Part 27

_Doct._ That intemperate surfet of her eye, hath distemper'd the Other sences, they may return and settle again to Execute their preordained faculties, but they are Now in a most extravagant vagary. This you Must doe, confine her to a place, where the light May rather seem to steal in, than be permitted; take Upon you (young Sir, her friend) the name of _Palamon_; say you come to eat with her, and to Commune of Love; this will catch her attention, for This her mind beats upon; other objects that are Inserted 'tween her mind and eye, become the pranks And friskins of her madness; sing to her such green Songs of Love, as she says _Palamon_ hath sung in Prison; Come to her, stuck in as sweet Flowers as the Season is mistriss of, and thereto make an addition of Some other compounded odors, which are grateful to the Sense: all this shall become _Palamon_, for _Palamon_ can Sing, and _Palamon_ is sweet, and ev'ry good thing, desire To eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still Among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance Into her favour: learn what Maids have been her Companions, and Play-pheers; and let them repair to Her with _Palamon_ in their mouths, and appear with Tokens, as if they suggested for him, it is a falshood She is in, which is with falshoods to be combated. This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce what's Now out of square in her, into their former Law, and Regiment; I have seen it approved, how many times I know not, but to make the number more, I have Great hope in this. I will between the passages of This project, come in with my applyance: Let us Put it in execution; and hasten the success, which doubt not Will bring forth comfort. [Florish. _Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Thesius, Perithous, Hippolita, _Attendants_.

_Thes._ Now let 'em enter, and before the gods Tender their holy Prayers: Let the Temples Burn bright with sacred fires, and the Altars In hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense To those above us: Let no due be wanting, [_Florish of Cornets._ They have a noble work in hand, will honor The very powers that love 'em.

_Enter_ Palamon _and_ Arcite, _and their Knights_.

_Per._ Sir, they enter.

_Thes._ You valiant and strong-hearted enemies You royal German foes, that this day come To blow that nearness out, that flames between ye; Lay by your anger for an hour, and Dove-like Before the holy Altars of your helpers (The all-fear'd gods) bow down your stubborn bodies, Your Ire is more than mortal; So your help be, And as the gods regard ye, fight with Justice, I'll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye I part my wishes.

_Per._ Honor crown the worthiest.

[_Exit_ Theseus _and his train_.

_Pal._ The glass is running now that cannot finish Till one of us expire: think you but thus, That were there ought in me which strove to shew Mine enemy in this business, were't one eye Against another: Arm opprest by Arm: I would destroy th' offender, Coz. I would Though parcel of my self: then from this gather How I should tender you.

_Arc._ I am in labour To push your name, your antient love, our kindred Out of my memory; and i' th' self-same place To seat something I would confound: so hoist we The sails, that must these vessels port, even where The heavenly Lymiter pleases.

_Pal._ You speak well; Before I turn, let me embrace thee Cosin This I shall never do agen.

_Arc._ One farewel.

_Pal._ Why let it be so: Farewel Coz.

[_Exeunt_ Palamon _and his Knights_.

_Arc._ Farewel Sir; Knights, Kinsmen, Lovers, yea my Sacrifices True worshipers of _Mars_, whose spirit in you Expells the seeds of fear, and th' apprehension Which still is farther off it, goe with me Before the god of our profession: There Require of him the hearts of Lions, and The breath of Tygers, yea, the fierceness too, Yea, the speed also, to go on, I mean Else wish we to be snails: you know my prize Must be dragg'd out of bloud, force and great fea[te] Must put my Garland on, where she sticks The Queen of Flowers: our intercession then Must be to him that makes the Camp, a Cestron Brim'd with the b[l]ood of men: give me your aid And bend your spirits towards him. [_They kneel._ Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turn'd Green _Neptune_ into purple. Comets prewarn, whose havock in vast Field Unearthed skulls proclaim, whose breath blows down, The teeming C[e]res foyzon, who dost pluck With hand armenipotent from [forth] blew clouds, The mason'd Turrets, that both mak'st and break'st The stony girths of Cities: me thy pupil, Youngest follower of thy Drum, instruct this day With military skill, that to thy laud I may advance my streamer, and by thee, Be stil'd the Lord o' th' day, give me great _Mars_ Some token of thy Pleasure.

[_Here they fall on their faces as formerly,_ _and there is heard clanging of Armor,_ _with a short Thunder, as the burst of_ _a battel, whereupon they all rise, and_ _bow to the Altar._

Oh great Corrector of enormous times, Shaker of o'er-rank States, thou grand decider Of dusty, and old Titles, that heal'st with blood The earth when it is sick, and curst the world O' th' pl[u]resie of people; I do take Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name To my design; march boldly, let us goe. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Palamon _and his Knights, with the former observance_.

_Pal._ Our stars must glister with new fire, or be To day extinct; our argument is love, Which if the goddess of it grant, she gives Victory too, then blend your spirits with mine, You, whose free nobleness do make my cause Your personal hazard; to the goddess _Venus_ Commend we our proceeding, and implore Her power unto our partie. [_Here they kneel as formerly._ Hail Sovereign Queen of secrets, who hast power To call the fiercest Tyrant from his rage; And weep unto a Girl; that hast the might Even with an eye-glance, to choak _Marsis_ Drum And turn th' allarm to whispers, that canst make A Cripple florish with his Crutch, and cure him Before _Apollo_; that may'st force the King To be his subjects vassal, and induce Stale gravity to [daunce], the pould Batchelor Whose youth like wanton boys through Bonfires Have skipt thy flame, at seventy, thou canst catch And make him to the scorn of his hoarse throat Abuse young lays of Love; what godlike power Hast thou not power upon? To _Phoebus_ thou Add'st flames, hotter than his the heavenly fires Did scorch his mortal Son, thine him; the huntress All moist and cold, some say, began to throw Her Bow away, and sigh: take to thy grace Me thy vow'd Soldier, who do bear thy yoak As 'twere a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier Than Lead it self, stings more than Nettles; I have never been foul-mouth'd against thy Law, Ne'er reveal'd secret, for I knew none; would not Had I ken'd all that were; I never practis'd Upon mans wife, nor would the Libels read Of liberal wits: I never at great feasts Sought to betray a beauty, but have blush'd At simpring Sirs that did: I have been harsh To large Confessors, and have hotly ask'd 'em If they had Mothers, I had one, a woman, And women 't were they wrong'd. I knew a man Of eighty winters, this I told them, who A Lass of fourteen brided, 'twas thy power To put life into dust, the aged Cramp Had screw'd his square foot round, The Gout had knit his fingers into knots, Torturing Convulsions from his globy eies, Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life In him seem'd torture: this Anatomie Had by his young fair [pheare] a Boy, and I Believ'd it was his, for she swore it was, And who would not believe her? brief I am To those that prate, and have done, no Companion; To those that boast and have not, a defyer; To those that would and cannot, a Rejoycer. Yea him I do not love, that tells close offices The foulest way, nor names concealments in The boldest language, such a one I am, And vow that lover never yet made sigh Truer than I. Oh then most soft sweet goddess Give me the victory of this question, which Is true loves merit, and bless me with a sign Of thy great pleasure.

[_Here Musick is heard, Doves are seen to flutter, they_ _fall again upon their faces, then on their knees._

_Pal._ Oh thou that from eleven to ninety reign'st In mortal bosoms, whose Chase is this world And we in Herds thy Game; I give thee thanks For this fair Token, which being laid unto Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance [_They bow._ My body to this business; Let us rise And bow before the goddess: Time comes on.

[_Exeunt. Still Musick of Records._

_Enter_ Emilia _in white, her hair about her shoulders, a wheaten_ _wreath: One in white, holding up her train, her hair stuck_ _with Flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynd, in_ _which is conveyed Incense and sweet odors, which being set_ _upon the Altar, her Maids standing aloof, she sets fire to it,_ _then they curt'sy and kneel._

_Emil._ Oh sacred, shadowy, cold and constant Queen, Abandoner of Revels, mute contemplative, Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure As wind-fan'd Snow, who to thy femal Knights Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush, Which is their Orders Robe. I here thy Priest Am humbled for thine Altar, oh vouchsafe With that thy rare green eye, which never yet Beheld thing maculate, look on thy Virgin, And sacred silver Mistriss, lend thine ear (Which ne'r heard scurril term, into whose port Ne'er entred wanton sound,) to my petition Season'd with holy fear; this is my last Of vestal office, I'm Bride-habited, But Maiden-hearted: a Husband I have pointed, But do not know him, out of two, I should Choose one, and pray for his success, but I Am guiltless of election of mine eyes, Were I to lose one, they are equal precious, I could doome neither, that which perish'd should Goe to't unsentenc'd: Therefore most modest Queen, He of the two Pretenders, that best loves me And has the truest Title in't, let him Take off my wheaten Garland, or else grant The file and quality I hold, I may Continue in thy Band.

[_Here the Hind vanishes under the Altar: and_ _in the place ascends a Rose-Tree, having one_ _Rose upon it._

See what our General of Ebbs and Flows Out from the bowels of her holy Altar With sacred Act advances: But one Rose, If well inspir'd, this Battel shall confound Both these brave Knights, and I a Virgin Flower Must grow alone unpluck'd.

[_Here is heard a sodain twang of Instruments,_ _and the Rose falls from the Tree._

The Flower is fall'n, the Tree descends: oh Mistriss Thou here dischargest me, I shall be gather'd, I think so, but I know not thine own Will; Unclaspe th[y] Mistery: I hope she's pleas'd, Her Signs were gracious.

[_They curt'sey, and Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter Doctor, Jaylor, and Woo[e]r, in habit of_ Palamon.

_Doct._ Has this advice I told you, done any good upon her?

_Woo._ Oh very much; the Maids that kept her company Have half perswaded her that I am _Palamon_; within this Half hour she came smiling to me, and ask'd me what I Would eat, and when I would kiss her: I told her, Presently, and kist her twice.

_Doct._ 'Twas well done; twenty times had been far better, For there the cure lies mainly.

_Woo._ Then she told me She would watch with me to night, for well she knew What hour my fit would take me.

_Doct._ Let her do so, And when your fit comes, fit her home, And presently.

_Wooer._ She would have me sing.

_Doct._ You did so?

_Woo._ No.

_Doct._ 'Twas very ill done then, You should observe her ev'ry way.

_Woo._ Alas I have no voice Sir, to confirm her that way.

_Doct._ That's all one, if ye make a noise, If she intreat again, do any thing, Lie with her if she ask you.

_Jail._ Hoa there Doctor.

_Doct._ Yes, in the way of cure.

_Jail._ But first, by your leave I' th' way of honesty.

_Doct._ That's but a niceness, Nev'r cast your child away for honesty; Cure her first this way, then if she will be honest, She has the path before her.

_Jail._ Thank ye Doctor.

_Doct._ Pray bring her in And let's see how she is.

_Jail._ I will, and tell her Her _Palamon_ staies for her: but Doctor, Methinks you are i' th' wrong still. [_Exit Jaylor._

_Doct._ Goe, goe: you Fathers are fine fools: her honesty? And we should give her physick till we find that:

_Woo._ Why, do you think she is not honest, Sir?

_Doct._ How old is she?

_Woo._ She's eighteen.

_Doct._ She may be, But that's all one, 'tis nothing to our purpose, What ev'r her Father saies, if you perceive Her Mood inclining that way that I spoke of _Videlicet, The way of flesh_, you have me.

_Woo._ Yes very well Sir.

_Doct._ Please her appetite And do it home, it cures her _ipso facto_, The melancholly humor that infects her.

_Woo._ I am of your mind, _Doctor_.

_Enter Jailor, Daughter, Maid._

_Doct._ You'll find it so; she comes, pray honor her.

_Jail._ Come, your Love _Palamon_ stays for you child, And has done this long hour, to visit you.

_Daugh._ I thank him for his gentle patience, He's a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him, Did you never see the horse he gave me?

_Jail._ Yes.

_Daugh._ How do you like him?

_Jail._ He's a very fair one.

_Daugh._ You never saw him dance?

_Jail._ No.

_Daugh._ I have often, He dances very finely, very comely, And for a Jigg, come cut and long tail to him, He turns ye like a Top.

_Jail._ That's fine indeed.

_Daugh._ He'll dance the _Morris_ twenty mile an hour. And that will founder the best hobby-horse (If I have any skill) in all the parish, And gallops to the turn of _Light a'love_, What think you of this horse?

_Jail._ Having these virtues I think he might be brought to play at Tennis.

_Daugh._ Alas that's nothing.

_Jail._ Can he write and read too?

_Daugh._ A very fair hand, and casts himself th' accounts Of all his Hay and Provender: that Hostler Must rise betime that cozens him; you know The Chesnut Mare the Duke has?

_Jail._ Very well.

_Daugh._ She is horribly in love with him, poor beast, But he is like his Master, coy and scornful.

_Jail._ What Dowry has she?

_Daugh._ Some two hundred Bottles, And twenty strike of Oats; but he'll ne'er have her; He lisps, in's neighing, able to entice A Millers Mare, He'll be the death of her.

_Doct._ What stuff she utters!

_Jail._ Make curt'sie, here your love comes.

_Woo._ Pretty soul How doe ye? that's a fine Maid, there's a curt'sie.

_Daugh._ Yours to command i'th' way of honesty; How far is't now to th' end o'th' world my Masters?

_Doct._ Why a days journey wench.

_Daugh._ Will you go with me?

_Woo._ What shall we do there wench?

_Daugh._ Why play at Stool-ball. What is there else to do?

_Woo._ I am content If we shall keep our wedding there.

_Daugh._ 'Tis true For there I will assure you, we shall find Some blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture To marry us, for here they are nice and foolish; Besides, my Father must be hang'd to morrow And that would be a blot i'th' business. Are not you _Palamon_?

_Woo._ Do not you know me?

_Daugh._ Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing But this poor Petticoat, and two course Smocks.

_Woo._ That's all one, I will have you.

_Daugh._ Will you surely?

_Woo._ Yes, by this fair hand will I.

_Daugh._ We'll to bed then.

_Woo._ Ev'n when you will.

_Daugh._ Oh Sir, you would fain [b]e nibling.

_Woo._ Why do you rub my kiss off?

_Daugh._ 'Tis a sweet one, And will perfume me finely against the wedding. Is not this your Cosin _Arcite_?

_Doct._ Yes Sweet heart, And I am glad my Cosin _Palamon_ Has made so fair a choice.

_Daugh._ Do you think he'll have me?

_Doct._ Yes without doubt.

_Daugh._ Do you think so too?

_Jail._ Yes.

_Daugh._ We shall have many children: Lord, how y'are [growne] My _Palamon_ I hope will grow too finely Now he's at liberty: alas poor Chicken, He was kept down with hard Meat, and ill Lodging, But I'll kiss him up again.

_Enter a Messenger._

_Mess._ What do you here? you'll lose the noblest sight, That e'er was see[ne].

_Jail._ Are they i'th' field?

_Mess._ They are You bear a charge there too.

_Jail._ I'll away straight I must ev'n leave you here.

_Doct._ Nay, we'll goe with you, I will not loose the Fight.

_Jail._ How did you like her?

_Doct._ I'll warrant you within these three or four days I'll make her right again. You must not from her But still preserve her in this way.

_Woo._ I will.

_Doct._ Let's get her in.

_Woo._ Come Sweet, we'll go to dinner And then we'll play at Cards.

_Daugh._ And shall we kiss too?

_Woo._ A hundred times.

_Daugh._ And twenty.

_Woo._ I, and twenty.

_Daugh._ And then we'll sleep together.

_Doct._ Take her offer.

_Woo._ Yes marry will we.

_Daugh._ But you shall not hurt me.

_Woo._ I will not Sweet.

_Daugh._ If you do (Love) I'll cry. [Florish _Exeunt_.

_Scæna Tertia._

_Enter_ Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Perithous: _and_ _some Attendants_, T. Tuck: Curtis.

_Emil._ I'll no step further.

_Per._ Will you loose this sight?

_Emil._ I had rather see a Wren hawk at a Fly Than this decision; ev'ry blow that falls Threats a brave life, each stroke laments The place wheron it falls, and sounds more like A Bell, than Blade, I will stay here, It is enough, my hearing shall be punish'd, With what shall happen, 'gainst the which there is No deafing, but to hear; not taint mine eye With dread sights, it may shun.

_Per._ Sir, my good Lord Your Sister will no further.

_Thes._ Oh she must. She shall see deeds of Honor in their kind, Which sometime shew well pencill'd. Nature now Shall make, and act the Story, the belief Both seal'd with eye, and ear; you must be present, You are the victors meed, the price, and garland To crown the Questions Title.

_Emil._ Pardon me, If I were there, I'd wink.

_Thes._ You must be there; This trial is as 'twere i' th' night, and you The only Star to shine.

_Emil._ I am extinct, There is but envy in that light, which shows The one the other: darkness which ever was The [dam] of horror; who does stand accurst Of many mortal Millions, may even now By casting her black mantle over both That neither could find other, get her self Some part of a good name, and many a murther Set off whereto she's guilty.

_Hip._ You must go.

_Emil._ In faith I will not.

_Thes._ Why the Knights must kindle Their valour at your eye: know of this war You are the Treasure, and must needs be by To give the Service pay.

_Emil._ Sir, pardon me, The Title of a Kingdom may be try'd Out of it self.

_Thes._ Well, well then, at your pleasure, Those that remain with you, could wish their office To any of their enemies.

_Hip._ Farewel Sister, I am like to know your Husband 'fore your self By some small start of time, he whom the gods Doe of the two, know best, I pray them, he Be made your Lot.

[_E[xeunt_] Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, _&c._

_Emil. Arcite_ is gently visag'd; yet his eye Is like an Engine bent, or a sharp weapon In a soft sheath; mercy, and manly courage Are bedfellows in his visage: _Palamon_ Has a most menacing aspect, his brow Is grav'd, and seems to bury what it frowns on, Yet sometimes 'tis not so, but alters to The quality of his thoughts; long time his eye Will dwell upon his object. Melancholly Becomes him nobly; so does _Arcite's_ mirth, But _Palamon's_ sadness is a kind of mirth, So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad. And sadness, merry; those darker humors that Stick mis-becomingly on others, on them Live in fair dwelling. [_Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a Charge._ Hark how yo[n] spurs to spirit doe incite The Princes to their proof, _Arcite_ may win me, And yet may _Palamon_ wound _Arcite_, to The spoiling of his figure. Oh what pity Enough for such a chance; if I were by I might do hurt, for they would glance their eies Toward my Seat, and in that motion might Omit a Ward, or forfeit an offence Which crav'd that very time: it is much better

[_Cornets. A great cry, and noise_ _within, crying a_ Palamon.

I am not there, oh better never born Than minister to such harm, what is the chance?

_Enter Servant._

_Ser._ The cry's a _Palamon_.

_Emil._ Then he has won: 'twas ever likely, He look'd all grace and success, and he is Doubtless the prim'st of men: I prethee run And tell me how it goes. [_Shout, and Cornets: crying a_ Palamon.

_Ser._ Still _Palamon_.

_Emil._ Run and enquire, poor Servant thou hast lost, Upon my right side still I wore thy Picture, _Palamon_'s on the left, why so I know not, I had no end in't; else chance would have it so.

[_Another cry and shout within, and Cornets._

On the sinister side the heart lies; _Palamon_ Had the best boding chance: this burst of clamor Is sure th' end o'th' combat.

_Enter Servant._

_Ser._ They said that _Palamon_ had _Arcites_ body Within an inch o'th' Pyramid, that the cry Was general a _Palamon_: but anon, Th' Assistants made a brave redemption, and The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are Hand to hand at it.

_Emil._ Were they metamorphos'd Both into one; oh why? there were no woman Worth so compos'd a man: their single share, [Their noblenes peculier to them, gives] The prejudice of disparity values shortness

[_Cornets. Cry within_, Arcite, Arcite.

To any Lady breathing--More exulting? _Palamon_ still?

_Ser._ Nay, now the sound is _Arcite_.

_Emil._ I prethee lay attention to the Cry.

[_Cornets. A great shout, and cry_, Arcite, _victory_.

Set both thine ears to th' business.

_Ser._ The cry is _Arcite_, and victory, hark _Arcite_, victory, The Combats consummation is proclaim'd By the wind Instruments.

_Emil._ Half sights saw That _Arcite_ was no babe, god's lyd, his richness And costliness of spirit lookt through him; it could No more be hid in him, than fire in flax, Than humble banks can go to law with waters, That drift winds, force to raging: I did think Good _Palamon_ would miscarry, yet I knew not Why I did think so; Our reasons are not prophets When oft our fancies are: they are coming off: Alas poor _Palamon_. [_Cornets._

_Enter_ Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, Arcite _as_ _Victor and Attendants_, &c.