Which, though he won, he had not; and now flurted
By peace, for whom he fought! Who then shall offer
To Mars' 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.
Arc. 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' unconsider'd soldier?
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 honours, It is for our residing; where every evil Hath a good colour; where every seeming good's A certain evil; where not to be even jump As they are, here were to be strangers, and Such things to be mere monsters.
Pal. It is 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 follow'd make pursuit? Or let me know, Why mine own barber is unbless'd, with him My poor chin too, for 'tis not scissar'd just To such a favourite's glass? What canon is there That does command my rapier from my hip, To dangle't in my hand, or to go tip-toe Before the street be foul? Either I am The fore-horse in the team, or I am none That draw i'the sequent trace. These poor slight
Deadly defiance to him, and pronounces Ruin to Thebes; who is at hand to seal The promise of his wrath.
Arc. 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 dregg'd with mind assured 'Tis bad he goes about?
Pal. Leave that unreason'd:
Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon. Yet, to be neutral to him, were dishonour, Rebellious to oppose; therefore we must With him stand to the mercy of our fate, Who hath bounded our last minute.
Is't said this war's afoot? or it shall be, On fail of some condition?
Vul. 'Tis in motion;
Excess and overflow of power, an't might be, To cure ill-dealing fortune. Speed to him! Store never hurts good governors.
His ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they Must yield their tribute there. My precious maid, Those best affections that the heav'ns infuse In their best-temper'd pieces, keep enthroned In your dear heart!
Emi. 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.
We have been soldiers, and we cannot weep When our friends don their helms, or put to sea, Or tell of babes broach'd on the lance, or women That have sod their infants in (and after eat them) The brine they wept at killing 'em: Then if You stay to see of us such spinsters, we Should hold you here for ever.
Per. Peace be to you,
As I pursue this war! which shall be then Beyond further requiring.
Emi. How his longing
Follows his friend! Since his depart, his sports, Though craving seriousness and skill, past slightly His careless execution, where nor gain Made him regard, or loss consider; but Playing o'er 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?
Hip. With much labour,
And I did love him for't. They two have cabin'd In many as dangerous, as poor a corner, Peril and want contending, they have skift Torrents, whose roaring tyranny and power I' th' least of these was dreadful; and they have Fought out together, where death's self was lodg'd, 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 out-worn, 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. Emi. 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 enjoy'd a playfellow; You were at wars when she the grave enrich'd, Who made too proud the bed, took leave o' the
(Which then look'd pale at parting) when our
Was each eleven.
Hip. 'Twas Flavina.
Emi. Yes.
You talk of Perithous' and Theseus' love:
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, condemn'd, No more arraignment; the flower that I would pluck
And put between my breasts, (oh, 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 happily her careless wear) I follow'd For my most serious decking; had mine ear Stolen some new air, or at adventure humm❜d 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 surely innocence 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 dividual.
Hip. 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 call'd man.
Emi. I am sure I shall not.
Hip. 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 loaths 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 Perithous, possess The high throne in his heart.
Against your faith; yet I continue mine. [Exeunt.
A Battle struck within; then a Retreat; flourish. Then enter THESEUS (victor;) the three Queens meet him, and fall on their faces before him. 1 Queen. To thee no star be dark! 2 Queen. Both heav'n and earth 'Friend thee for ever!
3 Queen. All the good that may
Be wish'd upon thy head, I cry amen to't! Thes. Th' impartial gods, who from the mounted heav'ns
View us their mortal herd, behold who err, And in their time chastise. Go, and find out The bones of your dead lords, and honour 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 ev’n each thing Our haste does leave imperfect: So adieu, And heaven's good eyes look on you!-What are those? [Exeunt Queens. Herald. Men of great quality, as may be judged By their appointment; some of Thebes have told's They're sister's children, nephews to the king. Thes. By th' helm of Mars, I saw them in the
Like to a pair of lions, succour'd with prey, Make lanes in troops aghast: I fix'd 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. With leave, they're called
Arcite and Palamon.
Thes. '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 recover'd; yet they breathe, And have the name of men.
Thes. 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
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,
Loves' provocations, zeal, a mistress' task, Desire of liberty, a fever, madness, Sickness in will, or wrestling strength in reason; 'Thath set a mark which nature could not reach to Without some imposition. For our love, And great Apollo's mercy, all our best Their best skill tender! Lead into the city: Where having bound things scatter'd, we will post [Exeunt.
To Athens 'fore our army.
Enter the Queens with the hearses of their Knights, in a funeral solemnity, &c.
Urns and odours bring away, Vapours, sighs, darken the day! Our dole more deadly looks than dying! Balms, and gums, and heavy cheers, Sacred vials fill'd with tears,
And clamours, through the wild air flying: Come, all sad and solemn shows, That are quick-eyed pleasure's foes! We convent nought else but woes.
3 Queen. This funeral path brings to your household graves:
Joy seize on you again! Peace sleep with him! 2 Queen. And this to yours!
1 Queen. Yours this way! Heavens lend A thousand different ways to one sure end.
3 Queen. This world's a city full of straying streets;
And death's the market-place, where each one [Exeunt severally.
Enter Jailor and Wooer.
Jailor. 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 o' 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 deliver❜d to be! Marry, what I have (be't what it will) I will assure Upon my daughter at the day o' my death.
Wooer. Sir, I demand no more than your own offer;
And I'll estate your daughter, in what I Have promised.
Jailor. Well, we'll talk more of this, When the solemnity is past. But have you
A full promise of her? When that shall be seen, Enter Daughter.
I tender my consent.
Wooer. I have, sir. Here she comes.
Jailor. Your friend and I have chanced to name
On the old business: But no more o' that now. So soon as the court-hurry is o'er, we'll have An end of't: I' the mean time, look tenderly To the two prisoners: I can tell you they're princes.
Daugh. These strewings are for their chamber. It is 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 them; and they have all the world in their chamber.
Jailor. They're famed to be a pair of absolute
Daugh. By my troth, I think fame but stam- mers 'em ;
They stand a grief above the reach of report. Jailor. I heard them reported, in the battle To be the only doers.
Daugh. Nay, most likely;
For they are noble sufferers. I marvel How they'd have look'd, 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. Jailor. Do they so? Daugh. It seems to me, They've 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, some time, a divided sigh, martyr'd As 'twere in the deliverance, will break From one of them; when th' 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 ne'er saw 'em.
And, as an east wind, leave them all behind us Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite, Ev'n in the wagging of a wanton leg, Out-stript the people's praises, won the garlands, Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. Oh, never Shall we two exercise, like twins of honour, 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) Ravish'd 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 light- ning,
To blast whole armies, more.
Arc. 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, arm'd 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,
Jailor. The duke himself came privately in the And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune, night.
Enter PALAMON and ARCITE above. And so did they; what the reason of it is, I Know not.-Look, yonder they are! that is Arcite looks out.
Daugh. No, sir, no; that's Palamon: Arcite's the lower of the twain; you may Perceive a part of him.
Jailor. Go to, leave your pointing! They'd not make us their object: Out of their sight!
Daugh. It is a holiday to look on them. Lord, the difference of men!
Enter PALAMON and ARCITE, in Prison. Pal. How do you, noble cousin?
Arc. How do you, sir?
Pal, Why, strong enough to laugh at misery, And bear the chance of war yet. We are pri
I fear for ever, cousin
Arc. I believe it;
And to that destiny have patiently
Laid up my hour to come.
Pal. Oh, cousin Arcite,
Where is Thebes now? where is our noble country?
Where are our friends, and kindreds? Never
Must we behold those comforts; never see The hardy youths strive for the games of honour, Hung with the painted favours of their ladies, Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst 'em,
Till she for shame see what a wrong sh' 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!
Pal. 'Tis too true, Arcite! To our Theban
Pal. How, gentle cousin?...
Arc. Let's think this prison a holy sanctuary, To keep us from corruption of worse men. We're young, and yet desire the ways of honour; That, liberty and common conversation, The poison of pure spirits, might, like women, Wooe us to wander from. What worthy blessing
Can be, but our imaginations
Emi. Or were they all hard-hearted?- Serv. They could not be to one so fair. Emi. Thou wouldst not?
Serv. I think I should not, madam. Emi. That's a good wench!
May make it ours? and here being thus toge- But take heed to your kindness, though!
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.
Pal. You have made me
(I thank you, cousin Arcite,) almost wanton With my captivity: What a misery It is to live abroad, and every where! 'Tis like a beast, methinks. I find the court here, I'm sure a more content; and all those pleasures That wooe 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?
Arc, I would hear you still.
Pal. You shall.
Serv. Why, madam?
Emi. Men are mad things.
Arc. Will you go forward, cousin?
Emi. Canst not thou work such flowers in silk, wench?
Emi. I'll have a gown full of 'em; and of these;
This is a pretty colour: Will't not do Rarely upon a skirt, wench? Serv. Dainty, madam.
Arc. Cousin! Cousin! How do you, sir? Why Palamon!
Pal. Never 'till now I was in prison, Arcite. Arc. Why, what's the matter, man? Pal. Behold, and wonder! By heav'n, she is a goddess! Arc. Ha!
Pal. Do reverence! She is a goddess, Arcite! Emi. Of all flowers, Methinks a rose is best.
Serv. Why, gentle madam?
Emi. 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.
Serv. Yet, good madam, Sometimes her modesty will blow so far, She falls for it: A maid,
If she have any honour, would be loth To take example by her.
Emi. Thou art wanton.
Arc. She's wondrous fair!
Pal. She's all the beauty extant!
Emi. The sun grows high; let's walk in! Keep
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