Music. Enter Hymen with a torch burning, a Boy in
a white robe before, singing and strewing flowers.
After Hymen, a Nymph encompassed in her tresses,
bearing a wheaten garland; then Theseus between
two other Nymphs with wheaten chaplets on their
heads. Then Hippolyta, the bride, led by Pirithous ,
and another holding a garland over her head, her
tresses likewise hanging. After her, Emilia, holding
up her train. Then Artesius and Attendants.


Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;
Maiden pinks, of odor faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;
Primrose, firstborn child of Ver,
Merry springtime’s harbinger,
With her bells dim;
Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on deathbeds blowing,
Lark’s-heels trim;
All dear Nature’s children sweet
Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet,
Strew flowers.

11

---

13

The Two Noble Kinsmen

ACT 1. SC. 1

Blessing their sense.
Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious or bird fair,
Is absent hence.
The crow, the sland’rous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,
Nor chatt’ring pie,
May on our bridehouse perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly.

Enter three Queens in black, with veils stained, with
imperial crowns. The first Queen falls down at the foot
of Theseus; the second falls down at the foot of
Hippolyta; the third before Emilia.

FIRST QUEEN , to Theseus
For pity’s sake and true gentility’s,
Hear and respect me.
SECOND QUEEN , to Hippolyta For your mother’s sake,
And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair
ones,
Hear and respect me.
THIRD QUEEN , to Emilia
Now for the love of him whom Jove hath marked
The honor of your bed, and for the sake
Of clear virginity, be advocate
For us and our distresses. This good deed
Shall raze you out o’ th’ book of trespasses
All you are set down there.
THESEUS , to First Queen
Sad lady, rise.
HIPPOLYTA , to Second Queen Stand up.
EMILIA , to Third Queen No knees to me.
What woman I may stead that is distressed
Does bind me to her.

---

THESEUS , to First Queen
What’s your request? Deliver you for all.
FIRST QUEEN
We are three queens whose sovereigns fell before
The wrath of cruel Creon; who endured
The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites,
And pecks of crows in the foul fields of Thebes.
He will not suffer us to burn their bones,
To urn their ashes, nor to take th’ offense
Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye
Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds
With stench of our slain lords. O, pity, duke!
Thou purger of the Earth, draw thy feared sword
That does good turns to th’ world; give us the bones
Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them;
And of thy boundless goodness take some note
That for our crownèd heads we have no roof
Save this, which is the lion’s and the bear’s,
And vault to everything.
THESEUS Pray you, kneel not.
I was transported with your speech and suffered
Your knees to wrong themselves. I have heard the
fortunes
Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting
As wakes my vengeance and revenge for ’em.
King Capaneus was your lord. The day
That he should marry you, at such a season
As now it is with me, I met your groom
By Mars’s altar. You were that time fair—
Not Juno’s mantle fairer than your tresses,
Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten
wreath
Was then nor threshed nor blasted. Fortune at you
Dimpled her cheek with smiles. Hercules, our
kinsman,
Then weaker than your eyes, laid by his club;

---

He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide
And swore his sinews thawed. O grief and time,
Fearful consumers, you will all devour!
FIRST QUEEN O, I hope some god,
Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood,
Whereto he’ll infuse power, and press you forth
Our undertaker.
THESEUS O, no knees, none, widow!
Unto the helmeted Bellona use them
And pray for me, your soldier. The First Queen rises.
Troubled I am. Turns away.
SECOND QUEEN Honored Hippolyta,
Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain
The scythe-tusked boar; that with thy arm, as strong
As it is white, wast near to make the male
To thy sex captive, but that this thy lord,
Born to uphold creation in that honor
First nature styled it in, shrunk thee into
The bound thou wast o’erflowing, at once subduing
Thy force and thy affection; soldieress
That equally canst poise sternness with pity,
Whom now I know hast much more power on him
Than ever he had on thee, who ow’st his strength
And his love too, who is a servant for
The tenor of thy speech, dear glass of ladies,
Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch,
Under the shadow of his sword may cool us;
Require him he advance it o’er our heads;
Speak ’t in a woman’s key, like such a woman
As any of us three; weep ere you fail.
Lend us a knee;
But touch the ground for us no longer time
Than a dove’s motion when the head’s plucked off.
Tell him if he i’ th’ blood-sized field lay swoll’n,
Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon,
What you would do.

---

HIPPOLYTA Poor lady, say no more.
I had as lief trace this good action with you
As that whereto I am going, and never yet
Went I so willing way. My lord is taken
Heart-deep with your distress; let him consider.
I’ll speak anon. Second Queen rises.
THIRD QUEEN O, my petition was
Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied
Melts into drops; so sorrow, wanting form,
Is pressed with deeper matter.
EMILIA Pray stand up.
Your grief is written in your cheek.
THIRD QUEEN O, woe!
You cannot read it there. She rises.
There through my tears,
Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream,
You may behold ’em. Lady, lady, alack!
He that will all the treasure know o’ th’ Earth
Must know the center too; he that will fish
For my least minnow, let him lead his line
To catch one at my heart. O, pardon me!
Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits,
Makes me a fool.
EMILIA Pray you say nothing, pray you.
Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in ’t,
Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were
The groundpiece of some painter, I would buy you
T’ instruct me ’gainst a capital grief—indeed,
Such heart-pierced demonstration. But, alas,
Being a natural sister of our sex,
Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me
That it shall make a counter-reflect ’gainst
My brother’s heart and warm it to some pity,
Though it were made of stone. Pray have good
comfort.

---

THESEUS , coming forward
Forward to th’ temple. Leave not out a jot
O’ th’ sacred ceremony.
FIRST QUEEN O, this celebration
Will longer last and be more costly than
Your suppliants’ war. Remember that your fame
Knolls in the ear o’ th’ world; what you do quickly
Is not done rashly; your first thought is more
Than others’ labored meditance, your premeditating
More than their actions. But, O Jove, your actions,
Soon as they move , as ospreys do the fish,
Subdue before they touch. Think, dear duke, think
What beds our slain kings have!
SECOND QUEEN What griefs our beds,
That our dear lords have none!
THIRD QUEEN None fit for th’ dead.
Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance,
Weary of this world’s light, have to themselves
Been death’s most horrid agents, human grace
Affords them dust and shadow.
FIRST QUEEN But our lords
Lie blist’ring ’fore the visitating sun,
And were good kings when living.
THESEUS
It is true, and I will give you comfort
To give your dead lords graves;
The which to do must make some work with Creon.
FIRST QUEEN
And that work presents itself to th’ doing.
Now ’twill take form; the heats are gone tomorrow.
Then, bootless toil must recompense itself
With its own sweat. Now he’s secure,
Not dreams we stand before your puissance,
Rinsing our holy begging in our eyes
To make petition clear.

---

SECOND QUEEN Now you may take him,
Drunk with his victory.
THIRD QUEEN And his army full
Of bread and sloth.
THESEUS Artesius, that best knowest
How to draw out, fit to this enterprise,
The prim’st for this proceeding, and the number
To carry such a business: forth and levy
Our worthiest instruments, whilst we dispatch
This grand act of our life, this daring deed
Of fate in wedlock.
FIRST QUEEN , to Second and Third Queens
Dowagers, take hands.
Let us be widows to our woes. Delay
Commends us to a famishing hope.
ALL THE QUEENS Farewell.
SECOND QUEEN
We come unseasonably; but when could grief
Cull forth, as unpanged judgment can, fitt’st time
For best solicitation?
THESEUS Why, good ladies,
This is a service whereto I am going
Greater than any was; it more imports me
Than all the actions that I have foregone,
Or futurely can cope.
FIRST QUEEN The more proclaiming
Our suit shall be neglected when her arms,
Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall
By warranting moonlight corselet thee. O, when
Her twinning cherries shall their sweetness fall
Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think
Of rotten kings or blubbered queens? What care
For what thou feel’st not, what thou feel’st being
able
To make Mars spurn his drum? O, if thou couch
But one night with her, every hour in ’t will

---

Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and
Thou shalt remember nothing more than what
That banquet bids thee to.
HIPPOLYTA , to Theseus Though much unlike
You should be so transported, as much sorry
I should be such a suitor, yet I think
Did I not, by th’ abstaining of my joy—
Which breeds a deeper longing—cure their surfeit
That craves a present med’cine, I should pluck
All ladies’ scandal on me. She kneels.
Therefore, sir,
As I shall here make trial of my prayers,
Either presuming them to have some force,
Or sentencing for aye their vigor dumb,
Prorogue this business we are going about, and
hang
Your shield afore your heart—about that neck
Which is my fee, and which I freely lend
To do these poor queens service.
ALL QUEENS , to Emilia O, help now!
Our cause cries for your knee.
EMILIA , to Theseus , kneeling If you grant not
My sister her petition in that force,
With that celerity and nature which
She makes it in, from henceforth I’ll not dare
To ask you anything, nor be so hardy
Ever to take a husband.
THESEUS Pray stand up.
Hippolyta and Emilia rise.
I am entreating of myself to do
That which you kneel to have me.—Pirithous,
Lead on the bride; get you and pray the gods
For success and return; omit not anything
In the pretended celebration.—Queens,
Follow your soldier. To Artesius. As before, hence
you,

---

And at the banks of Aulis meet us with
The forces you can raise, where we shall find
The moiety of a number for a business
More bigger looked. Artesius exits.
To Hippolyta. Since that our theme is haste,
I stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip;
Sweet, keep it as my token.—Set you forward,
For I will see you gone.
The wedding procession begins to exit
towards the temple.
Farewell, my beauteous sister.—Pirithous,
Keep the feast full; bate not an hour on ’t.
PIRITHOUS Sir,
I’ll follow you at heels. The feast’s solemnity
Shall want till your return.
THESEUS Cousin, I charge you,
Budge not from Athens. We shall be returning
Ere you can end this feast, of which I pray you
Make no abatement.—Once more, farewell all.
All but Theseus and the Queens exit.
FIRST QUEEN
Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o’ th’
world.
SECOND QUEEN
And earn’st a deity equal with Mars.
THIRD QUEEN If not above him, for
Thou, being but mortal, makest affections bend
To godlike honors; they themselves, some say,
Groan under such a mast’ry.
THESEUS As we are men,
Thus should we do; being sensually subdued,
We lose our human title. Good cheer, ladies.
Now turn we towards your comforts.
Flourish. They exit.

Enter Palamon and Arcite.

ARCITE
Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood
And our prime cousin, yet unhardened in
The crimes of nature, let us leave the city
Thebes, and the temptings in ’t, before we further
Sully our gloss of youth,
And here to keep in abstinence we shame
As in incontinence; for not to swim
I’ th’ aid o’ th’ current were almost to sink,
At least to frustrate striving; and to follow
The common stream, ’twould bring us to an eddy
Where we should turn or drown; if labor through,
Our gain but life and weakness.
PALAMON Your advice
Is cried up with example. What strange ruins,
Since first we went to school, may we perceive
Walking in Thebes! Scars and bare weeds
The gain o’ th’ martialist, who did propound
To his bold ends honor and golden ingots,
Which though he won, he had not, and now flirted
By peace for whom he fought. Who then shall offer
To Mars’s so-scorned altar? I do bleed
When such I meet, and wish great Juno would
Resume her ancient fit of jealousy
To get the soldier work, that peace might purge
For her repletion, and retain anew
Her charitable heart, now hard and harsher
Than strife or war could be.
ARCITE Are you not out?
Meet you no ruin but the soldier in
The cranks and turns of Thebes? You did begin
As if you met decays of many kinds.

---

Perceive you none that do arouse your pity
But th’ unconsidered soldier?
PALAMON Yes, I pity
Decays where’er I find them, but such most
That, sweating in an honorable toil,
Are paid with ice to cool ’em.
ARCITE ’Tis not this
I did begin to speak of. This is virtue
Of no respect in Thebes. I spake of Thebes—
How dangerous, if we will keep our honors,
It is for our residing, where every evil
Hath a good color; where every seeming good’s
A certain evil; where not to be e’en jump
As they are here were to be strangers, and,
Such things to be, mere monsters.
PALAMON ’Tis in our power—
Unless we fear that apes can tutor ’s—to
Be masters of our manners. What need I
Affect another’s gait, which is not catching
Where there is faith? Or to be fond upon
Another’s way of speech, when by mine own
I may be reasonably conceived—saved too,
Speaking it truly? Why am I bound
By any generous bond to follow him
Follows his tailor, haply so long until
The followed make pursuit? Or let me know
Why mine own barber is unblessed, with him
My poor chin too, for ’tis not scissored just
To such a favorite’s glass? What canon is there
That does command my rapier from my hip
To dangle ’t in my hand, or to go tiptoe
Before the street be foul? Either I am
The forehorse in the team, or I am none
That draw i’ th’ sequent trace. These poor slight
sores

---

Need not a plantain. That which rips my bosom
Almost to th’ heart’s—
ARCITE Our Uncle Creon.
PALAMON He.
A most unbounded tyrant, whose successes
Makes heaven unfeared and villainy assured
Beyond its power there’s nothing; almost puts
Faith in a fever, and deifies alone
Voluble chance; who only attributes
The faculties of other instruments
To his own nerves and act; commands men service,
And what they win in ’t, boot and glory; one
That fears not to do harm; good, dares not. Let
The blood of mine that’s sib to him be sucked
From me with leeches; let them break and fall
Off me with that corruption.
ARCITE Clear-spirited cousin,
Let’s leave his court, that we may nothing share
Of his loud infamy; for our milk
Will relish of the pasture, and we must
Be vile or disobedient, not his kinsmen
In blood unless in quality.
PALAMON Nothing truer.
I think the echoes of his shames have deafed
The ears of heav’nly justice. Widows’ cries
Descend again into their throats and have not
Due audience of the gods.

Enter Valerius.

Valerius.
VALERIUS
The King calls for you; yet be leaden-footed
Till his great rage be off him. Phoebus, when
He broke his whipstock and exclaimed against
The horses of the sun, but whispered to
The loudness of his fury.

---

PALAMON Small winds shake him.
But what’s the matter?
VALERIUS
Theseus, who where he threats appalls, hath sent
Deadly defiance to him and pronounces
Ruin to Thebes, who is at hand to seal
The promise of his wrath.
ARCITE Let him approach.
But that we fear the gods in him, he brings not
A jot of terror to us. Yet what man
Thirds his own worth—the case is each of ours—
When that his action’s dregged with mind assured
’Tis bad he goes about?
PALAMON Leave that unreasoned.
Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon.
Yet to be neutral to him were dishonor,
Rebellious to oppose. Therefore we must
With him stand to the mercy of our fate,
Who hath bounded our last minute.
ARCITE So we must.
To Valerius. Is ’t said this war’s afoot? Or, it shall
be,
On fail of some condition?
VALERIUS ’Tis in motion;
The intelligence of state came in the instant
With the defier.
PALAMON Let’s to the King, who, were he
A quarter carrier of that honor which
His enemy come in, the blood we venture
Should be as for our health, which were not spent,
Rather laid out for purchase. But alas,
Our hands advanced before our hearts, what will
The fall o’ th’ stroke do damage?
ARCITE Let th’ event,
That never-erring arbitrator, tell us

---

When we know all ourselves, and let us follow
The becking of our chance.
They exit.

Enter Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia.

PIRITHOUS
No further.
HIPPOLYTA Sir, farewell. Repeat my wishes
To our great lord, of whose success I dare not
Make any timorous question; yet I wish him
Excess and overflow of power, an ’t might be,
To dure ill-dealing fortune. Speed to him.
Store never hurts good governors.
PIRITHOUS Though I know
His ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they
Must yield their tribute there.—My precious maid,
Those best affections that the heavens infuse
In their best-tempered pieces keep enthroned
In your dear heart!
EMILIA Thanks, sir. Remember me
To our all-royal brother, for whose speed
The great Bellona I’ll solicit; and
Since in our terrene state petitions are not
Without gifts understood, I’ll offer to her
What I shall be advised she likes. Our hearts
Are in his army, in his tent.
HIPPOLYTA In ’s bosom.
We have been soldiers, and we cannot weep
When our friends don their helms or put to sea,
Or tell of babes broached on the lance, or women
That have sod their infants in—and after ate them—
The brine they wept at killing ’em. Then if

---

You stay to see of us such spinsters, we
Should hold you here forever.
PIRITHOUS Peace be to you
As I pursue this war, which shall be then
Beyond further requiring. Pirithous exits.
EMILIA How his longing
Follows his friend! Since his depart, his sports,
Though craving seriousness and skill, passed slightly
His careless execution, where nor gain
Made him regard, or loss consider, but
Playing one business in his hand, another
Directing in his head, his mind nurse equal
To these so diff’ring twins. Have you observed him
Since our great lord departed?
HIPPOLYTA With much labor,
And I did love him for ’t. They two have cabined
In many as dangerous as poor a corner,
Peril and want contending; they have skiffed
Torrents whose roaring tyranny and power
I’ th’ least of these was dreadful, and they have
Fought out together where Death’s self was lodged.
Yet fate hath brought them off. Their knot of love,
Tied, weaved, entangled, with so true, so long,
And with a finger of so deep a cunning,
May be outworn, never undone. I think
Theseus cannot be umpire to himself,
Cleaving his conscience into twain and doing
Each side like justice, which he loves best.
EMILIA Doubtless
There is a best, and reason has no manners
To say it is not you. I was acquainted
Once with a time when I enjoyed a playfellow;
You were at wars when she the grave enriched,
Who made too proud the bed; took leave o’ th’ moon,
Which then looked pale at parting, when our count
Was each eleven.

---

HIPPOLYTA ’Twas Flavina .
EMILIA Yes.
You talk of Pirithous’ and Theseus’ love.
Theirs has more ground, is more maturely seasoned,
More buckled with strong judgment, and their needs
The one of th’ other may be said to water
Their intertangled roots of love. But I,
And she I sigh and spoke of, were things innocent,
Loved for we did, and like the elements
That know not what nor why, yet do effect
Rare issues by their operance, our souls
Did so to one another. What she liked
Was then of me approved, what not, condemned,
No more arraignment. The flower that I would pluck
And put between my breasts—O, then but beginning
To swell about the blossom—she would long
Till she had such another, and commit it
To the like innocent cradle, where, Phoenix-like,
They died in perfume. On my head no toy
But was her pattern; her affections—pretty,
Though haply hers careless were—I followed
For my most serious decking. Had mine ear
Stol’n some new air, or at adventure hummed one
From musical coinage, why, it was a note
Whereon her spirits would sojourn—rather, dwell
on—
And sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsal—
Which fury-innocent wots well comes in
Like old importment’s bastard—has this end,
That the true love ’tween maid and maid may be
More than in sex individual.
HIPPOLYTA You’re out of breath,
And this high-speeded pace is but to say
That you shall never—like the maid Flavina—
Love any that’s called man.
EMILIA I am sure I shall not.

---

HIPPOLYTA Now, alack, weak sister,
I must no more believe thee in this point—
Though in ’t I know thou dost believe thyself—
Than I will trust a sickly appetite,
That loathes even as it longs. But sure, my sister,
If I were ripe for your persuasion, you
Have said enough to shake me from the arm
Of the all-noble Theseus, for whose fortunes
I will now in and kneel, with great assurance
That we, more than his Pirithous, possess
The high throne in his heart.
EMILIA I am not
Against your faith, yet I continue mine.
They exit.

Cornets. A battle struck within; then a retreat.
Flourish. Then enter, through one door, Theseus,
victor, accompanied by Lords and Soldiers.
Entering through another door, the three Queens
meet him, and fall on their faces before him.

FIRST QUEEN
To thee no star be dark!
SECOND QUEEN Both heaven and Earth
Friend thee forever.
THIRD QUEEN All the good that may
Be wished upon thy head, I cry “Amen” to ’t!
THESEUS
Th’ impartial gods, who from the mounted heavens
View us their mortal herd, behold who err
And, in their time, chastise. Go and find out
The bones of your dead lords and honor them
With treble ceremony; rather than a gap
Should be in their dear rites, we would supply ’t;

---

But those we will depute which shall invest
You in your dignities and even each thing
Our haste does leave imperfect. So, adieu,
And heaven’s good eyes look on you. Queens exit.

Enter a Herald and Soldiers bearing Palamon
and Arcite on biers.

What are those?
HERALD
Men of great quality, as may be judged
By their appointment. Some of Thebes have told ’s
They are sisters’ children, nephews to the King.
THESEUS
By th’ helm of Mars, I saw them in the war,
Like to a pair of lions, smeared with prey,
Make lanes in troops aghast. I fixed my note
Constantly on them, for they were a mark
Worth a god’s view. What prisoner was ’t that told me
When I enquired their names?
HERALD Wi’ leave, they’re called
Arcite and Palamon.
THESEUS ’Tis right; those, those.
They are not dead?
HERALD
Nor in a state of life. Had they been taken
When their last hurts were given, ’twas possible
They might have been recovered. Yet they breathe
And have the name of men.
THESEUS Then like men use ’em.
The very lees of such, millions of rates,
Exceed the wine of others. All our surgeons
Convent in their behoof; our richest balms,
Rather than niggard, waste. Their lives concern us
Much more than Thebes is worth. Rather than have
’em

---

Freed of this plight, and in their morning state,
Sound and at liberty, I would ’em dead.
But forty-thousandfold we had rather have ’em
Prisoners to us than Death. Bear ’em speedily
From our kind air, to them unkind, and minister
What man to man may do—for our sake, more,
Since I have known frights, fury, friends’ behests,
Love’s provocations, zeal, a mistress’ task,
Desire of liberty, a fever, madness,
Hath set a mark which nature could not reach to
Without some imposition, sickness in will
O’er-wrestling strength in reason. For our love
And great Apollo’s mercy, all our best
Their best skill tender.—Lead into the city,
Where, having bound things scattered, we will post
To Athens ’fore our army.
Flourish. They exit.

Music. Enter the Queens with the hearses of their
knights, in a funeral solemnity, &c.


Urns and odors bring away;
Vapors, sighs, darken the day;
Our dole more deadly looks than dying;
Balms and gums and heavy cheers,
Sacred vials filled with tears,
And clamors through the wild air flying.
Come, all sad and solemn shows
That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes;
We convent naught else but woes.
We convent naught else but woes.

---

THIRD QUEEN , to Second Queen
This funeral path brings to your household’s grave.
Joy seize on you again; peace sleep with him.
SECOND QUEEN , to First Queen
And this to yours.
FIRST QUEEN , to Third Queen Yours this way. Heavens
lend
A thousand differing ways to one sure end.
THIRD QUEEN
This world’s a city full of straying streets,
And death’s the market-place where each one meets.
They exit severally.

Enter Jailer and Wooer.

JAILER I may depart with little while I live; something I
may cast to you, not much. Alas, the prison I keep,
though it be for great ones, yet they seldom come;
before one salmon you shall take a number of minnows.
I am given out to be better lined than it can
appear to me report is a true speaker. I would I
were really that I am delivered to be. Marry, what
I have, be it what it will, I will assure upon my
daughter at the day of my death.
WOOER Sir, I demand no more than your own offer,
and I will estate your daughter in what I have
promised.
JAILER Well, we will talk more of this when the solemnity
is past. But have you a full promise of her?
When that shall be seen, I tender my consent.

Enter the Jailer’s Daughter, carrying rushes.

WOOER I have sir. Here she comes.
JAILER , to Daughter Your friend and I have chanced
to name you here, upon the old business. But no
more of that now; so soon as the court hurry is
over, we will have an end of it. I’ th’ meantime,

---

look tenderly to the two prisoners. I can tell you
they are princes.
DAUGHTER These strewings are for their chamber. ’Tis
pity they are in prison, and ’twere pity they should
be out. I do think they have patience to make any
adversity ashamed. The prison itself is proud of
’em, and they have all the world in their chamber.
JAILER They are famed to be a pair of absolute men.
DAUGHTER By my troth, I think fame but stammers
’em. They stand a grise above the reach of report.
JAILER I heard them reported in the battle to be the
only doers.
DAUGHTER Nay, most likely, for they are noble suff’rers.
I marvel how they would have looked had they
been victors, that with such a constant nobility enforce
a freedom out of bondage, making misery
their mirth and affliction a toy to jest at.
JAILER Do they so?
DAUGHTER It seems to me they have no more sense
of their captivity than I of ruling Athens. They eat
well, look merrily, discourse of many things, but
nothing of their own restraint and disasters. Yet
sometimes a divided sigh, martyred as ’twere i’ th’
deliverance, will break from one of them—when
the other presently gives it so sweet a rebuke that
I could wish myself a sigh to be so chid, or at least
a sigher to be comforted.
WOOER I never saw ’em.
JAILER The Duke himself came privately in the night,
and so did they.

Enter Palamon and Arcite, in shackles, above.

What the reason of it is, I know not. Look, yonder
they are; that’s Arcite looks out.
DAUGHTER No, sir, no, that’s Palamon. Arcite is the

---

lower of the twain; you may perceive a part of
him.
JAILER Go to, leave your pointing; they would not
make us their object. Out of their sight.
DAUGHTER It is a holiday to look on them. Lord, the
diff’rence of men!
Jailer , Daughter, and Wooer exit.

Palamon and Arcite remain , above.

PALAMON
How do you, noble cousin?
ARCITE How do you, sir?
PALAMON
Why, strong enough to laugh at misery
And bear the chance of war; yet we are prisoners
I fear forever, cousin.
ARCITE I believe it,
And to that destiny have patiently
Laid up my hour to come.
PALAMON O, cousin Arcite,
Where is Thebes now? Where is our noble country?
Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more
Must we behold those comforts, never see
The hardy youths strive for the games of honor,
Hung with the painted favors of their ladies,
Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst ’em
And as an east wind leave ’em all behind us,
Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite,
Even in the wagging of a wanton leg,
Outstripped the people’s praises, won the garlands
Ere they have time to wish ’em ours. O, never
Shall we two exercise, like twins of honor,
Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses

---

Like proud seas under us. Our good swords now—
Better the red-eyed god of war ne’er wore —
Ravished our sides, like age must run to rust
And deck the temples of those gods that hate us;
These hands shall never draw ’em out like lightning
To blast whole armies more.
ARCITE No, Palamon,
Those hopes are prisoners with us. Here we are
And here the graces of our youths must wither
Like a too-timely spring. Here age must find us
And—which is heaviest, Palamon—unmarried.
The sweet embraces of a loving wife,
Loaden with kisses, armed with thousand Cupids,
Shall never clasp our necks; no issue know us—
No figures of ourselves shall we e’er see,
To glad our age, and like young eagles teach ’em
Boldly to gaze against bright arms and say
“Remember what your fathers were, and conquer!”
The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments
And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune
Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done
To youth and nature. This is all our world.
We shall know nothing here but one another,
Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes.
The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it;
Summer shall come, and with her all delights,
But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still.
PALAMON
’Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds
That shook the agèd forest with their echoes
No more now must we halloo; no more shake
Our pointed javelins whilst the angry swine
Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages,
Struck with our well-steeled darts. All valiant uses,
The food and nourishment of noble minds,
In us two here shall perish; we shall die,

---

Which is the curse of honor, lastly,
Children of grief and ignorance.
ARCITE Yet, cousin,
Even from the bottom of these miseries,
From all that fortune can inflict upon us,
I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings,
If the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,
And the enjoying of our griefs together.
Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish
If I think this our prison!
PALAMON Certainly
’Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes
Were twined together. ’Tis most true, two souls
Put in two noble bodies, let ’em suffer
The gall of hazard, so they grow together,
Will never sink; they must not, say they could.
A willing man dies sleeping and all’s done.
ARCITE
Shall we make worthy uses of this place
That all men hate so much?
PALAMON How, gentle cousin?
ARCITE
Let’s think this prison holy sanctuary
To keep us from corruption of worse men.
We are young and yet desire the ways of honor
That liberty and common conversation,
The poison of pure spirits, might like women
Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing
Can be but our imaginations
May make it ours? And here being thus together,
We are an endless mine to one another;
We are one another’s wife, ever begetting
New births of love; we are father, friends,
acquaintance;
We are, in one another, families;
I am your heir, and you are mine. This place

---

Is our inheritance; no hard oppressor
Dare take this from us; here with a little patience
We shall live long and loving. No surfeits seek us;
The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas
Swallow their youth. Were we at liberty,
A wife might part us lawfully, or business;
Quarrels consume us; envy of ill men
Crave our acquaintance. I might sicken, cousin,
Where you should never know it, and so perish
Without your noble hand to close mine eyes,
Or prayers to the gods. A thousand chances,
Were we from hence, would sever us.
PALAMON You have made
me—
I thank you, cousin Arcite—almost wanton
With my captivity. What a misery
It is to live abroad and everywhere!
’Tis like a beast, methinks. I find the court here,
I am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures
That woo the wills of men to vanity
I see through now, and am sufficient
To tell the world ’tis but a gaudy shadow
That old Time as he passes by takes with him.
What had we been, old in the court of Creon,
Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance
The virtues of the great ones? Cousin Arcite,
Had not the loving gods found this place for us,
We had died as they do, ill old men, unwept,
And had their epitaphs, the people’s curses.
Shall I say more?
ARCITE I would hear you still.
PALAMON You shall.
Is there record of any two that loved
Better than we do, Arcite?
ARCITE Sure there cannot.

---

PALAMON
I do not think it possible our friendship
Should ever leave us.
ARCITE Till our deaths it cannot.

Enter Emilia and her Woman, below .

And after death our spirits shall be led
To those that love eternally. Palamon catches sight
of Emilia.
Speak on, sir.
EMILIA , to her Woman
This garden has a world of pleasures in ’t.
What flower is this?
WOMAN ’Tis called narcissus, madam.
EMILIA
That was a fair boy certain, but a fool
To love himself. Were there not maids enough?
ARCITE , to Palamon , who is stunned by the sight of Emilia
Pray, forward.
PALAMON Yes.
EMILIA , to Woman Or were they all hard-hearted?
WOMAN
They could not be to one so fair.
EMILIA Thou wouldst not.
WOMAN
I think I should not, madam.
EMILIA That’s a good wench.
But take heed to your kindness, though.
WOMAN Why,
madam?
EMILIA
Men are mad things.
ARCITE , to Palamon Will you go forward,
cousin?
EMILIA , to Woman
Canst not thou work such flowers in silk, wench?
WOMAN Yes.

---

EMILIA
I’ll have a gown full of ’em, and of these.
This is pretty color. Will ’t not do
Rarely upon a skirt, wench?
WOMAN Dainty, madam.
ARCITE , to Palamon
Cousin, cousin! How do you, sir? Why, Palamon!
PALAMON
Never till now I was in prison, Arcite.
ARCITE
Why, what’s the matter, man?
PALAMON Behold, and wonder!
By heaven, she is a goddess.
ARCITE , seeing Emilia Ha!
PALAMON Do reverence.
She is a goddess, Arcite.
EMILIA , to Woman Of all flowers
Methinks a rose is best.
WOMAN Why, gentle madam?
EMILIA
It is the very emblem of a maid.
For when the west wind courts her gently,
How modestly she blows and paints the sun
With her chaste blushes! When the north comes
near her,
Rude and impatient, then, like chastity,
She locks her beauties in her bud again,
And leaves him to base briers.
WOMAN Yet, good madam,
Sometimes her modesty will blow so far
She falls for ’t. A maid,
If she have any honor, would be loath
To take example by her.
EMILIA Thou art wanton!
ARCITE , to Palamon
She is wondrous fair.

---

PALAMON She is all the beauty extant.
EMILIA , to Woman
The sun grows high. Let’s walk in. Keep these
flowers.
We’ll see how near art can come near their colors.
I am wondrous merry-hearted. I could laugh now.
WOMAN
I could lie down, I am sure.
EMILIA And take one with you?
WOMAN
That’s as we bargain, madam.
EMILIA Well, agree then.
Emilia and Woman exit.
PALAMON
What think you of this beauty?
ARCITE ’Tis a rare one.
PALAMON
Is ’t but a rare one?
ARCITE Yes, a matchless beauty.
PALAMON
Might not a man well lose himself and love her?
ARCITE
I cannot tell what you have done; I have,
Beshrew mine eyes for ’t! Now I feel my shackles.
PALAMON
You love her, then?
ARCITE Who would not?
PALAMON And desire her?
ARCITE
Before my liberty.
PALAMON I saw her first.
ARCITE
That’s nothing.
PALAMON But it shall be.
ARCITE I saw her, too.
PALAMON Yes, but you must not love her.

---

ARCITE
I will not, as you do, to worship her
As she is heavenly and a blessèd goddess.
I love her as a woman, to enjoy her.
So both may love.
PALAMON You shall not love at all.
ARCITE Not love at all! Who shall deny me?
PALAMON
I, that first saw her; I that took possession
First with mine eye of all those beauties
In her revealed to mankind. If thou lov’st her,
Or entertain’st a hope to blast my wishes,
Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow
False as thy title to her. Friendship, blood,
And all the ties between us I disclaim
If thou once think upon her.
ARCITE Yes, I love her,
And, if the lives of all my name lay on it,
I must do so. I love her with my soul.
If that will lose you, farewell, Palamon.
I say again, I love, and in loving her maintain
I am as worthy and as free a lover
And have as just a title to her beauty
As any Palamon or any living
That is a man’s son.
PALAMON Have I called thee friend?
ARCITE
Yes, and have found me so. Why are you moved
thus?
Let me deal coldly with you: am not I
Part of your blood, part of your soul? You have
told me
That I was Palamon and you were Arcite.
PALAMON
Yes.

---

ARCITE Am not I liable to those affections,
Those joys, griefs, angers, fears, my friend shall
suffer?
PALAMON
You may be.
ARCITE Why then would you deal so cunningly,
So strangely, so unlike a noble kinsman,
To love alone? Speak truly, do you think me
Unworthy of her sight?
PALAMON No, but unjust
If thou pursue that sight.
ARCITE Because another
First sees the enemy, shall I stand still
And let mine honor down, and never charge?
PALAMON
Yes, if he be but one.
ARCITE But say that one
Had rather combat me?
PALAMON Let that one say so,
And use thy freedom. Else, if thou pursuest her,
Be as that cursèd man that hates his country,
A branded villain.
ARCITE You are mad.
PALAMON I must be.
Till thou art worthy, Arcite, it concerns me.
And in this madness if I hazard thee
And take thy life, I deal but truly.
ARCITE Fie, sir!
You play the child extremely. I will love her;
I must, I ought to do so, and I dare,
And all this justly.
PALAMON O, that now, that now,
Thy false self and thy friend had but this fortune
To be one hour at liberty, and grasp
Our good swords in our hands, I would quickly
teach thee

---

What ’twere to filch affection from another.
Thou art baser in it than a cutpurse.
Put but thy head out of this window more
And, as I have a soul, I’ll nail thy life to ’t.
ARCITE
Thou dar’st not, fool; thou canst not; thou art feeble.
Put my head out? I’ll throw my body out
And leap the garden when I see her next,
And pitch between her arms to anger thee.

Enter Jailer , above.

PALAMON
No more; the keeper’s coming. I shall live
To knock thy brains out with my shackles.
ARCITE Do!
JAILER
By your leave, gentlemen.
PALAMON Now, honest keeper?
JAILER
Lord Arcite, you must presently to th’ Duke;
The cause I know not yet.
ARCITE I am ready, keeper.
JAILER
Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you
Of your fair cousin’s company.
Arcite and Jailer exit.
PALAMON And me too,
Even when you please, of life.—Why is he sent for?
It may be he shall marry her; he’s goodly,
And like enough the Duke hath taken notice
Both of his blood and body. But his falsehood!
Why should a friend be treacherous? If that
Get him a wife so noble and so fair,
Let honest men ne’er love again. Once more
I would but see this fair one. Blessèd garden

---

And fruit and flowers more blessèd that still
blossom
As her bright eyes shine on you, would I were,
For all the fortune of my life hereafter,
Yon little tree, yon blooming apricock!
How I would spread and fling my wanton arms
In at her window; I would bring her fruit
Fit for the gods to feed on; youth and pleasure
Still as she tasted should be doubled on her;
And, if she be not heavenly, I would make her
So near the gods in nature, they should fear her.

Enter Jailer , above.

And then I am sure she would love me.—How now,
keeper,
Where’s Arcite?
JAILER Banished. Prince Pirithous
Obtained his liberty, but never more
Upon his oath and life must he set foot
Upon this kingdom.
PALAMON He’s a blessèd man.
He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms
The bold young men that, when he bids ’em charge,
Fall on like fire. Arcite shall have a fortune,
If he dare make himself a worthy lover,
Yet in the field to strike a battle for her,
And, if he lose her then, he’s a cold coward.
How bravely may he bear himself to win her
If he be noble Arcite—thousand ways!
Were I at liberty, I would do things
Of such a virtuous greatness that this lady,
This blushing virgin, should take manhood to her
And seek to ravish me.
JAILER My lord, for you
I have this charge to—
PALAMON To discharge my life?

---

JAILER
No, but from this place to remove your Lordship;
The windows are too open.
PALAMON Devils take ’em
That are so envious to me! Prithee, kill me.
JAILER
And hang for ’t afterward!
PALAMON By this good light,
Had I a sword I would kill thee.
JAILER Why, my lord?
PALAMON
Thou bringst such pelting, scurvy news continually,
Thou art not worthy life. I will not go.
JAILER
Indeed you must, my lord.
PALAMON May I see the garden?
JAILER
No.
PALAMON Then I am resolved, I will not go.
JAILER
I must constrain you then; and, for you are
dangerous,
I’ll clap more irons on you.
PALAMON Do, good keeper.
I’ll shake ’em so, you shall not sleep;
I’ll make you a new morris. Must I go?
JAILER
There is no remedy.
PALAMON Farewell, kind window.
May rude wind never hurt thee. O, my lady,
If ever thou hast felt what sorrow was,
Dream how I suffer.—Come; now bury me.
Palamon and Jailer exit.

Enter Arcite.

ARCITE
Banished the kingdom? ’Tis a benefit,
A mercy I must thank ’em for; but banished
The free enjoying of that face I die for,
O, ’twas a studied punishment, a death
Beyond imagination—such a vengeance
That, were I old and wicked, all my sins
Could never pluck upon me. Palamon,
Thou hast the start now; thou shalt stay and see
Her bright eyes break each morning ’gainst thy
window
And let in life into thee; thou shalt feed
Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty
That nature ne’er exceeded nor ne’er shall.
Good gods, what happiness has Palamon!
Twenty to one he’ll come to speak to her,
And if she be as gentle as she’s fair,
I know she’s his. He has a tongue will tame
Tempests and make the wild rocks wanton.
Come what can come,
The worst is death. I will not leave the kingdom.
I know mine own is but a heap of ruins,
And no redress there. If I go, he has her.
I am resolved another shape shall make me
Or end my fortunes. Either way I am happy.
I’ll see her and be near her, or no more.

Enter four Country people, and one with
a garland before them.

Arcite steps aside.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN My masters, I’ll be there, that’s
certain.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN And I’ll be there.

---

THIRD COUNTRYMAN And I.
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Why, then, have with you, boys.
’Tis but a chiding. Let the plough play today; I’ll
tickle ’t out of the jades’ tails tomorrow.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN I am sure to have my wife as jealous
as a turkey, but that’s all one. I’ll go through;
let her mumble.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN Clap her aboard tomorrow night
and stow her, and all’s made up again.
THIRD COUNTRYMAN Ay, do but put a fescue in her fist
and you shall see her take a new lesson out and be
a good wench. Do we all hold against the Maying?
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Hold? What should ail us?
THIRD COUNTRYMAN Arcas will be there.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN And Sennois and Rycas; and
three better lads ne’er danced under green tree.
And you know what wenches, ha! But will the
dainty domine, the Schoolmaster, keep touch, do
you think? For he does all, you know.
THIRD COUNTRYMAN He’ll eat a hornbook ere he fail.
Go to, the matter’s too far driven between him and
the tanner’s daughter to let slip now; and she must
see the Duke, and she must dance too.
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Shall we be lusty?
SECOND COUNTRYMAN All the boys in Athens blow wind
i’ th’ breech on ’s. And here I’ll be and there I’ll be,
for our town, and here again, and there again. Ha,
boys, hey for the weavers!
FIRST COUNTRYMAN This must be done i’ th’ woods.
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN O pardon me.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN By any means; our thing of learning
says so—where he himself will edify the Duke
most parlously in our behalfs. He’s excellent i’ th’
woods; bring him to th’ plains, his learning makes
no cry.

---

THIRD COUNTRYMAN We’ll see the sports, then every
man to ’s tackle. And, sweet companions, let’s rehearse,
by any means, before the ladies see us, and
do sweetly, and God knows what may come on ’t.
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Content. The sports once ended,
we’ll perform. Away, boys, and hold.
Arcite comes forward.
ARCITE By your leaves, honest friends: pray you,
whither go you?
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Whither?
Why, what a question’s that?
ARCITE Yes, ’tis a question
To me that know not.
THIRD COUNTRYMAN To the games, my friend.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN
Where were you bred, you know it not?
ARCITE Not far, sir.
Are there such games today?
FIRST COUNTRYMAN Yes, marry, are there,
And such as you never saw. The Duke himself
Will be in person there.
ARCITE What pastimes are they?
SECOND COUNTRYMAN
Wrestling and running.—’Tis a pretty fellow.
THIRD COUNTRYMAN
Thou wilt not go along?
ARCITE Not yet, sir.
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Well, sir,
Take your own time.—Come, boys.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN , aside to the others My mind misgives
me. This fellow has a vengeance trick o’ th’
hip. Mark how his body’s made for ’t.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN , aside to the others I’ll be
hanged, though, if he dare venture. Hang him,
plum porridge! He wrestle? He roast eggs! Come,
let’s be gone, lads. The four exit.

---

ARCITE
This is an offered opportunity
I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled—
The best men called it excellent—and run
Swifter than wind upon a field of corn,
Curling the wealthy ears, never flew. I’ll venture,
And in some poor disguise be there. Who knows
Whether my brows may not be girt with garlands,
And happiness prefer me to a place
Where I may ever dwell in sight of her?
Arcite exits.

Enter Jailer’s Daughter, alone.

DAUGHTER
Why should I love this gentleman? ’Tis odds
He never will affect me. I am base,
My father the mean keeper of his prison,
And he a prince. To marry him is hopeless;
To be his whore is witless. Out upon ’t!
What pushes are we wenches driven to
When fifteen once has found us! First, I saw him;
I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man;
He has as much to please a woman in him,
If he please to bestow it so, as ever
These eyes yet looked on. Next, I pitied him,
And so would any young wench, o’ my conscience,
That ever dreamed, or vowed her maidenhead
To a young handsome man. Then I loved him,
Extremely loved him, infinitely loved him!
And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too.
But in my heart was Palamon, and there,
Lord, what a coil he keeps! To hear him
Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is!

---

And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken
Was never gentleman. When I come in
To bring him water in a morning, first
He bows his noble body, then salutes me thus:
“Fair, gentle maid, good morrow. May thy goodness
Get thee a happy husband.” Once he kissed me;
I loved my lips the better ten days after.
Would he would do so ev’ry day! He grieves much—
And me as much to see his misery.
What should I do to make him know I love him?
For I would fain enjoy him. Say I ventured
To set him free? What says the law then?
Thus much for law or kindred! I will do it,
And this night, or tomorrow, he shall love me.
She exits.

This short flourish of cornets and shouts within.
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Emilia, Arcite
in disguise, with a garland, Attendants , and others.

THESEUS , to Arcite
You have done worthily. I have not seen,
Since Hercules, a man of tougher sinews.
Whate’er you are, you run the best and wrestle
That these times can allow.
ARCITE I am proud to please you.
THESEUS
What country bred you?
ARCITE This; but far off, prince.
THESEUS
Are you a gentleman?
ARCITE My father said so,
And to those gentle uses gave me life.

---

THESEUS
Are you his heir?
ARCITE His youngest, sir.
THESEUS Your father,
Sure, is a happy sire, then. What proves you?
ARCITE
A little of all noble qualities.
I could have kept a hawk and well have hallowed
To a deep cry of dogs. I dare not praise
My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me
Would say it was my best piece. Last, and greatest,
I would be thought a soldier.
THESEUS You are perfect.
PIRITHOUS
Upon my soul, a proper man.
EMILIA He is so.
PIRITHOUS , to Hippolyta
How do you like him, lady?
HIPPOLYTA I admire him.
I have not seen so young a man so noble,
If he say true, of his sort.
EMILIA Believe,
His mother was a wondrous handsome woman;
His face, methinks, goes that way.
HIPPOLYTA But his body
And fiery mind illustrate a brave father.
PIRITHOUS
Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun,
Breaks through his baser garments.
HIPPOLYTA He’s well got, sure.
THESEUS , to Arcite
What made you seek this place, sir?
ARCITE Noble Theseus,
To purchase name and do my ablest service
To such a well-found wonder as thy worth;

---

For only in thy court, of all the world,
Dwells fair-eyed Honor.
PIRITHOUS All his words are worthy.
THESEUS
Sir, we are much indebted to your travel,
Nor shall you lose your wish.—Pirithous,
Dispose of this fair gentleman.
PIRITHOUS Thanks, Theseus.—
Whate’er you are, you’re mine, and I shall give you
To a most noble service: to this lady,
This bright young virgin.
He brings Arcite to Emilia.
Pray observe her goodness;
You have honored her fair birthday with your
virtues,
And, as your due, you’re hers. Kiss her fair hand, sir.
ARCITE
Sir, you’re a noble giver.—Dearest beauty,
Thus let me seal my vowed faith.
He kisses her hand.
When your servant,
Your most unworthy creature, but offends you,
Command him die, he shall.
EMILIA That were too cruel.
If you deserve well, sir, I shall soon see ’t.
You’re mine, and somewhat better than your rank
I’ll use you.
PIRITHOUS , to Arcite
I’ll see you furnished, and because you say
You are a horseman, I must needs entreat you
This afternoon to ride—but ’tis a rough one.
ARCITE
I like him better, prince; I shall not then
Freeze in my saddle.
THESEUS , to Hippolyta Sweet, you must be ready,—
And you, Emilia,—and you, friend,—and all,

---

Tomorrow by the sun, to do observance
To flowery May in Dian’s wood.—Wait well, sir,
Upon your mistress.—Emily, I hope
He shall not go afoot.
EMILIA That were a shame, sir,
While I have horses.—Take your choice, and what
You want at any time, let me but know it.
If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you
You’ll find a loving mistress.
ARCITE If I do not,
Let me find that my father ever hated,
Disgrace and blows.
THESEUS Go lead the way; you have won it.
It shall be so; you shall receive all dues
Fit for the honor you have won. ’Twere wrong else.—
Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a servant
That, if I were a woman, would be master;
But you are wise.
EMILIA I hope too wise for that, sir.
Flourish. They all exit.

Enter Jailer’s Daughter alone.

DAUGHTER
Let all the dukes and all the devils roar!
He is at liberty. I have ventured for him,
And out I have brought him; to a little wood
A mile hence I have sent him, where a cedar
Higher than all the rest spreads like a plane
Fast by a brook, and there he shall keep close
Till I provide him files and food, for yet
His iron bracelets are not off. O Love,
What a stout-hearted child thou art! My father
Durst better have endured cold iron than done it.

---

I love him beyond love and beyond reason
Or wit or safety. I have made him know it;
I care not, I am desperate. If the law
Find me and then condemn me for ’t, some wenches,
Some honest-hearted maids, will sing my dirge
And tell to memory my death was noble,
Dying almost a martyr. That way he takes
I purpose is my way too. Sure he cannot
Be so unmanly as to leave me here.
If he do, maids will not so easily
Trust men again. And yet he has not thanked me
For what I have done; no, not so much as kissed me,
And that, methinks, is not so well; nor scarcely
Could I persuade him to become a free man,
He made such scruples of the wrong he did
To me and to my father. Yet I hope,
When he considers more, this love of mine
Will take more root within him. Let him do
What he will with me, so he use me kindly;
For use me so he shall, or I’ll proclaim him,
And to his face, no man. I’ll presently
Provide him necessaries and pack my clothes up,
And where there is a path of ground I’ll venture,
So he be with me. By him like a shadow
I’ll ever dwell. Within this hour the hubbub
Will be all o’er the prison. I am then
Kissing the man they look for. Farewell, father!
Get many more such prisoners and such daughters,
And shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him.
She exits.

Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing
as people a-Maying. Enter Arcite alone.

ARCITE
The Duke has lost Hippolyta; each took
A several laund. This is a solemn rite
They owe bloomed May, and the Athenians pay it
To th’ heart of ceremony. O Queen Emilia,
Fresher than May, sweeter
Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all
Th’ enameled knacks o’ th’ mead or garden—yea,
We challenge too the bank of any nymph
That makes the stream seem flowers; thou, O jewel
O’ th’ wood, o’ th’ world, hast likewise blessed a pace
With thy sole presence. In thy rumination
That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between
And chop on some cold thought! Thrice blessèd
chance
To drop on such a mistress, expectation
Most guiltless on ’t. Tell me, O Lady Fortune,
Next after Emily my sovereign, how far
I may be proud. She takes strong note of me,
Hath made me near her; and this beauteous morn,
The prim’st of all the year, presents me with
A brace of horses; two such steeds might well

---

Be by a pair of kings backed, in a field
That their crowns’ titles tried. Alas, alas,
Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner, thou
So little dream’st upon my fortune that
Thou think’st thyself the happier thing, to be
So near Emilia; me thou deem’st at Thebes,
And therein wretched, although free. But if
Thou knew’st my mistress breathed on me, and that
I eared her language, lived in her eye—O coz,
What passion would enclose thee!

Enter Palamon as out of a bush, with his shackles;
he bends his fist at Arcite.

PALAMON Traitor kinsman,
Thou shouldst perceive my passion if these signs
Of prisonment were off me, and this hand
But owner of a sword. By all oaths in one,
I and the justice of my love would make thee
A confessed traitor, O thou most perfidious
That ever gently looked, the void’st of honor
That e’er bore gentle token, falsest cousin
That ever blood made kin! Call’st thou her thine?
I’ll prove it in my shackles, with these hands,
Void of appointment, that thou liest, and art
A very thief in love, a chaffy lord,
Nor worth the name of villain. Had I a sword,
And these house clogs away—
ARCITE Dear cousin Palamon—
PALAMON
Cozener Arcite, give me language such
As thou hast showed me feat.
ARCITE Not finding in
The circuit of my breast any gross stuff
To form me like your blazon holds me to
This gentleness of answer: ’tis your passion
That thus mistakes, the which, to you being enemy,

---

Cannot to me be kind. Honor and honesty
I cherish and depend on, howsoe’er
You skip them in me, and with them, fair coz,
I’ll maintain my proceedings. Pray be pleased
To show in generous terms your griefs, since that
Your question’s with your equal, who professes
To clear his own way with the mind and sword
Of a true gentleman.
PALAMON That thou durst, Arcite!
ARCITE
My coz, my coz, you have been well advertised
How much I dare; you’ve seen me use my sword
Against th’ advice of fear. Sure, of another
You would not hear me doubted, but your silence
Should break out, though i’ th’ sanctuary.
PALAMON Sir,
I have seen you move in such a place which well
Might justify your manhood; you were called
A good knight and a bold. But the whole week’s not
fair
If any day it rain; their valiant temper
Men lose when they incline to treachery,
And then they fight like compelled bears—would fly
Were they not tied.
ARCITE Kinsman, you might as well
Speak this and act it in your glass as to
His ear which now disdains you.
PALAMON Come up to me;
Quit me of these cold gyves, give me a sword
Though it be rusty, and the charity
Of one meal lend me. Come before me then,
A good sword in thy hand, and do but say
That Emily is thine, I will forgive
The trespass thou hast done me—yea, my life,
If then thou carry ’t; and brave souls in shades
That have died manly, which will seek of me

---

Some news from Earth, they shall get none but this:
That thou art brave and noble.
ARCITE Be content.
Again betake you to your hawthorn house.
With counsel of the night I will be here
With wholesome viands. These impediments
Will I file off. You shall have garments and
Perfumes to kill the smell o’ th’ prison. After,
When you shall stretch yourself and say but “Arcite,
I am in plight,” there shall be at your choice
Both sword and armor.
PALAMON O you heavens, dares any
So noble bear a guilty business? None
But only Arcite. Therefore none but Arcite
In this kind is so bold.
ARCITE Sweet Palamon.
PALAMON
I do embrace you and your offer; for
Your offer do ’t I only. Sir, your person
Without hypocrisy I may not wish
More than my sword’s edge on ’t.
Wind horns off; sound cornets.
ARCITE You hear the horns.
Enter your muset , lest this match between ’s
Be crossed ere met. Give me your hand; farewell.
I’ll bring you every needful thing. I pray you,
Take comfort and be strong.
PALAMON Pray hold your promise,
And do the deed with a bent brow. Most certain
You love me not; be rough with me, and pour
This oil out of your language. By this air,
I could for each word give a cuff, my stomach
Not reconciled by reason.
ARCITE Plainly spoken,
Yet pardon me hard language. When I spur
My horse, I chide him not; content and anger

---

In me have but one face. Wind horns.
Hark, sir, they call
The scattered to the banquet; you must guess
I have an office there.
PALAMON Sir, your attendance
Cannot please heaven, and I know your office
Unjustly is achieved.
ARCITE ’Tis a good title.
I am persuaded this question, sick between ’s,
By bleeding must be cured. I am a suitor
That to your sword you will bequeath this plea,
And talk of it no more.
PALAMON But this one word:
You are going now to gaze upon my mistress,
For note you, mine she is—
ARCITE Nay then,—
PALAMON Nay, pray you,
You talk of feeding me to breed me strength.
You are going now to look upon a sun
That strengthens what it looks on; there
You have a vantage o’er me, but enjoy ’t till
I may enforce my remedy. Farewell.
They exit.

Enter Jailer’s Daughter, alone.

DAUGHTER
He has mistook the brake I meant, is gone
After his fancy. ’Tis now well-nigh morning.
No matter; would it were perpetual night,
And darkness lord o’ th’ world. Hark, ’tis a wolf!
In me hath grief slain fear, and but for one thing,
I care for nothing, and that’s Palamon.
I reck not if the wolves would jaw me, so

---

He had this file. What if I hallowed for him?
I cannot hallow. If I whooped, what then?
If he not answered, I should call a wolf,
And do him but that service. I have heard
Strange howls this livelong night; why may ’t not be
They have made prey of him? He has no weapons;
He cannot run; the jingling of his gyves
Might call fell things to listen, who have in them
A sense to know a man unarmed and can
Smell where resistance is. I’ll set it down
He’s torn to pieces; they howled many together,
And then they fed on him; so much for that.
Be bold to ring the bell. How stand I then?
All’s chared when he is gone. No, no, I lie.
My father’s to be hanged for his escape;
Myself to beg, if I prized life so much
As to deny my act, but that I would not,
Should I try death by dozens. I am moped;
Food took I none these two days;
Sipped some water. I have not closed mine eyes
Save when my lids scoured off their brine. Alas,
Dissolve, my life! Let not my sense unsettle,
Lest I should drown, or stab, or hang myself.
O state of nature, fail together in me,
Since thy best props are warped! So, which way now?
The best way is the next way to a grave;
Each errant step beside is torment. Lo,
The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech
owl
Calls in the dawn. All offices are done
Save what I fail in. But the point is this—
An end, and that is all.
She exits.

Enter Arcite with meat, wine, and files.

ARCITE
I should be near the place.—Ho! Cousin Palamon!
PALAMON , within
Arcite?
ARCITE The same. I have brought you food and files.
Come forth and fear not; here’s no Theseus.

Enter Palamon.

PALAMON
Nor none so honest, Arcite.
ARCITE That’s no matter.
We’ll argue that hereafter. Come, take courage;
You shall not die thus beastly. Here, sir, drink—
I know you are faint—then I’ll talk further with you.
PALAMON
Arcite, thou mightst now poison me.
ARCITE I might;
But I must fear you first. Sit down and, good now,
No more of these vain parleys. Let us not,
Having our ancient reputation with us,
Make talk for fools and cowards. To your health.
He drinks.
PALAMON Do!
ARCITE
Pray sit down, then, and let me entreat you,
By all the honesty and honor in you,
No mention of this woman; ’twill disturb us.
We shall have time enough.
PALAMON Well, sir, I’ll pledge you.
He drinks.

---

ARCITE
Drink a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood,
man.
Do not you feel it thaw you?
PALAMON Stay, I’ll tell you
After a draught or two more.
ARCITE Spare it not.
The Duke has more, coz. Eat now.
PALAMON Yes. He eats.
ARCITE I am glad
You have so good a stomach.
PALAMON I am gladder
I have so good meat to ’t.
ARCITE Is ’t not mad lodging
Here in the wild woods, cousin?
PALAMON Yes, for them
That have wild consciences.
ARCITE How tastes your
victuals?
Your hunger needs no sauce, I see.
PALAMON Not much.
But if it did, yours is too tart, sweet cousin.
What is this?
ARCITE Venison.
PALAMON ’Tis a lusty meat.
Give me more wine. Here, Arcite, to the wenches
We have known in our days!
He raises his cup in a toast.
The Lord Steward’s
daughter!
Do you remember her?
ARCITE After you, coz.
PALAMON
She loved a black-haired man.
ARCITE She did so; well, sir?

---

PALAMON
And I have heard some call him Arcite, and—
ARCITE
Out with ’t, faith.
PALAMON She met him in an arbor.
What did she there, coz? Play o’ th’ virginals?
ARCITE
Something she did, sir.
PALAMON Made her groan a month
for ’t—
Or two, or three, or ten.
ARCITE The Marshal’s sister
Had her share, too, as I remember, cousin,
Else there be tales abroad. You’ll pledge her?
PALAMON Yes.
He lifts his cup and then drinks.
ARCITE
A pretty brown wench ’tis. There was a time
When young men went a-hunting, and a wood,
And a broad beech—and thereby hangs a tale.
Heigh ho!
PALAMON For Emily, upon my life! Fool,
Away with this strained mirth. I say again
That sigh was breathed for Emily. Base cousin,
Dar’st thou break first?
ARCITE You are wide.
PALAMON By heaven and
Earth,
There’s nothing in thee honest.
ARCITE Then I’ll leave you.
You are a beast now.
PALAMON As thou mak’st me, traitor.
ARCITE
There’s all things needful: files and shirts and
perfumes.

---

I’ll come again some two hours hence and bring
That that shall quiet all.
PALAMON A sword and armor.
ARCITE
Fear me not. You are now too foul. Farewell.
Get off your trinkets; you shall want naught.
PALAMON Sirrah—
ARCITE
I’ll hear no more.
He exits.
PALAMON If he keep touch, he dies for ’t.
He exits.

Enter Jailer’s Daughter.

DAUGHTER
I am very cold, and all the stars are out too,
The little stars and all, that look like aglets.
The sun has seen my folly.—Palamon!
Alas, no; he’s in heaven. Where am I now?
Yonder’s the sea, and there’s a ship. How ’t tumbles!
And there’s a rock lies watching under water.
Now, now, it beats upon it; now, now, now,
There’s a leak sprung, a sound one! How they cry!
Open her before the wind; you’ll lose all else.
Up with a course or two, and tack about, boys!
Good night, good night; you’re gone. I am very
hungry.
Would I could find a fine frog; he would tell me
News from all parts o’ th’ world; then would I make
A carrack of a cockleshell, and sail
By east and northeast to the king of pygmies,
For he tells fortunes rarely. Now my father,

---

Twenty to one, is trussed up in a trice
Tomorrow morning. I’ll say never a word.
( Sing. )
For I’ll cut my green coat a foot above my knee,
And I’ll clip my yellow locks an inch below mine
eye.
Hey nonny, nonny, nonny.
He’s buy me a white cut, forth for to ride,
And I’ll go seek him through the world that is so
wide.
Hey nonny, nonny, nonny.
O, for a prick now, like a nightingale,
To put my breast against. I shall sleep like a top else.
She exits.

Enter a Schoolmaster and six Countrymen,
one dressed as a Bavian.

SCHOOLMASTER Fie, fie, what tediosity and disinsanity
is here among you! Have my rudiments been labored
so long with you, milked unto you, and, by a
figure, even the very plum broth and marrow of
my understanding laid upon you, and do you still
cry “Where?” and “How?” and “Wherefore?” You
most coarse-frieze capacities, you jean judgments,
have I said “Thus let be” and “There let be”
and “Then let be” and no man understand me? Proh
deum, medius fidius , you are all dunces! Forwhy,
here stand I; here the Duke comes; there are you,
close in the thicket; the Duke appears; I meet him
and unto him I utter learnèd things and many figures;
he hears, and nods, and hums, and then cries
“Rare!” and I go forward. At length I fling my cap
up—mark there! Then do you as once did Meleager

---

and the boar—break comely out before him;
like true lovers, cast yourselves in a body decently,
and sweetly, by a figure, trace and turn, boys.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN And sweetly we will do it, Master
Gerald.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN Draw up the company. Where’s
the taborer?
THIRD COUNTRYMAN Why, Timothy!

Enter the Taborer.

TABORER Here, my mad boys. Have at you!
SCHOOLMASTER But I say, where’s their women?

Enter five Wenches.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Here’s Fritz and Maudlin.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN And little Luce with the white
legs, and bouncing Barbary.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN And freckled Nell, that never failed
her master.
SCHOOLMASTER Where be your ribbons, maids? Swim
with your bodies, and carry it sweetly and deliverly,
and now and then a favor and a frisk.
NELL Let us alone, sir.
SCHOOLMASTER Where’s the rest o’ th’ music?
THIRD COUNTRYMAN Dispersed, as you commanded.
SCHOOLMASTER Couple, then, and see what’s wanting.
Where’s the Bavian?—My friend, carry your tail
without offense or scandal to the ladies; and be
sure you tumble with audacity and manhood, and
when you bark, do it with judgment.
BAVIAN Yes, sir.
SCHOOLMASTER Quo usque tandem? Here is a woman
wanting.
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN We may go whistle; all the fat’s i’
th’ fire.
SCHOOLMASTER We have, as learnèd authors utter,

---

washed a tile; we have been fatuus and labored
vainly.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN This is that scornful piece, that
scurvy hilding that gave her promise faithfully she
would be here—Cicely, the sempster’s daughter.
The next gloves that I give her shall be dogskin;
nay, an she fail me once—you can tell, Arcas, she
swore by wine and bread she would not break.
SCHOOLMASTER An eel and woman, a learnèd poet
says, unless by th’ tail and with thy teeth thou hold,
will either fail. In manners, this was false
position.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN A fire ill take her! Does she flinch
now?
THIRD COUNTRYMAN What shall we determine, sir?
SCHOOLMASTER Nothing. Our business is become a
nullity, yea, and a woeful and a piteous nullity.
FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Now, when the credit of our town
lay on it, now to be frampold, now to piss o’ th’
nettle! Go thy ways; I’ll remember thee. I’ll fit
thee!

Enter Jailer’s Daughter.

DAUGHTER , sings
The George Alow came from the south,
From the coast of Barbary-a,
And there he met with brave gallants of war,
By one, by two, by three-a.
“Well hailed, well hailed, you jolly gallants,
And whither now are you bound-a?
O, let me have your company
Till I come to the sound-a.”
There was three fools, fell out about an owlet—
Sings The one he said it was an owl,
The other he said nay,

---

127

The Two Noble Kinsmen

ACT 3. SC. 5

The third he said it was a hawk,
And her bells were cut away.
THIRD COUNTRYMAN There’s a dainty madwoman, master,
comes i’ th’ nick, as mad as a March hare. If we
can get her dance, we are made again. I warrant
her, she’ll do the rarest gambols.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN A madwoman? We are made, boys.
SCHOOLMASTER , to Jailer’s Daughter And are you mad,
good woman?
DAUGHTER I would be sorry else. Give me your hand.
SCHOOLMASTER Why?
DAUGHTER I can tell your fortune. She looks at his
hand. You are a fool. Tell ten.—I have posed him.
Buzz!—Friend, you must eat no white bread; if
you do, your teeth will bleed extremely. Shall we
dance, ho? I know you, you’re a tinker. Sirrah tinker,
stop no more holes but what you should.
SCHOOLMASTER Dii boni! A tinker, damsel?
DAUGHTER Or a conjurer. Raise me a devil now, and let
him play Chi passa o’ th’ bells and bones.
SCHOOLMASTER Go, take her, and fluently persuade her
to a peace. Et opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira, nec
ignis. Strike up, and lead her in.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN Come, lass, let’s trip it.
DAUGHTER I’ll lead.
THIRD COUNTRYMAN Do, do!
SCHOOLMASTER Persuasively, and cunningly.
Wind horns.
Away, boys! I hear the horns. Give me some
meditation, and mark your cue.
All but Schoolmaster exit.
Pallas, inspire me!

Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia, and train.

THESEUS This way the stag took.
SCHOOLMASTER Stay, and edify!

---

THESEUS What have we here?
PIRITHOUS Some country sport, upon my life, sir.
THESEUS , to Schoolmaster Well, sir, go forward. We
will “edify.” Chairs and stools brought out.
Ladies, sit down. We’ll stay it.
Theseus , Hippolyta, and Emilia sit.
SCHOOLMASTER
Thou doughty duke, all hail!—All hail, sweet ladies!
THESEUS , aside This is a cold beginning.
SCHOOLMASTER
If you but favor, our country pastime made is.
We are a few of those collected here
That ruder tongues distinguish “villager.”
And to say verity, and not to fable,
We are a merry rout, or else a rabble,
Or company, or by a figure, chorus,
That ’fore thy dignity will dance a morris.
And I that am the rectifier of all,
By title pedagogus , that let fall
The birch upon the breeches of the small ones,
And humble with a ferula the tall ones,
Do here present this machine, or this frame.
And, dainty duke, whose doughty dismal fame
From Dis to Daedalus, from post to pillar,
Is blown abroad, help me, thy poor well-willer,
And with thy twinkling eyes look right and straight
Upon this mighty “Morr,” of mickle weight—
“Is” now comes in, which being glued together
Makes “Morris,” and the cause that we came hither.
The body of our sport, of no small study,
I first appear, though rude, and raw, and muddy,
To speak before thy noble grace this tenner,
At whose great feet I offer up my penner.
The next, the Lord of May and Lady bright,
The Chambermaid and Servingman by night
That seek out silent hanging; then mine Host

---

And his fat Spouse, that welcomes to their cost
The gallèd traveler, and with a beck’ning
Informs the tapster to inflame the reck’ning;
Then the beest-eating Clown; and next the Fool,
The Bavian with long tail and eke long tool,
Cum multis aliis that make a dance;
Say “ay,” and all shall presently advance.
THESEUS
Ay, ay, by any means, dear Domine.
PIRITHOUS Produce!
SCHOOLMASTER
Intrate, filii. Come forth and foot it.

Music. Enter the Countrymen, Countrywomen, and
Jailer’s Daughter; they perform a morris dance.

SCHOOLMASTER
Ladies, if we have been merry
And have pleased ye with a derry,
And a derry and a down,
Say the Schoolmaster’s no clown.—
Duke, if we have pleased thee too
And have done as good boys should do,
Give us but a tree or twain
For a Maypole, and again,
Ere another year run out,
We’ll make thee laugh, and all this rout.
THESEUS
Take twenty, Domine.—How does my sweetheart?
HIPPOLYTA
Never so pleased, sir.
EMILIA ’Twas an excellent dance,
And, for a preface, I never heard a better.
THESEUS
Schoolmaster, I thank you.—One see ’em all
rewarded. An Attendant gives money.

---

PIRITHOUS
And here’s something to paint your pole withal.
He gives money.
THESEUS Now to our sports again.
SCHOOLMASTER
May the stag thou hunt’st stand long,
And thy dogs be swift and strong;
May they kill him without lets,
And the ladies eat his dowsets.
Wind horns within . Theseus, Hippolyta,
Emilia, Pirithous, and Train exit.
Come, we are all made. Dii deaeque omnes ,
You have danced rarely, wenches.
They exit.

Enter Palamon from the bush.

PALAMON
About this hour my cousin gave his faith
To visit me again, and with him bring
Two swords and two good armors. If he fail,
He’s neither man nor soldier. When he left me,
I did not think a week could have restored
My lost strength to me, I was grown so low
And crestfall’n with my wants. I thank thee, Arcite,
Thou art yet a fair foe, and I feel myself,
With this refreshing, able once again
To outdure danger. To delay it longer
Would make the world think, when it comes to
hearing,
That I lay fatting like a swine to fight
And not a soldier. Therefore, this blest morning
Shall be the last; and that sword he refuses,

---

If it but hold, I kill him with. ’Tis justice.
So, love and fortune for me!

Enter Arcite with armors and swords.

O, good morrow.
ARCITE
Good morrow, noble kinsman.
PALAMON I have put you
To too much pains, sir.
ARCITE That too much, fair cousin,
Is but a debt to honor and my duty.
PALAMON
Would you were so in all, sir; I could wish you
As kind a kinsman as you force me find
A beneficial foe, that my embraces
Might thank you, not my blows.
ARCITE I shall think either,
Well done, a noble recompense.
PALAMON Then I shall quit you.
ARCITE
Defy me in these fair terms, and you show
More than a mistress to me. No more anger,
As you love anything that’s honorable!
We were not bred to talk, man; when we are armed
And both upon our guards, then let our fury,
Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,
And then to whom the birthright of this beauty
Truly pertains—without upbraidings, scorns,
Despisings of our persons, and such poutings,
Fitter for girls and schoolboys—will be seen,
And quickly, yours or mine. Will ’t please you arm,
sir?
Or if you feel yourself not fitting yet
And furnished with your old strength, I’ll stay,
cousin,
And ev’ry day discourse you into health,

---

As I am spared. Your person I am friends with,
And I could wish I had not said I loved her,
Though I had died. But loving such a lady,
And justifying my love, I must not fly from ’t.
PALAMON
Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy
That no man but thy cousin’s fit to kill thee.
I am well and lusty. Choose your arms.
ARCITE Choose you, sir.
PALAMON
Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it
To make me spare thee?
ARCITE If you think so, cousin,
You are deceived, for as I am a soldier,
I will not spare you.
PALAMON That’s well said.
ARCITE You’ll find it.
PALAMON
Then, as I am an honest man and love
With all the justice of affection,
I’ll pay thee soundly. He chooses armor.
This I’ll take.
ARCITE taking the other That’s mine, then.
I’ll arm you first.
PALAMON Do. Arcite begins arming him.
Pray thee tell me, cousin,
Where got’st thou this good armor?
ARCITE ’Tis the Duke’s,
And to say true, I stole it. Do I pinch you?
PALAMON No.
ARCITE
Is ’t not too heavy?
PALAMON I have worn a lighter,
But I shall make it serve.
ARCITE I’ll buckle ’t close.

---

PALAMON
By any means.
ARCITE You care not for a grand guard?
PALAMON
No, no, we’ll use no horses. I perceive
You would fain be at that fight.
ARCITE I am indifferent.
PALAMON
Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle
Through far enough.
ARCITE I warrant you.
PALAMON My casque now.
ARCITE
Will you fight bare-armed?
PALAMON We shall be the nimbler.
ARCITE
But use your gauntlets though. Those are o’ th’ least.
Prithee take mine, good cousin.
PALAMON Thank you, Arcite.
How do I look? Am I fall’n much away?
ARCITE
Faith, very little; love has used you kindly.
PALAMON
I’ll warrant thee, I’ll strike home.
ARCITE Do, and spare not.
I’ll give you cause, sweet cousin.
PALAMON Now to you, sir.
He begins to arm Arcite.
Methinks this armor’s very like that, Arcite,
Thou wor’st that day the three kings fell, but lighter.
ARCITE
That was a very good one, and that day,
I well remember, you outdid me, cousin.
I never saw such valor. When you charged
Upon the left wing of the enemy,

---

I spurred hard to come up, and under me
I had a right good horse.
PALAMON You had, indeed;
A bright bay, I remember.
ARCITE Yes, but all
Was vainly labored in me; you outwent me,
Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little
I did by imitation.
PALAMON More by virtue;
You are modest, cousin.
ARCITE When I saw you charge first,
Methought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder
Break from the troop.
PALAMON But still before that flew
The lightning of your valor. Stay a little;
Is not this piece too strait?
ARCITE No, no, ’tis well.
PALAMON
I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword.
A bruise would be dishonor.
ARCITE Now I am perfect.
PALAMON
Stand off, then.
ARCITE Take my sword; I hold it better.
PALAMON
I thank you, no; keep it; your life lies on it.
Here’s one; if it but hold, I ask no more
For all my hopes. My cause and honor guard me!
ARCITE
And me my love!
They bow several ways, then advance and stand.
Is there aught else to say?
PALAMON
This only, and no more: thou art mine aunt’s son.
And that blood we desire to shed is mutual—
In me thine, and in thee mine. My sword

---

Is in my hand, and if thou kill’st me,
The gods and I forgive thee. If there be
A place prepared for those that sleep in honor,
I wish his weary soul that falls may win it.
Fight bravely, cousin. Give me thy noble hand.
ARCITE , as they shake hands
Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more
Come near thee with such friendship.
PALAMON I commend thee.
ARCITE
If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,
For none but such dare die in these just trials.
Once more farewell, my cousin.
PALAMON Farewell, Arcite.
Fight.
Horns within. They stand.
ARCITE
Lo, cousin, lo, our folly has undone us!
PALAMON Why?
ARCITE
This is the Duke, a-hunting, as I told you.
If we be found, we are wretched. O, retire,
For honor’s sake, and safely, presently
Into your bush again. Sir, we shall find
Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin,
If you be seen, you perish instantly
For breaking prison, and I, if you reveal me,
For my contempt. Then all the world will scorn us,
And say we had a noble difference,
But base disposers of it.
PALAMON No, no, cousin,
I will no more be hidden, nor put off
This great adventure to a second trial.
I know your cunning, and I know your cause.
He that faints now, shame take him! Put thyself
Upon thy present guard—

---

ARCITE You are not mad?
PALAMON
Or I will make th’ advantage of this hour
Mine own, and what to come shall threaten me
I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin,
I love Emilia, and in that I’ll bury
Thee and all crosses else.
ARCITE Then come what can come,
Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well
Die as discourse or sleep. Only this fears me:
The law will have the honor of our ends.
Have at thy life!
PALAMON Look to thine own well, Arcite.
Fight again.

Horns. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia,
Pirithous and train.

THESEUS
What ignorant and mad malicious traitors
Are you, that ’gainst the tenor of my laws
Are making battle, thus like knights appointed,
Without my leave and officers of arms?
By Castor, both shall die.
PALAMON Hold thy word, Theseus.
We are certainly both traitors, both despisers
Of thee and of thy goodness. I am Palamon,
That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison.
Think well what that deserves. And this is Arcite.
A bolder traitor never trod thy ground,
A falser ne’er seemed friend. This is the man
Was begged and banished; this is he contemns thee
And what thou dar’st do; and in this disguise,
Against thine own edict, follows thy sister,
That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia,
Whose servant—if there be a right in seeing
And first bequeathing of the soul to—justly

---

I am; and, which is more, dares think her his.
This treachery, like a most trusty lover,
I called him now to answer. If thou be’st
As thou art spoken, great and virtuous,
The true decider of all injuries,
Say “Fight again,” and thou shalt see me, Theseus,
Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy.
Then take my life; I’ll woo thee to ’t.
PIRITHOUS O heaven,
What more than man is this!
THESEUS I have sworn.
ARCITE We seek not
Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. ’Tis to me
A thing as soon to die as thee to say it,
And no more moved. Where this man calls me
traitor,
Let me say thus much: if in love be treason,
In service of so excellent a beauty,
As I love most, and in that faith will perish,
As I have brought my life here to confirm it,
As I have served her truest, worthiest,
As I dare kill this cousin that denies it,
So let me be most traitor, and you please me.
For scorning thy edict, duke, ask that lady
Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me
Stay here to love her; and if she say “traitor,”
I am a villain fit to lie unburied.
PALAMON
Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus,
If unto neither thou show mercy. Stop,
As thou art just, thy noble ear against us;
As thou art valiant, for thy cousin’s soul,
Whose twelve strong labors crown his memory,
Let’s die together at one instant, duke;
Only a little let him fall before me,
That I may tell my soul he shall not have her.

---

THESEUS
I grant your wish, for to say true, your cousin
Has ten times more offended, for I gave him
More mercy than you found, sir, your offenses
Being no more than his.—None here speak for ’em,
For ere the sun set both shall sleep forever.
HIPPOLYTA
Alas, the pity! Now or never, sister,
Speak not to be denied. That face of yours
Will bear the curses else of after ages
For these lost cousins.
EMILIA In my face, dear sister,
I find no anger to ’em, nor no ruin.
The misadventure of their own eyes kill ’em.
Yet that I will be woman and have pity,
My knees shall grow to th’ ground but I’ll get mercy.
She kneels.
Help me, dear sister; in a deed so virtuous,
The powers of all women will be with us.
Hippolyta kneels.
Most royal brother—
HIPPOLYTA Sir, by our tie of marriage—
EMILIA
By your own spotless honor—
HIPPOLYTA By that faith,
That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me—
EMILIA
By that you would have pity in another;
By your own virtues infinite—
HIPPOLYTA By valor;
By all the chaste nights I have ever pleased you—
THESEUS
These are strange conjurings.
PIRITHOUS Nay, then, I’ll in too.
He kneels.

---

By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers;
By all you love most, wars and this sweet lady—
EMILIA
By that you would have trembled to deny
A blushing maid—
HIPPOLYTA By your own eyes; by strength,
In which you swore I went beyond all women,
Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus—
PIRITHOUS
To crown all this: by your most noble soul,
Which cannot want due mercy, I beg first—
HIPPOLYTA
Next hear my prayers—
EMILIA Last let me entreat, sir—
PIRITHOUS
For mercy.
HIPPOLYTA Mercy.
EMILIA Mercy on these princes.
THESEUS
You make my faith reel. ( To Emilia. ) Say I felt
Compassion to ’em both, how would you place it?
They rise from their knees.
EMILIA
Upon their lives, but with their banishments.
THESEUS
You are a right woman, sister: you have pity,
But want the understanding where to use it.
If you desire their lives, invent a way
Safer than banishment. Can these two live,
And have the agony of love about ’em,
And not kill one another? Every day
They’d fight about you, hourly bring your honor
In public question with their swords. Be wise, then,
And here forget ’em; it concerns your credit
And my oath equally. I have said they die.

---

Better they fall by th’ law than one another.
Bow not my honor.
EMILIA O, my noble brother,
That oath was rashly made, and in your anger;
Your reason will not hold it. If such vows
Stand for express will, all the world must perish.
Besides, I have another oath ’gainst yours,
Of more authority, I am sure more love,
Not made in passion neither, but good heed.
THESEUS
What is it, sister?
PIRITHOUS Urge it home, brave lady.
EMILIA
That you would ne’er deny me anything
Fit for my modest suit and your free granting.
I tie you to your word now; if you fail in ’t,
Think how you maim your honor—
For now I am set a-begging, sir, I am deaf
To all but your compassion—how their lives
Might breed the ruin of my name. Opinion!
Shall anything that loves me perish for me?
That were a cruel wisdom. Do men prune
The straight young boughs that blush with thousand
blossoms
Because they may be rotten? O, Duke Theseus,
The goodly mothers that have groaned for these,
And all the longing maids that ever loved,
If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty,
And in their funeral songs for these two cousins
Despise my cruelty, and cry woe worth me,
Till I am nothing but the scorn of women.
For heaven’s sake, save their lives, and banish ’em.
THESEUS
On what conditions?
EMILIA Swear ’em never more
To make me their contention, or to know me,

---

To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be,
Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers
To one another.
PALAMON I’ll be cut a-pieces
Before I take this oath! Forget I love her?
O, all you gods, despise me then! Thy banishment
I not mislike, so we may fairly 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 cousin
On any piece the Earth has.
THESEUS Will you, Arcite,
Take these conditions?
PALAMON He’s a villain, then.
PIRITHOUS These are men!
ARCITE
No, never, duke. ’Tis worse to me than begging
To take my life so basely; though I think
I never shall enjoy her, yet I’ll preserve
The honor of affection, and die for her,
Make death a devil!
THESEUS
What may be done? For now I feel compassion.
PIRITHOUS
Let it not fall again, 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 own eyes, and as noble
As ever fame yet spoke of. Look upon ’em,
And, if you can love, end this difference.
I give consent.—Are you content too, princes?
BOTH
With all our souls.
THESEUS He that she refuses
Must die then.

---

BOTH Any death thou canst invent, duke.
PALAMON
If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favor,
And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.
ARCITE
If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,
And soldiers sing my epitaph.
THESEUS , to Emilia Make choice, then.
EMILIA
I cannot, sir; they are both too excellent.
For me, a hair shall never fall of these men.
HIPPOLYTA
What will become of ’em?
THESEUS Thus I ordain it—
And, by mine honor, once again, it stands,
Or both shall die: you shall both to your country,
And each within this month, accompanied
With three fair knights, appear again in this place,
In which I’ll plant a pyramid; and whether,
Before us that are here, can force his cousin
By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar,
He shall enjoy her; the other lose his head,
And all his friends; nor shall he grudge to fall,
Nor think he dies with interest in this lady.
Will this content you?
PALAMON Yes.—Here, Cousin Arcite,
I am friends again till that hour. He offers his hand.
ARCITE I embrace you.
They shake hands.
THESEUS
Are you content, sister?
EMILIA Yes, I must, sir,
Else both miscarry.
THESEUS , to Palamon and Arcite
Come, shake hands again, then,

---

And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel
Sleep till the hour prefixed, and hold your course.
PALAMON
We dare not fail thee, Theseus.
They shake hands again.
THESEUS Come, I’ll give you
Now usage like to princes and to friends.
When you return, who wins I’ll settle here;
Who loses, yet I’ll weep upon his bier.
They exit.