and I know your cause; He that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe Vpon thy present guard-- ARCITE. You are not mad? PALAMON. Or I will make th'advantage of this howre Mine owne, and what to come shall threaten me, I feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen, I love Emilia, and in that ile bury Thee, and all crosses else. ARCITE. Then, come what can come, Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well Die, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me, The law will have the honour of our ends. Have at thy life. PALAMON. Looke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.] [Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.] THESEUS. What ignorant and mad malicious Traitors, Are you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes Are making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed, Without my leave, and Officers of Armes? By Castor, both shall dye. PALAMON. Hold thy word, Theseus. We are certainly both Traitors, both despisers Of thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon, That cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison; Thinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite, A bolder Traytor never trod thy ground, A Falser neu'r seem'd friend: This is the man Was begd and banish'd; this is he contemnes thee And what thou dar'st doe, and in this disguise Against thy owne Edict followes thy Sister, That fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia, Whose servant, (if there be a right in seeing, And first bequeathing of the soule to) justly I am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his. This treacherie, like a most trusty Lover, I call'd him now to answer; if thou bee'st, As thou art spoken, great and vertuous, The true descider of all injuries, Say, 'Fight againe,' and thou shalt see me, Theseus, Doe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie. Then take my life; Ile wooe thee too't. PERITHOUS. O heaven, What more then man is this! THESEUS. I have sworne. ARCITE. We seeke not Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me A thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it, And no more mov'd: where this man calls me Traitor, Let me say thus much: if in love be Treason, In service of so excellent a Beutie, As I love most, and in that faith will perish, As I have brought my life here to confirme it, As I have serv'd her truest, worthiest, As I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it, So let me be most Traitor, and ye please me. For scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady Why she is faire, and why her eyes command me Stay here to love her; and if she say 'Traytor,' I am a villaine fit to lye unburied. PALAMON. Thou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus, If unto neither thou shew mercy; stop (As thou art just) thy noble eare against us. As thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule Whose 12. strong labours crowne his memory, Lets die together, at one instant, Duke, Onely a little let him fall before me, That I may tell my Soule he shall not have her. THESEUS. I grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen Has ten times more offended; for I gave him More mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses Being no more then his. None here speake for 'em, For, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever. HIPPOLITA. Alas the pitty! now or never, Sister, Speake, not to be denide; That face of yours Will beare the curses else of after ages For these lost Cosens. EMILIA. In my face, deare Sister, I finde no anger to 'em, nor no ruyn; The misadventure of their owne eyes kill 'em; Yet that I will be woman, and have pitty, My knees shall grow to'th ground but Ile get mercie. Helpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous The powers of all women will be with us. Most royall Brother-- HIPPOLITA. Sir, by our tye of Marriage-- EMILIA. By your owne spotlesse honour-- HIPPOLITA. By that faith, That faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me. EMILIA. By that you would have pitty in another, By your owne vertues infinite. HIPPOLITA. By valour, By all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you. THESEUS. These are strange Conjurings. PERITHOUS. Nay, then, Ile in too: By all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers, By all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady. EMILIA. By that you would have trembled to deny, A blushing Maide. HIPPOLITA. By your owne eyes: By strength, In which you swore I went beyond all women, Almost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus. PERITHOUS. To crowne all this: By your most noble soule, Which cannot want due mercie, I beg first. HIPPOLITA. Next, heare my prayers. EMILIA. Last, let me intreate, Sir. PERITHOUS. For mercy. HIPPOLITA. Mercy. EMILIA. Mercy on these Princes. THESEUS. Ye make my faith reele: Say I felt Compassion to'em both, how would you place it? EMILIA. Vpon their lives: But with their banishments. THESEUS. You are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty, But want the vnderstanding where to use it. If you desire their lives, invent a way Safer then banishment: Can these two live And have the agony of love about 'em, And not kill one another? Every day They'ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour In publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then, And here forget 'em; it concernes your credit And my oth equally: I have said they die; Better they fall by'th law, then one another. Bow not my honor. EMILIA. O my noble Brother, That oth was rashly made, and in your anger, Your reason will not hold it; if such vowes Stand for expresse will, all the world must perish. Beside, I have another oth gainst yours, Of more authority, I am sure more love, Not made in passion neither, but good heede. THESEUS. What is it, Sister? PERITHOUS. Vrge it home, brave Lady. EMILIA. That you would nev'r deny me any thing Fit for my modest suit, and your free granting: I tye you to your word now; if ye fall in't, Thinke how you maime your honour, (For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe To all but your compassion.) How, their lives Might breed the ruine of my name, Opinion! Shall any thing that loves me perish for me? That were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne The straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms, Because they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus, The goodly Mothers that have groand for these, And all the longing Maides that ever lov'd, If your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty, And in their funerall songs for these two Cosens Despise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me, Till I am nothing but the scorne of women; For heavens sake save their lives, and banish 'em. THESEUS. On what conditions? EMILIA. Sweare'em never more To make me their Contention, or to know me, To tread upon thy Dukedome; and to be, Where ever they shall travel, ever strangers To one another. PALAMON. Ile be cut a peeces Before I take this oth: forget I love her? O all ye gods dispise me, then! Thy Banishment I not mislike, so we may fairely carry Our Swords and cause along: else, never trifle, But take our lives, Duke: I must love and will, And for that love must and dare kill this Cosen On any peece the earth has. THESEUS. Will you, Arcite, Take these conditions? PALAMON. He's a villaine, then. PERITHOUS. These are men. ARCITE. No, never, Duke: Tis worse to me than begging To take my life so basely; though I thinke I never shall enjoy her, yet ile preserve The honour of affection, and dye for her, Make death a Devill. THESEUS. What may be done? for now I feele compassion. PERITHOUS. Let it not fall agen, Sir. THESEUS. Say, Emilia, If one of them were dead, as one must, are you Content to take th'other to your husband? They cannot both enjoy you; They are Princes As goodly as your owne eyes, and as noble As ever fame yet spoke of; looke upon 'em, And if you can love, end this difference. I give consent; are you content too, Princes? BOTH. With all our soules. THESEUS. He that she refuses Must dye, then. BOTH. Any death thou canst invent, Duke. PALAMON. If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour, And Lovers yet unborne shall blesse my ashes. ARCITE. If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me, And Souldiers sing my Epitaph. THESEUS. Make choice, then. EMILIA. I cannot, Sir, they are both too excellent: For me, a hayre shall never fall of these men. HIPPOLITA. What will become of 'em? THESEUS. Thus I ordaine it; And by mine honor, once againe, it stands, Or both shall dye:--You shall both to your Countrey, And each within this moneth, accompanied With three faire Knights, appeare againe in this place, In which Ile plant a Pyramid; and whether, Before us that are here, can force his Cosen By fayre and knightly strength to touch the Pillar, He shall enjoy her: the other loose his head, And all his friends; Nor shall he grudge to fall, Nor thinke he dies with interest in this Lady: Will this content yee? PALAMON. Yes: here, Cosen Arcite, I am friends againe, till that howre. ARCITE. I embrace ye. THESEUS. Are you content, Sister? EMILIA. Yes, I must, Sir, Els both miscarry. THESEUS. Come, shake hands againe, then; And take heede, as you are Gentlemen, this Quarrell Sleepe till the howre prefixt; and hold your course. PALAMON. We dare not faile thee, Theseus. THESEUS. Come, Ile give ye Now usage like to Princes, and to Friends: When ye returne, who wins, Ile settle heere; Who looses, yet Ile weepe upon his Beere. [Exeunt.] Actus Quartus. Scaena 1. (Athens. A room in the prison.) [Enter Iailor and his friend.] IAILOR. Heare you no more? was nothing saide of me Concerning the escape of Palamon? Good Sir, remember. 1. FRIEND. Nothing that I heard, For I came home before the busines Was fully ended: Yet I might perceive, Ere I departed, a great likelihood Of both their pardons: For Hipolita, And faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees Begd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke Me thought stood staggering, whether he should follow His rash oth, or the sweet compassion Of those two Ladies; and to second them, That truely noble Prince Perithous, Halfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope All shall be well: Neither heard I one question Of your name or his scape. [Enter 2. Friend.] IAILOR. Pray heaven it hold so. 2. FRIEND. Be of good comfort, man; I bring you newes, Good newes. IAILOR. They are welcome, 2. FRIEND. Palamon has cleerd you, And got your pardon, and discoverd how And by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters, Whose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner, Not to be held ungratefull to her goodnes, Has given a summe of money to her Marriage, A large one, ile assure you. IAILOR. Ye are a good man And ever bring good newes. 1. FRIEND. How was it ended? 2. FRIEND. Why, as it should be; they that nev'r begd But they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted, The prisoners have their lives. 1. FRIEND. I knew t'would be so. 2. FRIEND. But there be new conditions, which you'l heare of At better time. IAILOR. I hope they are good. 2. FRIEND. They are honourable, How good they'l prove, I know not. [Enter Wooer.] 1. FRIEND. T'will be knowne. WOOER. Alas, Sir, wher's your Daughter? IAILOR. Why doe you aske? WOOER. O, Sir, when did you see her? 2. FRIEND. How he lookes? IAILOR. This morning. WOOER. Was she well? was she in health, Sir? When did she sleepe? 1. FRIEND. These are strange Questions. IAILOR. I doe not thinke she was very well, for now You make me minde her, but this very day I ask'd her questions, and she answered me So farre from what she was, so childishly, So sillily, as if she were a foole, An Inocent, and I was very angry. But what of her, Sir? WOOER. Nothing but my pitty; But you must know it, and as good by me As by an other that lesse loves her-- IAILOR. Well, Sir. 1. FRIEND. Not right? 2. FRIEND. Not well? WOOER. No, Sir, not well. Tis too true, she is mad. 1. FRIEND. It cannot be. WOOER. Beleeve, you'l finde it so. IAILOR. I halfe suspected What you (have) told me: the gods comfort her: Either this was her love to Palamon, Or feare of my miscarrying on his scape, Or both. WOOER. Tis likely. IAILOR. But why all this haste, Sir? WOOER. Ile tell you quickly. As I late was angling In the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace, From the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges, As patiently I was attending sport, I heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive I gave my eare, when I might well perceive T'was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it A boy or woman. I then left my angle To his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not Who made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds Had so encompast it: I laide me downe And listned to the words she sung, for then, Through a small glade cut by the Fisher men, I saw it was your Daughter. IAILOR. Pray, goe on, Sir? WOOER. She sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her Repeat this often: 'Palamon is gone, Is gone to'th wood to gather Mulberies; Ile finde him out to morrow.' 1. FRIEND. Pretty soule. WOOER. 'His shackles will betray him, hee'l be taken, And what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy, A hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe, With Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies, With cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses, And all wee'l daunce an Antique fore the Duke, And beg his pardon.' Then she talk'd of you, Sir; That you must loose your head to morrow morning, And she must gather flowers to bury you, And see the house made handsome: then she sung Nothing but 'Willow, willow, willow,' and betweene Ever was, 'Palamon, faire Palamon,' And 'Palamon was a tall yong man.' The place Was knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses A wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke Thousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors, That me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph That feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris Newly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke The prettiest posies: 'Thus our true love's tide,' 'This you may loose, not me,' and many a one: And then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh'd, And with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand. 2. FRIEND. Alas, what pitty it is! WOOER. I made in to her. She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav'd her, And set her safe to land: when presently She slipt away, and to the Citty made, With such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me, Shee left me farre behinde her; three or foure I saw from farre off crosse her, one of 'em I knew to be your brother; where she staid, And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter Brother, Daughter, and others.] And hether came to tell you. Here they are. DAUGHTER. [sings.] May you never more enjoy the light, &c. Is not this a fine Song? BROTHER. O, a very fine one. DAUGHTER. I can sing twenty more. BROTHER. I thinke you can. DAUGHTER. Yes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome, And Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour? BROTHER. Yes. DAUGHTER. Wher's my wedding Gowne? BROTHER. Ile bring it to morrow. DAUGHTER. Doe, very rarely; I must be abroad else To call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels, For I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light; Twill never thrive else. [Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c. BROTHER. You must ev'n take it patiently. IAILOR. Tis true. DAUGHTER. Good ev'n, good men; pray, did you ever heare Of one yong Palamon? IAILOR. Yes, wench, we know him. DAUGHTER. Is't not a fine yong Gentleman? IAILOR. Tis Love. BROTHER. By no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd Far worse then now she showes. 1. FRIEND. Yes, he's a fine man. DAUGHTER. O, is he so? you have a Sister? 1. FRIEND. Yes. DAUGHTER. But she shall never have him, tell her so, For a tricke that I know; y'had best looke to her, For if she see him once, she's gone, she's done, And undon in an howre. All the young Maydes Of our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at 'em And let 'em all alone; Is't not a wise course? 1. FRIEND. Yes. DAUGHTER. There is at least two hundred now with child by him-- There must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this, Close as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes, He has the tricke on't, and at ten yeares old They must be all gelt for Musitians, And sing the wars of Theseus. 2. FRIEND. This is strange. DAUGHTER. As ever you heard, but say nothing. 1. FRIEND. No. DAUGHTER. They come from all parts of the Dukedome to him; Ile warrant ye, he had not so few last night As twenty to dispatch: hee'l tickl't up In two howres, if his hand be in. IAILOR. She's lost Past all cure. BROTHER. Heaven forbid, man. DAUGHTER. Come hither, you are a wise man. 1. FRIEND. Do's she know him? 2. FRIEND. No, would she did. DAUGHTER. You are master of a Ship? IAILOR. Yes. DAUGHTER. Wher's your Compasse? IAILOR. Heere. DAUGHTER. Set it too'th North. And now direct your course to'th wood, wher Palamon Lyes longing for me; For the Tackling Let me alone; Come, waygh, my hearts, cheerely! ALL. Owgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind's faire, Top the Bowling, out with the maine saile; Wher's your Whistle, Master? BROTHER. Lets get her in. IAILOR. Vp to the top, Boy. BROTHER. Wher's the Pilot? 1. FRIEND. Heere. DAUGHTER. What ken'st thou? 2. FRIEND. A faire wood. DAUGHTER. Beare for it, master: take about! [Singes.] When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.] Scaena 2. (A Room in the Palace.) [Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.] EMILIA. Yet I may binde those wounds up, that must open And bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose, And end their strife: Two such yong hansom men Shall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers, Following the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes, Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven, What a sweet face has Arcite! if wise nature, With all her best endowments, all those beuties She sowes into the birthes of noble bodies, Were here a mortall woman, and had in her The coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles, She would run mad for this man: what an eye, Of what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes, Has this yong Prince! Here Love himselfe sits smyling, Iust such another wanton Ganimead Set Jove a fire with, and enforcd the god Snatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him A shining constellation: What a brow, Of what a spacious Majesty, he carries! Arch'd like the great eyd Iuno's, but far sweeter, Smoother then Pelops Shoulder! Fame and honour, Me thinks, from hence, as from a Promontory Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing To all the under world the Loves and Fights Of gods, and such men neere 'em. Palamon Is but his foyle, to him a meere dull shadow: Hee's swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy As if he had lost his mother; a still temper, No stirring in him, no alacrity, Of all this sprightly sharpenes not a smile; Yet these that we count errours may become him: Narcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:-- Oh who can finde the bent of womans fancy? I am a Foole, my reason is lost in me; I have no choice, and I have ly'd so lewdly That women ought to beate me. On my knees I aske thy pardon, Palamon; thou art alone, And only beutifull, and these the eyes, These the bright lamps of beauty, that command And threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse 'em? What a bold gravity, and yet inviting, Has this browne manly face! O Love, this only From this howre is Complexion: Lye there, Arcite, Thou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey, And this the noble Bodie. I am sotted, Vtterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me; For if my brother but even now had ask'd me Whether I lov'd, I had run mad for Arcite; Now, if my Sister, More for Palamon. Stand both together: Now, come aske me, Brother.-- Alas, I know not! Aske me now, sweet Sister;-- I may goe looke. What a meere child is Fancie, That, having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse, Cannot distinguish, but must crie for both. [Enter (a) Gent(leman.)] EMILIA. How now, Sir? GENTLEMAN. From the Noble Duke your Brother, Madam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come. EMILIA. To end the quarrell? GENTLEMAN. Yes. EMILIA. Would I might end first: What sinnes have I committed, chast Diana, That my unspotted youth must now be soyld With blood of Princes? and my Chastitie Be made the Altar, where the lives of Lovers (Two greater and two better never yet Made mothers joy) must be the sacrifice To my unhappy Beautie? [Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.] THESEUS. Bring 'em in Quickly, By any meanes; I long to see 'em.-- Your two contending Lovers are return'd, And with them their faire Knights: Now, my faire Sister, You must love one of them. EMILIA. I had rather both, So neither for my sake should fall untimely. [Enter Messenger. (Curtis.)] THESEUS. Who saw 'em? PERITHOUS. I, a while. GENTLEMAN. And I. THESEUS. From whence come you, Sir? MESSENGER. From the Knights. THESEUS. Pray, speake, You that have seene them, what they are. MESSENGER. I will, Sir, And truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits Then these they have brought, (if we judge by the outside) I never saw, nor read of. He that stands In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming, Should be a stout man, by his face a Prince, (His very lookes so say him) his complexion, Nearer a browne, than blacke, sterne, and yet noble, Which shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers: The circles of his eyes show fire within him, And as a heated Lyon, so he lookes; His haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining Like Ravens wings: his shoulders broad and strong, Armd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword Hung by a curious Bauldricke, when he frownes To seale his will with: better, o'my conscience Was never Souldiers friend. THESEUS. Thou ha'st well describde him. PERITHOUS. Yet a great deale short, Me thinkes, of him that's first with Palamon. THESEUS. Pray, speake him, friend. PERITHOUS. I ghesse he is a Prince too, And, if it may be, greater; for his show Has all the ornament of honour in't: Hee's somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of, But of a face far sweeter; His complexion Is (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt, Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter To make this cause his owne: In's face appeares All the faire hopes of what he undertakes, And when he's angry, then a setled valour (Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body, And guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot, He shewes no such soft temper; his head's yellow, Hard hayr'd, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tods, Not to undoe with thunder; In his face The liverie of the warlike Maide appeares, Pure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him. And in his rowling eyes sits victory, As if she ever ment to court his valour: His Nose stands high, a Character of honour. His red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies. EMILIA. Must these men die too? PERITHOUS. When he speakes, his tongue Sounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and cleane, He weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold; His age some five and twenty. MESSENGER. Ther's another, A little man, but of a tough soule, seeming As great as any: fairer promises In such a Body yet I never look'd on. PERITHOUS. O, he that's freckle fac'd? MESSENGER. The same, my Lord; Are they not sweet ones? PERITHOUS. Yes, they are well. MESSENGER. Me thinkes, Being so few, and well disposd, they show Great, and fine art in nature: he's white hair'd, Not wanton white, but such a manly colour Next to an aborne; tough, and nimble set, Which showes an active soule; his armes are brawny, Linde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece Gently they swell, like women new conceav'd, Which speakes him prone to labour, never fainting Vnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still, But when he stirs, a Tiger; he's gray eyd, Which yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em, He's swift to make 'em his: He do's no wrongs, Nor takes none; he's round fac'd, and when he smiles He showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier: About his head he weares the winners oke, And in it stucke the favour of his Lady: His age, some six and thirtie. In his hand He beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver. THESEUS. Are they all thus? PERITHOUS. They are all the sonnes of honour. THESEUS. Now, as I have a soule, I long to see'em. Lady, you shall see men fight now. HIPPOLITA. I wish it, But not the cause, my Lord; They would show Bravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes; Tis pitty Love should be so tyrannous: O my soft harted Sister, what thinke you? Weepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be. THESEUS. You have steel'd 'em with your Beautie.--Honord Friend, To you I give the Feild; pray, order it Fitting the persons that must use it. PERITHOUS. Yes, Sir. THESEUS. Come, Ile goe visit 'em: I cannot stay, Their fame has fir'd me so; Till they appeare. Good Friend, be royall. PERITHOUS. There shall want no bravery. EMILIA. Poore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins, Looses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.] Scaena 3. (A room in the prison.) [Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.] DOCTOR. Her distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some, is it not? IAILOR. She is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little, altogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another world, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so'ere she's about, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev'ry busines withall, fyts it to every question.-- [Enter Daughter.] Looke where shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour. DAUGHTER. I have forgot it quite; The burden on't, was DOWNE A, DOWNE A, and pend by no worse man, then Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he's as Fantasticall too, as ever he may goe upon's legs,--for in the next world will Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Eneas. DOCTOR. What stuff's here? pore soule! IAILOR. Ev'n thus all day long. DAUGHTER. Now for this Charme, that I told you of: you must bring a peece of silver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your chance to come where the blessed spirits, as ther's a sight now--we maids that have our Lyvers perish'd, crakt to peeces with Love, we shall come there, and doe nothing all day long but picke flowers with Proserpine; then will I make Palamon a Nosegay; then let him marke me,--then-- DOCTOR. How prettily she's amisse? note her a little further. DAUGHTER. Faith, ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake, we of the blessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i'th other place, such burning, frying, boyling, hissing, howling, chattring, cursing, oh they have shrowd measure! take heede; if one be mad, or hang or drowne themselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse vs, and there shall we be put in a Caldron of lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million of cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon that will never be enough. [Exit.] DOCTOR. How her braine coynes! DAUGHTER. Lords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this place: they shall stand in fire up to the Nav'le, and in yce up to'th hart, and there th'offending part burnes, and the deceaving part freezes; in troth, a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for such a Trifle; beleve me, one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid on't, Ile assure you. DOCTOR. How she continues this fancie! Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a most thicke, and profound mellencholly. DAUGHTER. To heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together! I were a beast and il'd call it good sport: one cries, 'O this smoake!' another, 'this fire!' One cries, 'O, that ever I did it behind the arras!' and then howles; th'other curses a suing fellow and her garden house. [Sings] I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c. [Exit Daugh.] IAILOR. What thinke you of her, Sir? DOCTOR. I thinke she has a perturbed minde, which I cannot minister to. IAILOR. Alas, what then? DOCTOR. Vnderstand you, she ever affected any man, ere she beheld Palamon? IAILOR. I was once, Sir, in great hope she had fixd her liking on this gentleman, my friend. WOOER. I did thinke so too, and would account I had a great pen-worth on't, to give halfe my state, that both she and I at this present stood unfainedly on the same tearmes. DOCTOR. That intemprat surfeit of her eye hath distemperd the other sences: they may returne and settle againe to execute their preordaind faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must doe: Confine her to a place, where the light may rather seeme to steale in, then be permitted; take vpon you (yong Sir, her friend) the name of Palamon; say you come to eate with her, and to commune of Love; this will catch her attention, for this her minde beates upon; other objects that are inserted tweene her minde and eye become the prankes and friskins of her madnes; Sing to her such greene songs of Love, as she sayes Palamon hath sung in prison; Come to her, stucke in as sweet flowers as the season is mistres of, and thereto make an addition of som other compounded odours, which are grateful to the sence: all this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and ev'ry good thing: desire to eate with her, carve her, drinke to her, and still among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her favour: Learne what Maides have beene her companions and play-pheeres, and let them repaire to her with Palamon in their mouthes, and appeare with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in, which is with falsehood to be combated. This may bring her to eate, to sleepe, and reduce what's now out of square in her, into their former law, and regiment; I have seene it approved, how many times I know not, but to make the number more, I have great hope in this. I will, betweene the passages of this project, come in with my applyance: Let us put it in execution, and hasten the successe, which, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Florish. Exeunt.] Actus Quintus Scaena 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.) [Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.] THESEUS. Now let'em enter, and before the gods Tender their holy prayers: Let the Temples Burne 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 worke in hand, will honour The 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 come To 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 ye I part my wishes. PERITHOUS. Honour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.] PALAMON. The glasse is running now that cannot finish Till one of us expire: Thinke you but thus, That were there ought in me which strove to show Mine enemy in this businesse, wer't one eye Against another, Arme opprest by Arme, I would destroy th'offender, Coz, I would, Though parcell of my selfe: Then from this gather How I should tender you. ARCITE. I am in labour To push your name, your auncient love, our kindred Out of my memory; and i'th selfe same place To seate something I would confound: So hoyst we The sayles, that must these vessells port even where The 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 his Knights.] ARCITE. Farewell, Sir.-- Knights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices, True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you Expells the seedes of feare, 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 Lyons, and The 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 prize Must be drag'd out of blood; force and great feate Must put my Garland on, where she stickes The Queene of Flowers: our intercession then Must be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron Brymd with the blood of men: give me your aide And bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.] Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd Greene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach) Comets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild Vnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe, The teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke With hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes The masond Turrets, that both mak'st and break'st The stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple, Yongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day With military skill, that to thy lawde 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 Battaile, whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.] O Great Corrector of enormous times, Shaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider Of dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood The earth when it is sicke, and curst the world O'th pluresie of people; I doe take Thy signes auspiciously, and in thy name To 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 be To daie extinct; our argument is love, Which if the goddesse of it grant, she gives Victory too: then blend your spirits with mine, You, whose free noblenesse doe make my cause Your personall hazard; to the goddesse Venus Commend we our proceeding, and implore Her power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.] Haile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast power To 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 Drom And turne th'allarme to whispers; that canst make A Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure him Before Apollo; that may'st force the King To be his subjects vassaile, and induce Stale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour-- Whose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres, Have skipt thy flame--at seaventy thou canst catch And make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate, Abuse yong laies of love: what godlike power Hast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou Add'st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyres Did scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresse All moyst and cold, some say, began to throw Her Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace Me, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke As t'wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier Then 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 practised Vpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade Of liberall wits; I never at great feastes Sought to betray a Beautie, but have blush'd At simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh To large Confessors, and have hotly ask'd them If they had Mothers: I had one, a woman, And women t'wer they wrong'd. I knew a man Of eightie winters, this I told them, who A Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power To put life into dust; the aged Crampe Had 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 life In him seem'd torture: this Anatomie Had by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I Beleev'd it was him, for she swore it was, And who would not beleeve her? briefe, 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 doe not love, that tells close offices The fowlest way, nor names concealements in The boldest language: such a one I am, And vow that lover never yet made sigh Truer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse, Give me the victory of this question, which Is true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe Of 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'st In mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world, And we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes For this faire Token, which, being layd unto Mine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.] My body to this businesse. Let us rise And 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 pure As windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights Alow'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 yet Beheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin; And, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare (Which nev'r heard scurrill terme, into whose port Ne're entred wanton found,) to my petition Seasond with holy feare: This is my last Of vestall office; I am bride habited, But mayden harted, a husband I have pointed, But doe not know him; out of two I should Choose one and pray for his successe, but I Am guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes, Were I to loose one, they are equall precious, I could doombe neither, that which perish'd should Goe too't unsentenc'd: Therefore, most modest Queene, He of the two Pretenders, that best loves me And has the truest title in't, Let him Take off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant The fyle and qualitie I hold, I may Continue 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 Flowes Out from the bowells of her holy Altar With sacred act advances! But one Rose: If well inspird, this Battaile shal confound Both these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre Must 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 company Have 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 me She would watch with me to night, for well she knew What 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 her Her 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