Part 22

_Isme._ Sir, for you we come, as Soldiers to revenge the wrongs you have suffer'd under this naughty creature: what shall be done with her? say, I am ready.

_Leu._ Leave her to Heaven, brave Cosin, they shall tell her how she has sinn'd against 'em, my hand shall never be stain'd with such base bloud: live wicked Mother: that reverend Title be your pardon, for I will use no extremity against you, but leave you to Heaven.

_Bacha._ Hell take you all, or if there be a place Of torment that exceeds that, get you thither: And till the devils have you, may your lives Be one continued plague, and such a one, That knows no friends nor ending. May all ages that shall succeed, curse you as I do: And if it be possible, I ask it heaven, That your base issues may be ever Monsters, That must for shame of nature and succession, Be drown'd like dogs. Would I had breath to [poyson] you.

_Leu._ Would you had love within you, and such grief As might become a Mother: look you there, Know you that face? that was _Urania_: These are the fruits of those unhappy Mothers, That labour with such horrid births as you do: If you can weep, there's cause; poor innocent, Your wickedness has kill'd her: I'll weep for you.

_Isme._ Monstrous woman, _Mars_ would weep at this, and yet she cannot.

_Leu._ Here lies your Minion too, slain by my hand, I will not say you are the cause: yet certain, I know you were [to] blame, the gods forgive you.

_Isme._ See, she stands as if she were inventing Some new destruction for the world.

_Leu. Ismenus_, thou art welcome yet to my sad company.

_Isme._ I come to make you somewhat sadder, Sir.

_Leu._ You cannot, I am at the height already.

_Isme._ Your Fathers dead.

_Leu._ I thought so, Heaven be with him: Oh woman, woman, weep now or never, thou hast made more sorrows than we have eyes to utter.

_Bac._ Now let Heaven fall, I am at the worst of evils, a thing so miserably wretched, that every thing, the last of humane comforts hath left me: I will not be so base and cold, to live and wait the mercies of these men I hate, no, 'tis just I die, since fortune hath left me, my step discent attends me: hand, strike thou home, I have soul enough to guide; and let all know, as I stood a Queen, the same I'll fall, and one with me. [_She stabs the Prince with a knife._

_Leu._ Ho.

_Isme._ How do you, Sir?

_Leu._ Nearer my health, than I think any here, my tongue begins to faulter: what is man? or who would be one, when he sees a poor weak woman can in an instant make him none.

_Dor._ She is dead already.

_Isme._ Let her be damn'd already as she is: post all for Surgeons.

_Leu._ Let not a man stirr, for I am but dead: I have some few words which I would have you hear, And am afraid I shall want breath to speak 'em: First to you my Lords, you know _Ismenus_ is Undoubtedly Heir of _Lycia_, I do beseech you all, When I am dead, to shew your duties to him.

_Lords._ We vow to do't.

_Leu._ I thank you. Next to you Cosin _Ismenus_, that shall be the Duke, I pray you let the broken Image of _Cupid_ Be re-edified, I know all this is done by him.

_Isme._ It shall be so.

_Leu._ Last, I beseech you that my Mother-in-law may have a burial according to-- [_Dies._

_Isme._ To what, Sir?

_Dor._ There is a full point.

_Isme._ I will interpret for him; she shall have burial according to her own deserts, with dogs.

_Dor._ I would your Majesty would haste for setling of the people.

_Isme._ I am ready.

_Age._ Goe, and let the Trumpets sound Some mournful thing, whilst we convey the body Of this unhappy Prince unto the Court, And of that virtuous Virgin to a Grave: But drag her to a ditch, where let her lie, Accurst, whilst one man has a memory. [_Exeunt._

Cupid's _Speech_.

_The time now of my Revenge draws near._ _Nor shall it lessen as I am a god,_ _With all the cries and prayers that have been;_ _And those that be to come, though they be infinite,_ _In need and number._

The Two Noble Kinsmen.

The Persons represented in the Play.

Hymen, Theseus, Hippolita, } Emelia, }_Sisters to_ Theseus Nymphs, Three Queens, Three valiant Knights, Palamon, } _'The two Noble Kinsmen, in_ Arcite, } _love with fair_ Emelia. Perithous, Jaylor, His Daughter, _in love with_ Palamon, Countrey-men, Wenches, A Taborer, Gerrold, _A Schoolmaster_.

PROLOGUE.

Florish.

_New Plays and Maiden-heads are near a-kin,_ _Much follow'd both; for both much money gi'n,_ _If they stand sound, and well: And a good Play_ _(Whose modest Scenes blush on his marriage day,_ _And shake to loose his honour) is like hir_ _That after holy Tie, and first nights stir_ _Yet still is Modesty, and still retains_ _More of the Maid to sight, than Husbands pains;_ _We pray our Play may be so; for I'm sure_ _It has a noble breeder, and a pure,_ _A Learned, and a Poet never went_ _More famous yet 'twixt_ Po, _and silver_ Trent. Chaucer (_of all admir'd_) _the Story gives,_ _There constant to eternity it lives:_ _If we let fall the Nobleness of this,_ _And the first sound this Child hear, be a hiss,_ _How will it shake the bones of that good man_ _And make him cry from under-ground. Oh fan_ _From me the witless chaff of such a writer_ _That blasts my Bayes, and my fam'd Works makes lighter_ _Than_ Robin Hood, _this is the fear we bring_ _For to say Truth, it were an endless thing:_ _And too ambitious to aspire to him;_ _Weak as we are, and almost breathless swim_ _In this deep water. Do but you hold out_ _Your helping hands, and we shall tack about,_ _And something do to save us: You shall hear_ _Scænes, though below his Art, may yet appear_ _Worth two hours travel. To his bones sweet sleep:_ _Content to you. If this Play do not keep,_ _A little dull time from us, we perceive_ _Our losses fall so thick, we must needs leave._ Florish.

_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._

_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_ Hippolita _the Bride_ _lead by_ Theseus, _and another holding a Garland over her_ _head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After her_ Emilia _holding_ _up her Train_.

The SONG. Musick.

_Roses their sharp spines being gone,_ _Not royal in their smells alone,_ _But in their hew,_ _Maiden-Pinks, of odour faint,_ _Daizies smell-less, yet most quaint_ _And sweet Time true._

_Primrose first born, child of Ver,_ _Merry Spring time's Harbinger,_ _With her bels dimm._ _Oxlips in their Cradles growing,_ _Marigolds on death-beds blowing,_ _Larks-heels trim._ _All dear natures children sweet,_ _Lie fore Bride and Bridegrooms feet,_ [Strew Flowers. _Blessing their sence._ _Not an Angel of the Air,_ _Bird melodious, or Bird fair,_ _Is absent hence._

_The Crow, the slanderous Cuckooe, nor_ _The boading Raven, nor Clough h[ee]_ _Nor chatt'ring Pie,_ _May on our Bridehouse pearch or sing,_ _Or with them any discord bring_ _But from it fly._

_Enter three Queens in Black, with vails stain'd, with Imperial_ _Crowns. The first Queen falls down at the foot of_ Theseus; _The second fals down at the foot of_ Hippolita. _The third_ _before_ Emilia.

_1 Qu._ For pities sake, and true gentilities, Hear and respect me.

_2 Qu._ For your Mothers sake. And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones, Hear and respect me.

_3 Qu._ Now for the love of him whom _Jove_ hath mark'd 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.

_Thes._ Sad Lady rise.

_Hip._ Stand up.

_Emil._ No knees to me. What Woman I may steed that is distrest, Does bind me to her.

_Thes._ What's your request? Deliver you for all?

_1 Qu._ We are three Queens, whose Sovereigns fell before The wrath of cruel _Creon_; who endur'd The Beaks of Ravens, Tallents of the Kites, And pecks of Crows in the foul field[s] of _Thebs_. He will not suffer us to burn their bones, To urne their ashes, nor to take th' offence Of mortal loathsomness from the blest eye Of holy _Phoebus_, but infects the winds With stench of our slain Lords. Oh pity Duke, Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear'd Sword That does good turns to th' world; give us the Bones Of our dead Kings, that we may Chappel them; And of thy boundless goodness take some note That for our crowned heads we have no roof; Save this which is the Lions and the Bears, And vault to every thing.

_Thes._ Pray you kneel not, I was transported with your Speech, and suffer'd 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 not thrash'd, 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 Nenuan hide And swore his sinews thaw'd: Oh grief, and time, Fearful consumers, you will all devour.

_1 Qu._ Oh I hope some God, Some God hath put his mercy in your manhood Whereto he'll infuse power, and press you forth Our undertaker.

_Thes._ Oh no knees, none Widow, Unto the Helmeted-_Belona_ use them, And pray for me your Soldier. Troubl'd I am. [_Turns away._

_2 Qu._ Honoured _Hippolita_ Most dreaded _Amazonian_, that hast slain The Sith-tusk'd-Bore; that with thy Arm as strong As it is white, was't near to make the male To thy Sex captive; but that this thy Lord Born to uphold Creation, in that honor First nature stil'd it in, shrunk thee into The bound thou wast o'er-flowing; at once subduing Thy force, and thy affection: Soldieress That equally canst poize 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 the 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 womans key: like such a woman As any of us three; weep e'r you fail; lend us a knee; But touch the ground for us no longer time Than a Doves motion, when the head's pluckt off: Tell him if he i'th' blood-ciz'd field, lay swoln Shewing the Sun his Teeth, grinning at the Moon What you would do.

_Hip._ Poor Lady say no more: I had as leif trace this good action with you As that whereto I'm 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.

_3 Qu._ Oh my petition was, [_Kneel to_ Emilia. Set down in Ice, which by hot grief uncandied Melts into drops, so sorrow wanting form Is prest with deeper matter.

_Emil._ Pray stand up, Your grief is written in your cheek.

_3 Qu._ Oh woe, You cannot read it there; there through my tears, Like wrinkl'd pebbles in a Glass 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. Oh pardon me; Extremity that sharpens sundry wits Makes me a fool.

_Emil._ 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 ground-piece of some Painter, I would buy you T'instruct me 'gainst a capital grief indeed Such heart-pierc'd 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 Brothers heart, and warm it to some pity Though it were made of stone: pray have good comfort:

_Thes._ Forward to th' Temple, leave not out a jot O' th' sacred ceremony.

_1 Qu._ Oh this celebration Will long last, and be more costly than Your Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame Knowls in the ear o'th' world: what you do quickly, Is not done rashly; your first thought is more, Than others laboured meditance: your premeditating More than their actions: But oh _Jove_, your actions, Soon as they move, as Asprays do the fish, Subdue before they touch: think, dear Duke think What beds our slain Kings have.

_2 Qu._ What griefs our beds That our dear Lords have none.

_3 Qu._ None fit for th' dead: Those that with Cords, Knives, Drams precipitance, Weary of this worlds light, have to themselves Been deaths most horrid Agents, humane grace Affords them dust and shadow.

_1 Qu._ But our Lords Lie blist'ring 'fore the visitating Sun, And were good Kings, when living.

_Thes._ 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_.

_1 Qu._ And that work presents it self to th' doing: Now 'twill take form, the heats are gone to morrow, Then bootless toil must recompence it self, With its own sweat; Now he's secure, Not dre[a]ms, we stand before your puissance Wrinching our holy begging in our eyes To make petition clear.

_2 Qu._ Now you may take him, Drunk with his victory.

_3 Qu._ And his Army full Of Bread, and sloth.

_Thes. Artesis_ that best knowest How to draw out, fit to this enterprize, 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.

_1 Qu._ Dowagers, take hands Let us be Widows to our woes, delay Commends us to a famishing hope.

_All._ Farewell.

_2 Qu._ We come unseasonably: But when could grief Cull forth as unpanged judgement can, fit'st time For best solicitation.

_Thes._ 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.

_1 Qu._ The more proclaiming Our suit shall be neglected, when her Arms, Able to lock _Jove_ from a Synod, shall By warranting Moon-light corslet thee, oh when Her twining Cherries shall their sweetness fall Upon thy tastful Lips, what wilt thou think Of rotten Kings, or blubber'd Queens, what care For what thou feel'st not? what thou feel'st being able To make _Mars_ spurn his Drom. Oh 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 too.

_Hip._ 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. Therefore Sir As I shall here make trial of my Prayers, Either presuming them to have some force, Or sentencing for ay 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._ Oh help now Our Cause cries for your knee.

_Emil._ 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 any thing, nor be so hardy Ever to take a Husband.

_Thes._ Pray stand up. I am intreating of my self to do That which you kneel to have me; _Pyrithous_ Lead on the Bride; get you and pray the gods For success, and return; omit not any thing In the pretended Celebration; Queens Follow your Soldier (as before) hence you And at the banks of _Anly_ meet us with The forces you can raise, where we shall find The moiety of a number, for a business, More bigger look't; since that our Theme is haste I stamp this kiss uppon thy currant Lip, Sweet keep it as my token; set you forward For I will see you gone. [_Exeunt towards the Temple._ Farewel my beauteous Sister; _Pyrithous_ Keep the Feast full, bate not an hour on't.

_Pyri._ Sir, I'll follow you at heels; The Feasts solemnity Shall want till your return.

_Thes._ Cosin I charge you Budge not from _Athens_; we shall be returning E'r you can end this Feast; of which I pray you Make no abatement; once more farewel all.

_1 Qu._ Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o'th' world.

_[2] Qu._ And earnst a Deity equal with _Mars_.

_3 Qu._ 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.

_Thes._ As we are men Thus should we doe, being sensually subdu'd We loose our humane Title; good cheer Ladies. _Florish._ Now turn we towards our Comforts. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Palamon, _and_ Arcite.

_Arcite._ Dear _Palamon_, dearer in Love than Blood And our prime Cosin, yet unhard'ned in The Crimes of nature; Let us leave the City _Thebs_, 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, 't would bring us to an Eddy Where we should turn or drown; if labour through, Our gain but life, and weakness.

_Pal._ Your advice Is cry'd up with example; what strange ruins Since first we went to School, may we perceive Walking in _Thebs_! Skars, 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 flurted By peace, for whom he fought, who then shall offer To _Mars's_ so scorn'd Altar? I doe bleed When such I meet, and wish great _Juno_ would Resume her antient fit of _jealousie_ 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 crancks and turns of _Thebs_? you did begin As if you met decaies of many kinds: Perceive you none, that do arouse your pity But th' unconsider'd Soldier?

_Pal._ Yes, I pity Decaies where-e'er I find them, but such most That sweating in an honourable 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 _Thebs_, I spake of _Thebs_ How dangerous if we will keep our honors, It is for our residing, where every evil Hath a good colour; where ev'ry seeming good's A certain evil, where not to be ev'n jump As they are, here were to be strangers, and Such things to be meer Monsters.

_Pal._ 'Tis in our power, (Unless we fear that Apes can Tutor's) to Be Masters of our manners: what need I Affect anothers gate, which is not catching Where there is faith, or to be fond upon Anothers way of speech, when by mine own I may be reasonably conceiv'd; sav'd too, Speaking it truly; why am I bound By any generous bond to follow him Follows his Taylor, haply so long, until The follow'd, make pursuit? or let me know, Why mine own Barber is unblest, with him My poor Chinn too, for 'tis not Cizard just To such a Favorites glass: What Cannon is there That does command my Rapier from my hip To dangle't in my hand, or to goe tip toe Before the street be foul? either I am The fore-horse in the Team, or I am none That draw i' th' sequent trace: these poor slight sores, Need not a Plantain; That which [r]ips my bosome Almost to th' heart's.

_Arcite._ Our Uncle _Creon_.

_Pal._ He, A most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes Makes Heaven unfear'd, and villany assured Beyond its power: there's nothing, almost puts Faith in a Feavor, 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 on; That fears not to [do] harm; good, dares not; Let The bloud of mine that's sibbe to him, be suckt From me with Leeches, let them break and fall Off me with that corruption.

_Arc._ Clear spirited Cosin 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.

_Pal._ Nothing truer: I think the ecchoes of his shames have deaf't The ears of heav'nly Justice: widdows cries Descend again into their throats, and have not Due audience of the gods: _Valerius_.

_Enter_ Valerius.

_Val._ The King calls for you; yet be leaden-footed Till his great rage be off him. _Phebus_ when He broke his whipstock, and exclaim'd against The Horses of the Sun, but whisper'd to The loudness of his fury.

_Pal._ Small winds shake him, But what's the matter?

_Val. Theseus_ (who where he threats appals,) hath sent Deadly defiance to him, and pronounces Ruin to _Thebs_, 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 actions dregg'd, with mind assur'd 'Tis bad he goes about.

_Pal._ Leave that unreason'd. Our services stand now for _Thebs_, 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.

_Arc._ So we must; Ist sed this wars afoot? or it shall be On fail of some condition.

_Val._ 'Tis in motion The intelligence of state came in the instant With the defier.

_P[a]l._ Let's to the King, who, were he A quarter carrier of that honor, which His enemy came in, the bloud we venture Should be as for our health, which were not spent, Rather laid out for purchase: but alas Our hands advanc'd before our hearts, what will The fall o' th' stroke do damage?