_Jay._ What think you of her, Sir?
_Doct._ I think she has a perturbed mind, which I cannot
minister to.
_Jay._ Alas, what then?
_Doct._ Understand you, she ever affected any man, e'r
She beheld _Palamon_?
_Jay._ I was once, Sir, in great hope she had fix'd her
Liking on this Gentleman my friend.
_Woo._ I did think so too, and would account I had a great
Pen'worth on't, to give half my state, that both
She and I at this present stood unfainedly on the
Same terms.
_Doct._ That intemperate surfet of her eye, hath distemper'd the
Other sences, they may return and settle again to
Execute their preordained faculties, but they are
Now in a most extravagant vagary. This you
Must doe, confine her to a place, where the light
May rather seem to steal in, than be permitted; take
Upon you (young Sir, her friend) the name of
_Palamon_; say you come to eat with her, and to
Commune of Love; this will catch her attention, for
This her mind beats upon; other objects that are
Inserted 'tween her mind and eye, become the pranks
And friskins of her madness; sing to her such green
Songs of Love, as she says _Palamon_ hath sung in
Prison; Come to her, stuck in as sweet Flowers as the
Season is mistriss of, and thereto make an addition of
Some other compounded odors, which are grateful to the
Sense: all this shall become _Palamon_, for _Palamon_ can
Sing, and _Palamon_ is sweet, and ev'ry good thing, desire
To eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still
Among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance
Into her favour: learn what Maids have been her
Companions, and Play-pheers; and let them repair to
Her with _Palamon_ in their mouths, and appear with
Tokens, as if they suggested for him, it is a falshood
She is in, which is with falshoods to be combated.
This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce what's
Now out of square in her, into their former Law, and
Regiment; I have seen it approved, how many times
I know not, but to make the number more, I have
Great hope in this. I will between the passages of
This project, come in with my applyance: Let us
Put it in execution; and hasten the success, which doubt not
Will bring forth comfort. [Florish. _Exeunt._
_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Thesius, Perithous, Hippolita, _Attendants_.
_Thes._ Now let 'em enter, and before the gods
Tender their holy Prayers: Let the Temples
Burn bright with sacred fires, and the Altars
In hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense
To those above us: Let no due be wanting, [_Florish of Cornets._
They have a noble work in hand, will honor
The very powers that love 'em.
_Enter_ Palamon _and_ Arcite, _and their Knights_.
_Per._ Sir, they enter.
_Thes._ You valiant and strong-hearted enemies
You royal German foes, that this day come
To 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-fear'd 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 ye
I part my wishes.
_Per._ Honor crown the worthiest.
[_Exit_ Theseus _and his train_.
_Pal._ The glass is running now that cannot finish
Till one of us expire: think you but thus,
That were there ought in me which strove to shew
Mine enemy in this business, were't one eye
Against another: Arm opprest by Arm:
I would destroy th' offender, Coz. I would
Though parcel of my self: then from this gather
How I should tender you.
_Arc._ I am in labour
To push your name, your antient love, our kindred
Out of my memory; and i' th' self-same place
To seat something I would confound: so hoist we
The sails, that must these vessels port, even where
The heavenly Lymiter pleases.
_Pal._ You speak well;
Before I turn, let me embrace thee Cosin
This I shall never do agen.
_Arc._ One farewel.
_Pal._ Why let it be so: Farewel Coz.
[_Exeunt_ Palamon _and his Knights_.
_Arc._ Farewel Sir;
Knights, Kinsmen, Lovers, yea my Sacrifices
True worshipers of _Mars_, whose spirit in you
Expells the seeds of fear, and th' apprehension
Which still is farther off it, goe with me
Before the god of our profession: There
Require of him the hearts of Lions, and
The breath of Tygers, yea, the fierceness too,
Yea, the speed also, to go on, I mean
Else wish we to be snails: you know my prize
Must be dragg'd out of bloud, force and great fea[te]
Must put my Garland on, where she sticks
The Queen of Flowers: our intercession then
Must be to him that makes the Camp, a Cestron
Brim'd with the b[l]ood of men: give me your aid
And bend your spirits towards him. [_They kneel._
Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turn'd
Green _Neptune_ into purple.
Comets prewarn, whose havock in vast Field
Unearthed skulls proclaim, whose breath blows down,
The teeming C[e]res foyzon, who dost pluck
With hand armenipotent from [forth] blew clouds,
The mason'd Turrets, that both mak'st and break'st
The stony girths of Cities: me thy pupil,
Youngest follower of thy Drum, instruct this day
With military skill, that to thy laud
I may advance my streamer, and by thee,
Be 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 battel, whereupon they all rise, and_
_bow to the Altar._
Oh great Corrector of enormous times,
Shaker of o'er-rank States, thou grand decider
Of dusty, and old Titles, that heal'st with blood
The earth when it is sick, and curst the world
O' th' pl[u]resie of people; I do take
Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name
To my design; march boldly, let us goe. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Palamon _and his Knights, with the former observance_.
_Pal._ Our stars must glister with new fire, or be
To day extinct; our argument is love,
Which if the goddess of it grant, she gives
Victory too, then blend your spirits with mine,
You, whose free nobleness do make my cause
Your personal hazard; to the goddess _Venus_
Commend we our proceeding, and implore
Her power unto our partie. [_Here they kneel as formerly._
Hail Sovereign Queen of secrets, who hast power
To call the fiercest Tyrant from his rage;
And weep unto a Girl; that hast the might
Even with an eye-glance, to choak _Marsis_ Drum
And turn th' allarm to whispers, that canst make
A Cripple florish with his Crutch, and cure him
Before _Apollo_; that may'st force the King
To be his subjects vassal, and induce
Stale gravity to [daunce], the pould Batchelor
Whose youth like wanton boys through Bonfires
Have skipt thy flame, at seventy, thou canst catch
And make him to the scorn of his hoarse throat
Abuse young lays of Love; what godlike power
Hast thou not power upon? To _Phoebus_ thou
Add'st flames, hotter than his the heavenly fires
Did scorch his mortal Son, thine him; the huntress
All moist and cold, some say, began to throw
Her Bow away, and sigh: take to thy grace
Me thy vow'd Soldier, who do bear thy yoak
As 'twere a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier
Than Lead it self, stings more than Nettles;
I have never been foul-mouth'd against thy Law,
Ne'er reveal'd secret, for I knew none; would not
Had I ken'd all that were; I never practis'd
Upon mans wife, nor would the Libels read
Of liberal wits: I never at great feasts
Sought to betray a beauty, but have blush'd
At simpring Sirs that did: I have been harsh
To large Confessors, and have hotly ask'd 'em
If they had Mothers, I had one, a woman,
And women 't were they wrong'd. I knew a man
Of eighty winters, this I told them, who
A Lass of fourteen brided, 'twas thy power
To put life into dust, the aged Cramp
Had screw'd his square foot round,
The Gout had knit his fingers into knots,
Torturing Convulsions from his globy eies,
Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life
In him seem'd torture: this Anatomie
Had by his young fair [pheare] a Boy, and I
Believ'd it was his, for she swore it was,
And who would not believe her? brief I am
To those that prate, and have done, no Companion;
To those that boast and have not, a defyer;
To those that would and cannot, a Rejoycer.
Yea him I do not love, that tells close offices
The foulest way, nor names concealments in
The boldest language, such a one I am,
And vow that lover never yet made sigh
Truer than I. Oh then most soft sweet goddess
Give me the victory of this question, which
Is true loves merit, and bless me with a sign
Of thy great pleasure.
[_Here Musick is heard, Doves are seen to flutter, they_
_fall again upon their faces, then on their knees._
_Pal._ Oh thou that from eleven to ninety reign'st
In mortal bosoms, whose Chase is this world
And we in Herds thy Game; I give thee thanks
For this fair Token, which being laid unto
Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance [_They bow._
My body to this business; Let us rise
And bow before the goddess: Time comes on.
[_Exeunt. Still Musick of Records._
_Enter_ Emilia _in white, her hair about her shoulders, a wheaten_
_wreath: One in white, holding up her train, her hair stuck_
_with Flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynd, in_
_which is conveyed Incense and sweet odors, which being set_
_upon the Altar, her Maids standing aloof, she sets fire to it,_
_then they curt'sy and kneel._
_Emil._ Oh sacred, shadowy, cold and constant Queen,
Abandoner of Revels, mute contemplative,
Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
As wind-fan'd Snow, who to thy femal Knights
Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush,
Which is their Orders Robe. I here thy Priest
Am humbled for thine Altar, oh vouchsafe
With that thy rare green eye, which never yet
Beheld thing maculate, look on thy Virgin,
And sacred silver Mistriss, lend thine ear
(Which ne'r heard scurril term, into whose port
Ne'er entred wanton sound,) to my petition
Season'd with holy fear; this is my last
Of vestal office, I'm Bride-habited,
But Maiden-hearted: a Husband I have pointed,
But do not know him, out of two, I should
Choose one, and pray for his success, but I
Am guiltless of election of mine eyes,
Were I to lose one, they are equal precious,
I could doome neither, that which perish'd should
Goe to't unsentenc'd: Therefore most modest Queen,
He of the two Pretenders, that best loves me
And has the truest Title in't, let him
Take off my wheaten Garland, or else grant
The file and quality I hold, I may
Continue in thy Band.
[_Here the Hind vanishes under the Altar: and_
_in the place ascends a Rose-Tree, having one_
_Rose upon it._
See what our General of Ebbs and Flows
Out from the bowels of her holy Altar
With sacred Act advances: But one Rose,
If well inspir'd, this Battel shall confound
Both these brave Knights, and I a Virgin Flower
Must grow alone unpluck'd.
[_Here is heard a sodain twang of Instruments,_
_and the Rose falls from the Tree._
The Flower is fall'n, the Tree descends: oh Mistriss
Thou here dischargest me, I shall be gather'd,
I think so, but I know not thine own Will;
Unclaspe th[y] Mistery: I hope she's pleas'd,
Her Signs were gracious.
[_They curt'sey, and Exeunt._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter Doctor, Jaylor, and Woo[e]r, in habit of_ Palamon.
_Doct._ Has this advice I told you, done any good upon her?
_Woo._ Oh very much; the Maids that kept her company
Have half perswaded her that I am _Palamon_; within this
Half hour she came smiling to me, and ask'd me what I
Would eat, and when I would kiss her: I told her,
Presently, and kist her twice.
_Doct._ 'Twas well done; twenty times had been far better,
For there the cure lies mainly.
_Woo._ Then she told me
She would watch with me to night, for well she knew
What hour my fit would take me.
_Doct._ Let her do so,
And when your fit comes, fit her home,
And presently.
_Wooer._ She would have me sing.
_Doct._ You did so?
_Woo._ No.
_Doct._ 'Twas very ill done then,
You should observe her ev'ry way.
_Woo._ Alas
I have no voice Sir, to confirm her that way.
_Doct._ That's all one, if ye make a noise,
If she intreat again, do any thing,
Lie with her if she ask you.
_Jail._ Hoa there Doctor.
_Doct._ Yes, in the way of cure.
_Jail._ But first, by your leave
I' th' way of honesty.
_Doct._ That's but a niceness,
Nev'r cast your child away for honesty;
Cure her first this way, then if she will be honest,
She has the path before her.
_Jail._ Thank ye Doctor.
_Doct._ Pray bring her in
And let's see how she is.
_Jail._ I will, and tell her
Her _Palamon_ staies for her: but Doctor,
Methinks you are i' th' wrong still. [_Exit Jaylor._
_Doct._ Goe, goe: you Fathers are fine fools: her honesty?
And we should give her physick till we find that:
_Woo._ Why, do you think she is not honest, Sir?
_Doct._ How old is she?
_Woo._ She's eighteen.
_Doct._ She may be,
But that's all one, 'tis nothing to our purpose,
What ev'r her Father saies, if you perceive
Her Mood inclining that way that I spoke of
_Videlicet, The way of flesh_, you have me.
_Woo._ Yes very well Sir.
_Doct._ Please her appetite
And do it home, it cures her _ipso facto_,
The melancholly humor that infects her.
_Woo._ I am of your mind, _Doctor_.
_Enter Jailor, Daughter, Maid._
_Doct._ You'll find it so; she comes, pray honor her.
_Jail._ Come, your Love _Palamon_ stays for you child,
And has done this long hour, to visit you.
_Daugh._ I thank him for his gentle patience,
He's a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him,
Did you never see the horse he gave me?
_Jail._ Yes.
_Daugh._ How do you like him?
_Jail._ He's a very fair one.
_Daugh._ You never saw him dance?
_Jail._ No.
_Daugh._ I have often,
He dances very finely, very comely,
And for a Jigg, come cut and long tail to him,
He turns ye like a Top.
_Jail._ That's fine indeed.
_Daugh._ He'll dance the _Morris_ twenty mile an hour.
And that will founder the best hobby-horse
(If I have any skill) in all the parish,
And gallops to the turn of _Light a'love_,
What think you of this horse?
_Jail._ Having these virtues
I think he might be brought to play at Tennis.
_Daugh._ Alas that's nothing.
_Jail._ Can he write and read too?
_Daugh._ A very fair hand, and casts himself th' accounts
Of all his Hay and Provender: that Hostler
Must rise betime that cozens him; you know
The Chesnut Mare the Duke has?
_Jail._ Very well.
_Daugh._ She is horribly in love with him, poor beast,
But he is like his Master, coy and scornful.
_Jail._ What Dowry has she?
_Daugh._ Some two hundred Bottles,
And twenty strike of Oats; but he'll ne'er have her;
He lisps, in's neighing, able to entice
A Millers Mare,
He'll be the death of her.
_Doct._ What stuff she utters!
_Jail._ Make curt'sie, here your love comes.
_Woo._ Pretty soul
How doe ye? that's a fine Maid, there's a curt'sie.
_Daugh._ Yours to command i'th' way of honesty;
How far is't now to th' end o'th' world my Masters?
_Doct._ Why a days journey wench.
_Daugh._ Will you go with me?
_Woo._ What shall we do there wench?
_Daugh._ Why play at Stool-ball.
What is there else to do?
_Woo._ I am content
If we shall keep our wedding there.
_Daugh._ 'Tis true
For there I will assure you, we shall find
Some blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture
To marry us, for here they are nice and foolish;
Besides, my Father must be hang'd to morrow
And that would be a blot i'th' business.
Are not you _Palamon_?
_Woo._ Do not you know me?
_Daugh._ Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing
But this poor Petticoat, and two course Smocks.
_Woo._ That's all one, I will have you.
_Daugh._ Will you surely?
_Woo._ Yes, by this fair hand will I.
_Daugh._ We'll to bed then.
_Woo._ Ev'n when you will.
_Daugh._ Oh Sir, you would fain [b]e nibling.
_Woo._ Why do you rub my kiss off?
_Daugh._ 'Tis a sweet one,
And will perfume me finely against the wedding.
Is not this your Cosin _Arcite_?
_Doct._ Yes Sweet heart,
And I am glad my Cosin _Palamon_
Has made so fair a choice.
_Daugh._ Do you think he'll have me?
_Doct._ Yes without doubt.
_Daugh._ Do you think so too?
_Jail._ Yes.
_Daugh._ We shall have many children: Lord, how y'are [growne]
My _Palamon_ I hope will grow too finely
Now he's at liberty: alas poor Chicken,
He was kept down with hard Meat, and ill Lodging,
But I'll kiss him up again.
_Enter a Messenger._
_Mess._ What do you here? you'll lose the noblest sight,
That e'er was see[ne].
_Jail._ Are they i'th' field?
_Mess._ They are
You bear a charge there too.
_Jail._ I'll away straight
I must ev'n leave you here.
_Doct._ Nay, we'll goe with you,
I will not loose the Fight.
_Jail._ How did you like her?
_Doct._ I'll warrant you within these three or four days
I'll make her right again. You must not from her
But still preserve her in this way.
_Woo._ I will.
_Doct._ Let's get her in.
_Woo._ Come Sweet, we'll go to dinner
And then we'll play at Cards.
_Daugh._ And shall we kiss too?
_Woo._ A hundred times.
_Daugh._ And twenty.
_Woo._ I, and twenty.
_Daugh._ And then we'll sleep together.
_Doct._ Take her offer.
_Woo._ Yes marry will we.
_Daugh._ But you shall not hurt me.
_Woo._ I will not Sweet.
_Daugh._ If you do (Love) I'll cry. [Florish _Exeunt_.
_Scæna Tertia._
_Enter_ Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Perithous: _and_
_some Attendants_, T. Tuck: Curtis.
_Emil._ I'll no step further.
_Per._ Will you loose this sight?
_Emil._ I had rather see a Wren hawk at a Fly
Than this decision; ev'ry blow that falls
Threats a brave life, each stroke laments
The place wheron it falls, and sounds more like
A Bell, than Blade, I will stay here,
It is enough, my hearing shall be punish'd,
With what shall happen, 'gainst the which there is
No deafing, but to hear; not taint mine eye
With dread sights, it may shun.
_Per._ Sir, my good Lord
Your Sister will no further.
_Thes._ Oh she must.
She shall see deeds of Honor in their kind,
Which sometime shew well pencill'd. Nature now
Shall make, and act the Story, the belief
Both seal'd with eye, and ear; you must be present,
You are the victors meed, the price, and garland
To crown the Questions Title.
_Emil._ Pardon me,
If I were there, I'd wink.
_Thes._ You must be there;
This trial is as 'twere i' th' night, and you
The only Star to shine.
_Emil._ I am extinct,
There is but envy in that light, which shows
The one the other: darkness which ever was
The [dam] of horror; who does stand accurst
Of many mortal Millions, may even now
By casting her black mantle over both
That neither could find other, get her self
Some part of a good name, and many a murther
Set off whereto she's guilty.
_Hip._ You must go.
_Emil._ In faith I will not.
_Thes._ Why the Knights must kindle
Their valour at your eye: know of this war
You are the Treasure, and must needs be by
To give the Service pay.
_Emil._ Sir, pardon me,
The Title of a Kingdom may be try'd
Out of it self.
_Thes._ Well, well then, at your pleasure,
Those that remain with you, could wish their office
To any of their enemies.
_Hip._ Farewel Sister,
I am like to know your Husband 'fore your self
By some small start of time, he whom the gods
Doe of the two, know best, I pray them, he
Be made your Lot.
[_E[xeunt_] Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, _&c._
_Emil. Arcite_ is gently visag'd; yet his eye
Is like an Engine bent, or a sharp weapon
In a soft sheath; mercy, and manly courage
Are bedfellows in his visage: _Palamon_
Has a most menacing aspect, his brow
Is grav'd, and seems to bury what it frowns on,
Yet sometimes 'tis not so, but alters to
The quality of his thoughts; long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object. Melancholly
Becomes him nobly; so does _Arcite's_ mirth,
But _Palamon's_ sadness is a kind of mirth,
So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad.
And sadness, merry; those darker humors that
Stick mis-becomingly on others, on them
Live in fair dwelling. [_Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a Charge._
Hark how yo[n] spurs to spirit doe incite
The Princes to their proof, _Arcite_ may win me,
And yet may _Palamon_ wound _Arcite_, to
The spoiling of his figure. Oh what pity
Enough for such a chance; if I were by
I might do hurt, for they would glance their eies
Toward my Seat, and in that motion might
Omit a Ward, or forfeit an offence
Which crav'd that very time: it is much better
[_Cornets. A great cry, and noise_
_within, crying a_ Palamon.
I am not there, oh better never born
Than minister to such harm, what is the chance?
_Enter Servant._
_Ser._ The cry's a _Palamon_.
_Emil._ Then he has won: 'twas ever likely,
He look'd all grace and success, and he is
Doubtless the prim'st of men: I prethee run
And tell me how it goes. [_Shout, and Cornets: crying a_ Palamon.
_Ser._ Still _Palamon_.
_Emil._ Run and enquire, 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.
[_Another cry and shout within, and Cornets._
On the sinister side the heart lies; _Palamon_
Had the best boding chance: this burst of clamor
Is sure th' end o'th' combat.
_Enter Servant._
_Ser._ They said that _Palamon_ had _Arcites_ body
Within an inch o'th' Pyramid, that the cry
Was general a _Palamon_: but anon,
Th' Assistants made a brave redemption, and
The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are
Hand to hand at it.
_Emil._ Were they metamorphos'd
Both into one; oh why? there were no woman
Worth so compos'd a man: their single share,
[Their noblenes peculier to them, gives]
The prejudice of disparity values shortness
[_Cornets. Cry within_, Arcite, Arcite.
To any Lady breathing--More exulting?
_Palamon_ still?
_Ser._ Nay, now the sound is _Arcite_.
_Emil._ I prethee lay attention to the Cry.
[_Cornets. A great shout, and cry_, Arcite, _victory_.
Set both thine ears to th' business.
_Ser._ The cry is
_Arcite_, and victory, hark _Arcite_, victory,
The Combats consummation is proclaim'd
By the wind Instruments.
_Emil._ Half sights saw
That _Arcite_ was no babe, god's lyd, his richness
And costliness of spirit lookt through him; it could
No more be hid in him, than fire in flax,
Than humble banks can go to law with waters,
That drift winds, force to raging: I did think
Good _Palamon_ would miscarry, yet I knew not
Why I did think so; Our reasons are not prophets
When oft our fancies are: they are coming off:
Alas poor _Palamon_. [_Cornets._
_Enter_ Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, Arcite _as_
_Victor and Attendants_, &c.
_Thes._ Lo, where our Sister is in expectation,
Yet quaking, and unsetled: fairest _Emilia_,
The gods by their Divine arbitrament
Have given you this Knight, he is a good one
As ever struck at head: Give me your hands;
Receive you her, you him, be plighted with
A love that grows, as you decay.
_Arcite. Emily._
To buy you I have lost what's dearest to me,
Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheaply,
As I do rate your value.
_Thes._ Oh loved Sister,
He speaks now of as brave a Knight as e'er
Did spur a noble Steed: surely the gods
Would have him die a batchelor, lest his race
Should show i'th' world too godlike: his behaviour
So charm'd me, that methought _Alcides_ was
To him a Sow of Lead: if I could praise
Each part of him to th' all I have spoke, your _Arcite_
Did not lose by't; for he that was thus good
Encountred yet his Better, I have heard
Two emulous Philomels, beat the ear o'th' night
With their contentious throats, now on[e] the higher,
Anon the other, then again the first,
And by and by out-breasted, that the sense
Could not be judge between 'em: so it far'd
Good space between these kinsmen; till heavens did
Make hardly one the winner: wear the Garland
With joy that you have won: for the subdu'd,
Give them our present Justice, since I know
Their lives but pinch 'em, let it here be done:
The Scene's not for our seeing, goe we hence,
Right joyful, with some sorrow. Arm your prize,
I know you will not lose her: _Hippolita_
I see one eye of yours conceives a tear
The which it will deliver. [_Florish._
_Emil._ Is this winning?
Oh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?
But that your wills have said it must be so,
And charge me live to comfort this unfriended,
This miserable Prince that cuts away
A life more worthy from him, than all women;
I should, and would die too.
_Hip._ Infinite pity
That four such eyes should be so fix'd on one
That two must needs be blind for't.
_Thes._ So it is. [_Exeunt._
_Scena Quarta._
_Enter_ Palamon _and his Knights pinion'd: Jailor_
_Executioner_, &c. _Gard._
[_Pal._] There's many a man alive that hath out-liv'd
The love o' th' people, yea, i'th' self-same state
Stands many a Father with his child; some comfort
We have by so considering: we expire
And not without mens pity. To live still,
Have their good wishes, we prevent
The lothsome misery of age, beguile
The Gout and Rheum, that in lag hours attend
For grey approachers; we come towards the gods
Young, and unwapper'd, not halting under Crimes
Many and stale: that sure shall please the gods
Sooner than such, to give us Nectar with 'em,
For we are more clear Spirits. My dear kinsmen.
Whose lives (for this poor comfort) are laid down,
You have sold 'em too too cheap.
_1 K._ What ending could be
Of more content? o'er us the victors have
Fortune, whose Title is as momentary,
As to us death is certain: a grain of honor
They not o'er-weigh us.
_2 K._ Let us bid farewel;
And, with our patience, anger tott'ring Fortune,
Who at her certain'st reels.
_3 K._ Come: who begins?
_Pal._ Ev'n he that led you to this Banquet, shall
Taste 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 ill
Gave me some sorrow.
_Jail._ Sir, she's well restor'd,
And to be married shortly.
_Pal._ By my short life
I am most glad on't; 'tis the latest thing
I shall be glad of, prethee tell her so:
Commend me to her, and to piece her portion
Tender her this.
_1 K._ Nay, let's be offerers all.
_2 K._ Is it a maid?
_Pal._ Verily I think so,
A right good creature, more to me deserving
Than I can quight or speak of.
_All K._ Commend us to her. [_They give their purses._
_Jail._ The gods requite you all,
And make her thankful.
_Pal._ Adieu; and let my life be now as short,
As my leave taking. [_Lies on the Block._
_1 K._ Lead courageous Cosin.
_1, 2 K._ We'll follow cheerfully.
[_A great noise within, crying, run, save, hold._
_Enter in haste a Messenger._
_Mess._ Hold, hold, oh hold, hold, hold.
_Enter_ Pirithous _in haste_.
_Pir._. Hold, hoa: It is a cursed haste you made
If you have done so quickly: noble _Palamon_,
The gods will shew their glory in a life
That thou art yet to lead.
_Pal._ Can that be,
When _Venus_ I have said is false? How do things fare?
_Pir._ Arise great Sir, and give the tidings ear
That are most early sweet, and bitter.
_Pal._ What
Hath wak't us from our dream?
_Pir._ List then: your Cosin
Mounted upon a Steed that _Emily_
Did first bestow on him, a black one, owing
Not a hayr worth of white, which some will say
Weakens his price, and many will not buy
His goodness with this note: Which superstition
Hear finds allowance: On this horse is _Arcite_
Trotting the stones of _Athens_, which the _Calkins_
Did rather tell, than trample; For the horse
Would make his length a mile, if't pleas'd his Rider
To put pride in him: as he thus went counting
The flinty pavement, dancing as t'were to'th' Musick
His own hoofs made; (For as they say from iron
Came Musicks origen) what envious Flint,
Cold as old _Saturne_, and like him possest
With fire malevolent, darted a Spark,
Or what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,
I comment not; The hot horse, hot as fire,
Took Toy at this, and fell to what disorder
His power could give his will, bounds, comes on end,
Forgets school dooing, being therein train'd,
And of kind mannage, pig-like he whines
At the sharp Rowell, which he frets at rather
Than any jot obeyes; Seeks all foul means
Of boystrous and rough Jad'rie, to dis-seat
His Lord, that kept it bravely: When nought serv'd,
When neither Curb would crack, girth break, nor diff'ring plunges
Dis-root his Rider whence he grew, but that
He kept him 'tween his legs, on his hind hoofs on end he stands
That _Arcites_ legs being higher than his head
Seem'd with strange art to hang: His victors wreath
Even then fell off his head: And presently
Backward the jade comes o'er, and his full poyze
Becomes the Riders load: Yet is he living,
But such a vessell 'tis that floats but for
The surge that next approaches: He much desires
To have some speech with you: Loe he appears.
_Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Arcite, in a chair._
_Pal._ 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'm _Palamon_,
One that yet loves thee dying.
_Arc._ Take _Emilia_
And with her, all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand,
Farewell: I have told my last hour; I was false,
Yet never treacherous: Forgive me Cosen:
One kiss from fair _Emilia_: 'Tis done:
Take her: I die.
_Pal._ Thy brave soul seek _Elizium_.
_Emil._ 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.
_Pal._ And I to honor.
_These._ In this place first you fought: Even very here
I sundred you, acknowledg to the gods
Our thanks that you are living:
His part is play'd, and though it were too short
He did it well: your day is length'ned, and
The blissfull dew of heaven do's arowze you:
The powerfull _Venus_, well hath grac'd her Altar,
And given you your love: Our Master _Mars_,
Hast vouch'd his Oracle, and to _Arcite_, gave
The grace of the Contention: So the Deities
Have shew'd due justice: Bear this hence.
_Pal._ O Cosen,
That we should things desire, which doe cost us
The loss of our desire; That nought could buy
Dear love, but loss of dear love.
_Thes._ Never Fortune
Did play a subtler Game: The conquer'd triumphs,
The victor has the Loss: yet in the passage,
The gods have been most equall: _Palamon_,
Your kinsman hath confest the right o'th' Lady
Did lye in you, for you first saw her, and
Even then proclaim'd your fancie: He restor'd her
As your stolen Jewell, and desir'd your spirit
To send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice
Take from my hand, and they themselves become
The Executioners: Lead your Lady off;
And call your Lovers from the stage of death,
Whom I adopt my Friends. A day or two
Let us look sadly, and give grace unto
The Funerall of _Arcite_, in whose end
The visages of Bridegroomes we'll put on
And smile with _Palamon_; For whom an hour,
But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry,
As glad of _Arcite_: And am now as glad,
As for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,
What things you make of us? For what we lack
We laugh, for what we have, are sorry still,
Are children in some kind. Let us be thankefull
For that which is, and with you leave dispute
That are above our question: Let's goe off,
And bear us like the time. [_Florish. Exeunt._