not ore’-weigh us.
2. KNIGHT.Let us bid farewell;And with our patience anger tottring Fortune,Who at her certain’st reeles.
3. KNIGHT.Come; who begins?
PALAMON.Ev’n he that led you to this Banket shallTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend,Your gentle daughter gave me freedome once;You’l see’t done now for ever: pray, how do’es she?I heard she was not well; her kind of illGave me some sorrow.
IAILOR.Sir, she’s well restor’d,And to be marryed shortly.
PALAMON.By my short life,I am most glad on’t; Tis the latest thingI shall be glad of; pre’thee tell her so:Commend me to her, and to peece her portion,Tender her this. [Gives purse.]
1. KNIGHT.Nay lets be offerers all.
2. KNIGHT.Is it a maide?
PALAMON.Verily, I thinke so,A right good creature, more to me deservingThen I can quight or speake of.
ALL KNIGHTS.Commend us to her. [They give their purses.]
IAILOR.The gods requight you all,And make her thankefull.
PALAMON.Adiew; and let my life be now as short,As my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.]
1. KNIGHT.Leade, couragious Cosin.
2. KNIGHT.Wee’l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, ‘run, save, hold!’]
[Enter in hast a Messenger.]
MESSENGER.Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!
[Enter Pirithous in haste.]
PERITHOUS.Hold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made,If you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon,The gods will shew their glory in a life,That thou art yet to leade.
PALAMON.Can that be,When Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare?
PERITHOUS.Arise, great Sir, and give the tydings eareThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.
PALAMON.WhatHath wakt us from our dreame?
PERITHOUS.List then: your Cosen,Mounted upon a Steed that EmilyDid first bestow on him, a blacke one, owingNot a hayre worth of white—which some will sayWeakens his price, and many will not buyHis goodnesse with this note: Which superstitionHeere findes allowance—On this horse is ArciteTrotting the stones of Athens, which the CalkinsDid rather tell then trample; for the horseWould make his length a mile, if’t pleas’d his RiderTo put pride in him: as he thus went countingThe flinty pavement, dancing, as t’wer, to’th MusickeHis owne hoofes made; (for as they say from ironCame Musickes origen) what envious Flint,Cold as old Saturne, and like him possestWith fire malevolent, darted a Sparke,Or what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,I comment not;—the hot horse, hot as fire,Tooke Toy at this, and fell to what disorderHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,Forgets schoole dooing, being therein traind,And of kind mannadge; pig-like he whinesAt the sharpe Rowell, which he freats at ratherThen any jot obaies; seekes all foule meanesOf boystrous and rough Iadrie, to dis-seateHis Lord, that kept it bravely: when nought serv’d,When neither Curb would cracke, girth breake nor diffring plungesDis-roote his Rider whence he grew, but thatHe kept him tweene his legges, on his hind hoofes on end he stands,That Arcites leggs, being higher then his head,Seem’d with strange art to hand: His victors wreathEven then fell off his head: and presentlyBackeward the Iade comes ore, and his full poyzeBecomes the Riders loade: yet is he living,But such a vessell tis, that floates but forThe surge that next approaches: he much desiresTo have some speech with you: Loe he appeares.
[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chaire.]
PALAMON.O miserable end of our alliance!The gods are mightie, Arcite: if thy heart,Thy worthie, 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 worlds joy: Reach thy hand:Farewell: I have told my last houre. I was false,Yet never treacherous: Forgive me, Cosen:—One kisse from faire Emilia: Tis done:Take her: I die.
PALAMON.Thy brave soule seeke Elizium.
EMILIA.Ile close thine eyes, Prince; blessed soules be with thee!Thou art a right good man, and while I live,This day I give to teares.
PALAMON.And I to honour.
THESEUS.In this place first you fought: ev’n very hereI sundred you: acknowledge to the godsOur thankes that you are living.His part is playd, and though it were too short,He did it well: your day is lengthned, andThe blissefull dew of heaven do’s arowze you.The powerfull Venus well hath grac’d her Altar,And given you your love: Our Master MarsHath vouch’d his Oracle, and to Arcite gaveThe grace of the Contention: So the DeitiesHave shewd due justice: Beare this hence.
PALAMON.O Cosen,That we should things desire, which doe cost usThe losse of our desire! That nought could buyDeare love, but losse of deare love!
THESEUS.Never FortuneDid play a subtler Game: The conquerd triumphes,The victor has the Losse: yet in the passageThe gods have beene most equall: Palamon,Your kinseman hath confest the right o’th LadyDid lye in you, for you first saw her, andEven then proclaimd your fancie: He restord herAs your stolne Iewell, and desir’d your spiritTo send him hence forgiven; The gods my justiceTake from my hand, and they themselves becomeThe Executioners: Leade your Lady off;And call your Lovers from the stage of death,Whom I adopt my Frinds. A day or twoLet us looke sadly, and give grace untoThe Funerall of Arcite; in whose endThe visages of Bridegroomes weele put onAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an houre,But one houre, since, I was as dearely sorry,As glad of Arcite: and am now as glad,As for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,What things you make of us! For what we lackeWe laugh, for what we have, are sorry: stillAre children in some kind. Let us be thankefullFor that which is, and with you leave disputeThat are above our question. Let’s goe off,And beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.]