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Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well
Die, as discourse, or sleep: only this fears me,
The law will have the honour of our ends.
Have at thy life!

Pul. Look to thine own well, Arcite!

[Fight again. Horns.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLITA, EMILIA, PERITHOUS, and train.

Thes. What ignorant and mad malicious trai

tors

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!

Pal. Hold thy word, Theseus!
We're 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 Ar-
cite;

A bolder traitor never trod thy ground,
A falser ne'er seem'd friend: this is the man
Was begg'd and banish'd; this is he contemns

thee,

And what thou dar'st do; and in this disguise,
Against this known 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 call'd him now to answer: If thou be'st,
As thou art spoken, great and virtuous,
The true decider of all injuries,

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Say, Fight again!' and thou shalt see me, The

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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.

Pal. Thou shalt have pity of us both, oh,
Theseus,

If unto neither thou shew mercy; stop,
As thou art just, thy noble ear against us;
As thou art valiant, for thy cousin's soul,
Whose twelve strong labours crown his memory,
Let's die together, at one instant, duke!

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Has ten times more offended, for I gave him More mercy than you found, sir, your offences Being no more than his. None here speak for 'em!

For ere the sun set, both shall sleep for ever.

Hip. 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!

Emi. In my face, dear sister,

I find no anger to 'em, nor no ruin;
The misadventure of their own eyes kills 'em :
Yet that I will be woman, and have pity,

My knees shall grow to the ground but I'll get

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Hip. By valour,

By all the chaste nights I have ever pleas'd you— Thes. These are strange conjurings!

Per. Nay, then I'll in too:

By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers,
By all you love most, wars, and this sweet lady-
Emi. By that you would have trembled to deny,
A blushing maid-

Hip. By your own eyes, by strength,

In which you swore I went beyond all women, Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus

Per. To crown all this, by your most noble

soul,

Which cannot want due mercy! I beg first. Hip. Next, hear my prayers!

Emi. Last, let me entreat, sir!

Per. For mercy!

Hip. Mercy!

Emi. Mercy on these princes!

Thes. You make my faith reel: Say I felt Compassion to 'em both, how would you place it? Emi. Upon their lives; but with their banish

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Bow not my honour.

Emi. Oh, 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.
Beside, I have another oath 'gainst yours,
Of more authority, I'm sure more love;
Not made in passion neither, but good heed.
Thes. What is it, sister?

Per. Urge it home, brave lady!

Emi. That you would ne'er deny me any thing
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 honour;
(For now I'm set a-begging, sir, I'm deaf
To all but your compassion!) how their lives
Might breed the ruin of my name, opinion!
Shall any thing that loves me perish for me?
That were a cruel wisdom! do men prune
The straight young boughs that blush with thou-
sand blossoms,

Because they may be rotten? Oh, duke Theseus,
The goodly mothers that have groan'd for these,
And all the longing maids that ever lov'd,
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!
Thes. On what conditions?

Emi. 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.

Pal. I'll be cut a-pieces

Before I take this oath! Forget I love her?
Oh, all ye gods, despise me then! Thy banish-

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Make death a devil!

Thes. What may be done? for now I feel com-
passion.

Per. Let it not fall again, sir!
Thes. Say, Emilia,

If one of them were dead, as one must, are you
Content to take the 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.

Thes. He, that she refuses,

Must die then.

Both. Any death thou canst invent, duke.
Pal. If I fall from that mouth, I fall with fa-

vour,

And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.
Arc. If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed

me,

And soldiers sing my epitaph.

Thes. Make choice then!

Emi. I cannot, sir; they're both too excellent: For me, a hair shall never fall of these men. Hip. What will become of 'em?

Thes. Thus I ordain it;

And, by mine honour, 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 ye?

Pal. Yes. Here, cousin Arcite,
I'm friends again 'till that hour.
Arc. I embrace you.

Thes. Are you content, sister?
Emi. Yes: I must, sir;

Else both miscarry.

Thes. Come, shake hands again then;
And take heed, as you're gentlemen, this quarrel
Sleep 'till the hour prefix'd, and hold your course!
Pal. We dare not fail thee, Theseus.
Thes. Come, I'll give ye

Now usage like to princes, and to friends.
When ye return, who wins, I'll settle here;
Who loses, yet I'll weep upon his bier. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Concerning the escape of Palamon? Good sir, remember!

1 Friend. Nothing that I heard; For I came home before the business

Jailor. Hear you no more? Was nothing said Was fully ended: Yet I might perceive,

of me

Ere I departed, a great likelihood

Of both their pardons; for Hippolita,
And fair-ey'd Emily, upon their knees
Begg'd with such handsome pity, that the duke
Methought stood staggering whether he should
follow

His rash oath, or the sweet compassion
Of those two ladies; and to second them,

That truly noble prince Perithous,

Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope

All shall be well: Neither heard I one question Of your name, or his 'scape.

Enter Second Friend.

Jailor. Pray Heav'n, it hold so!

Wooer. No, sir; not well: 'Tis too true, she is mad.

1 Friend. It cannot be.
Wooer. Believe, you'll find it so.
Jailor. I half suspected

What you have told me; the gods comfort her!
Either this was her love to Palamon,

Or fear of my miscarrying on his 'scape,
Or both.

Wooer. 'Tis likely.

Jailor. But why all this haste, sir?

Wooer. I'll tell you quickly. As I late was angling

In the great lake that lies behind the palace,

2 Friend. Be of good comfort, man! I bring From the far shore, thick set with reeds and

you news,

Good news.

Jailor. They're welcome.

2 Friend. Palamon has clear'd you,
And got your pardon, and discover'd how
And by whose means he 'scap'd, which was your
Daughter's,

Whose pardon is procur'd too; and the prisoner
(Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness)
Has given a sum of money to her marriage,
A large one, I'll assure you.

Jailor. You're a good man,

And ever bring good news.

1 Friend. How was it ended?

2 Friend. Why, as it should be; they that never begg'd

But they prevail'd, had their suits fairly granted. The prisoners have their lives.

1 Friend. I knew 'twould be so.

2 Friend. But there be new conditions, which you'll hear of

At better time.

Jailor. I hope they're good.

2 Friend. They're honourable;

How good they'll prove, I know not.

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Ever was, Palamon, fair Palamon!'

And Palamon was a tall young man!' The

place

Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless

tresses,

A wreath of bull-rush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand fresh-water flowers of several colours;
That methought she appear'd like the fair nymph
That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropt down from heaven! Rings she made
Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
The prettiest posies; Thus our true love's tied;'
This you may loose, not me;' and many a one :
And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed,
And with the same breath smiled, and kist her
hand.

2 Friend. Alas, what pity 'tis ! Wooer. I made in to her;

I'll warrant you, he had not so few last night
As twenty to dispatch; he'll tickle't up

She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I In two hours, if his hand be in.

sav'd her,

And set her safe to land; when presently

She slipt away, and to the city made,

With such a cry, and swiftness, that believe me
She left me far behind her: Three, or four,
I saw from far off cross her, one of 'em

I knew to be your brother; where she stay'd, And fell, scarce to be got away; I left them with her,

Enter Brother, Daughter, and others.
And hither came to tell you. Here they are.
Daugh. May you never more enjoy the light, &c.
Is not this a fine song?

Brother. Oh, a very fine one!
Daugh. I can sing twenty more.
Brother. I think you can.

Daugh. Yes, truly can I; I can sing the Broom, And Bonny Robin. Are not you a tailor? Brother. Yes.

Daugh. Where's my wedding-gown?
Brother. I'll bring it to-morrow.

Daugh. Do, very early; I must be abroad else,
To call the maids, and pay the minstrels;
For I must lose my maidenhead by cock-light;
Twill never thrive else.

Oh, fair, oh, sweet, &c.

[Sings.

Brother. You must ev'n take it patiently.
Jailor. 'Tis true.

Daugh. Good e'en, good men! Pray did you ever hear

Of one young Palamon?

Jailor. Yes, wench, we know him.

Daugh. Is't not a fine young gentleman ?
Juilor. 'Tis love!

Brother. By no means cross her; she is then distemper'd

Far worse than now she shews.

1 Friend. Yes, he's a fine man.
Daugh. Oh, is he so? You have a sister?
1 Friend. Yes.

Daugh. But she shall never have him, tell her

So,

For a trick that I know: You had best look to her,

For if she see him once, she's gone; she's done, And undone in an hour. All the young maids Of our town are in love with him; but I laugh at 'em,

And let 'em all alone; is't not a wise course? 1 Friend. Yes.

Daugh. There is at least two hundred now
with child by him,

There must be four; yet I keep close for all this,
Close as a cockle; and all these must be boys,
He has the trick on't; and at ten years old
They must be all gelt for musicians,
And sing the Wars of Theseus.

2 Friend. This is strange.

Daugh. As ever you heard; but say nothing. 1 Friend. No.

Daugh. They come from all parts of the dukedom to him:

Jailor. She's lost,

Past all cure!

Brother. Heav'n forbid, man!
Daugh. Come hither; you're a wise man.
1 Friend. Does she know him?
2 Friend. No; 'would she did!
Daugh. You're master of a ship?
Jailor. Yes.

Daugh. Where's your compass?
Jailor. Here.

Daugh. Set it to th' north;

And now direct your course to th' wood, where Palamon

Lies longing for me; for the tackling

Let me alone: Come, weigh my hearts, cheerly!
All. Owgh, owgh, owgh! 'tis up, the wind is fair,
Top the bowling; out with the main-sail !
Where is your whistle, master?

Brother. Let's get her in.
Jailor. Up to the top, boy.
Brother. Where's the pilot?
1 Friend. Here.

Daugh. What ken'st thou?
2 Friend. A fair wood.

Daugh. Bear for it, master; tack about. [Sings.

When Cinthia with her borrow'd light, &c.

SCENE II.

Enter EMILIA with two pictures.

[Exeunt.

Emi. Yet I may bind those wounds up, that

must open

And bleed to death for my sake else: I'll chuse, And end their strife; two such young handsome

men

Shall never fall for me: Their weeping mothers,
Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons,
Shall never curse my cruelty. Good Heaven,
What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise Nature,
With all her best endowments, all those beauties
She sows into the births of noble bodies,
Were here a mortal woman, and had in her
The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless
She would run mad for this man: What an eye!
Of what a fiery sparkle, and quick sweetness,
Has this young prince! here Love himself sits
smiling;

Just such another wanton Ganimede
Set Jove afire with, and enforc'd 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,
Arched like the great-eyed Juno's, but far

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Is but his foil; to him, a mere dull shadow;
He's swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy
As if he'd lost his mother; a still
temper,
No stirring in him, no alacrity;

Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile.

Yet these that we count errors, may become him:

Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.
Oh, who can find the bent of woman's fancy?
I am a fool, my reason is lost in me!
I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly
That women ought to beat me. On my knees
I ask thy pardon, Palamon' Thou art alone,
And only beautiful; and these thy eyes,
These the bright lamps of beauty, that command
And threaten love, and what young maid dare
cross 'em?

What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,

Has this brown manly face! Oh, Love, this only
From this hour is complexion; lie there, Arcite!
Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gipsy,
And this the noble body-I am sotted,
Utterly lost! my virgin's 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, ask me, bro-
ther;

Alas, I know not! ask me, now, sweet sister;
look! What a mere child is fancy,
I may go
That having two fair gawds of equal sweetness,
Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!
Enter a Gentleman.

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Emi. 'Would I might end first! What sins have I committed, chaste Diana, That my unspotted youth must now be soil'd With blood of princes? and my chastity 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 beauty!

Mess. From the knights. Thes. Pray speak,

You that have seen them, what they are.
Mess. I will, sir,

And truly what I think: Six braver spirits
Than these they've 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 looks so say him); his complexion Nearer a brown, than black; stern, and yet noble,

Which shews him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers;

The circles of his eyes shew far within him,
And as a heated lion, so he looks;

His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining

Like raven's wings; his shoulders broad, and
strong;

Arms long and round; and on his thigh a sword
Hung by a curious baldrick, when he frowns
To seal his will with; better, o' my conscience,
Was never soldier's friend.

Thes. Th' hast well described him.

Per. Yet a great deal short,

Methinks, of him that's first with Palamon.
Thes. Pray speak him, friend.

Per. I he is a prince too,
guess

And, if it may be, greater; for his show
Has all the ornament of honour in't.

He's somewhat bigger than 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 own; in's face appears All the fair hopes of what he undertakes; And when he's angry, then a settled valour (Not tainted with extremes) runs through his body,

And guides his arm to brave things; fear he

cannot,

He shews no such soft temper; his head's yellow, Hard-hair'd, and curl'd, thick twin'd, like ivy tops,

Not to undo with thunder; in his face
The livery of the warlike maid appears,

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLITA, PERITHOUS, and Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blest

attendants.

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him;

And in his rolling eyes sits Victory,
As if she ever meant to crown his valour;
His nose stands high, a character of honour,
His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies.
Emi. Must these men die too?
Per. When he speaks, his tongue
Sounds like a trumpet; all his lineaments
Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and clean;
He wears a well-steel'd axe, the staff of gold;
His age some five and twenty.

Mess. There's another,

A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming As great as any; fairer promises

In such a body yet I never look'd on.

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