Part 209

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. Honour 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 armour.

PALAMON. Oh 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 of cornets._]

ARCITE. You hear the horns. Enter your musit, 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.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. Another Part of the forest

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.

[_Exit._]

SCENE III. The same part of the forest as in scene I.

Enter Arcite with meat, wine and files.

ARCITE. I should be near the place.—Ho! Cousin Palamon!

PALAMON. [_From the bush._] 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.

[_Drinks._]

PALAMON. Do.

ARCITE. Pray sit down, then, and let me entreat you, By all the honesty and honour in you, No mention of this woman; ’twill disturb us. We shall have time enough.

PALAMON. Well, sir, I’ll pledge you.

[_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.

[_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! 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 arbour. 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.

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 armour?

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.

[_Exit._]

PALAMON. If he keep touch, he dies for ’t.

[_Exit._]

SCENE IV. Another part of the forest

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! Run 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 cockle shell, and sail By east and north-east 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.

[_Sings._]

_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.

[_Exit._]

SCENE V. Another part of the forest

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

SCHOOLMASTER. Fie, fie, What tediosity and disinsanity Is here among ye! Have my rudiments Been laboured so long with ye, milked unto ye, And, by a figure, even the very plum-broth And marrow of my understanding laid upon ye, And do you still cry “Where?” and “How?” and “Wherefore?” You most coarse-frieze capacities, ye jean judgements, Have I said “Thus let be” and “There let be” And “Then let be” and no man understand me? _Proh Deum, medius fidius_, ye are all dunces! For why? 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 learned 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!

TABORER. Here, my mad boys, have at ye.

SCHOOLMASTER. But I say, where’s their women?

Enter five Countrywomen.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. Here’s Friz and Maudlin.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN. And little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbary.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN. And freckled Nel, 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 favour and a frisk.

NEL. 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 offence Or scandal to the ladies; and be sure You tumble with audacity and manhood; And when you bark, do it with judgement.

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 learned authors utter, washed a tile. we have been _fatuus_ and laboured 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 learned 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 frampul, 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 howlet: The one said it was an owl, The other he said nay, The third he said it was a hawk, And her bells were cut away._

THIRD COUNTRYMAN. There’s a dainty mad woman, 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. And are you mad, good woman?

DAUGHTER. I would be sorry else. Give me your hand.

SCHOOLMASTER. Why?

DAUGHTER. I can tell your fortune. 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 _Qui passa_ o’ th’ bells and bones.

SCHOOLMASTER. Go, take her, And fluently persuade her to a peace. _Et opus exegi, quod nec Jovis 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. Away, boys; I hear the horns. Give me some meditation, And mark your cue.

[_Exeunt all but Schoolmaster._]

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. Well, sir, go forward; we will “edify.” Ladies, sit down. We’ll stay it.

SCHOOLMASTER. Thou doughty Duke, all hail! All hail, sweet ladies!

THESEUS. This is a cold beginning.

SCHOOLMASTER. If you but favour, 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 _pædagogus_, 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 Dædalus, 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 galled traveller, 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.

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.

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.

[_Exeunt Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite and Train. Horns winded as they go out._]

Come, we are all made. _Dii deæque omnes_, You have danced rarely, wenches.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE VI. The same part of the forest as in scene III.

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 armours. 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 armours 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 honour, and my duty.

PALAMON. Would you were so in all, sir; I could wish ye As kind a kinsman as you force me find A beneficial foe, that my embraces Might thank ye, not my blows.

ARCITE. I shall think either, Well done, a noble recompence.

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 honourable! 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 every 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 armour._]

This I’ll take.

ARCITE. 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 armour?

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 armour’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 valour. 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 laboured 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, Me thought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder Break from the troop.

PALAMON. But still before that flew The lightning of your valour. 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 dishonour.

ARCITE. Now I am perfect.

PALAMON. Stand off, then.

ARCITE. Take my sword; I hold it better.

PALAMON. I thank ye, 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 honour 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 killest me, The gods and I forgive thee. If there be A place prepared for those that sleep in honour, I wish his weary soul that falls may win it. Fight bravely, cousin; give me thy noble hand.

ARCITE. 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.

[_They 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 honour’s sake and safety, 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.