Chapter 3
ARCITE. This is an offerd oportunity I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled, The best men calld it excellent, and run— Swifter the winde upon a feild of Corne (Curling the wealthy eares) never flew: Ile venture, And in some poore disguize be there; who knowes Whether my browes may not be girt with garlands? And happines preferre me to a place, Where I may ever dwell in sight of her. [Exit Arcite.]
Scaena 4. (Athens. A room in the prison.)
[Enter Iailors Daughter alone.]
DAUGHTER. Why should I love this Gentleman? Tis odds He never will affect me; I am base, My Father the meane Keeper of his Prison, And he a prince: To marry him is hopelesse; To be his whore is witles. Out upon’t, What pushes are we wenches driven to, When fifteene once has found us! First, I saw him; I (seeing) thought he was a goodly man; He has as much to please a woman in him, (If he please to bestow it so) as ever These eyes yet lookt on. Next, I pittied him, And so would any young wench, o’ my Conscience, That ever dream’d, or vow’d her Maydenhead To a yong hansom Man; Then I lov’d him, Extreamely lov’d him, infinitely lov’d him; And yet he had a Cosen, faire as he too. But in my heart was Palamon, and there, Lord, what a coyle he keepes! To heare him Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is! And yet his Songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken Was never Gentleman. When I come in To bring him water in a morning, first He bowes his noble body, then salutes me, thus: ‘Faire, gentle Mayde, good morrow; may thy goodnes Get thee a happy husband.’ Once he kist me. I lov’d my lips the better ten daies after. Would he would doe so ev’ry day! He greives much, And me as much to see his misery. What should I doe, to make him know I love him? For I would faine enjoy him. Say I ventur’d To set him free? what saies the law then? Thus much For Law, or kindred! I will doe it, And this night, or to morrow, he shall love me. [Exit.]
Scaena 5. (An open place in Athens.)
[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Emilia: Arcite with a Garland, &c.]
[This short florish of Cornets and Showtes within.]
THESEUS. You have done worthily; I have not seene, Since Hercules, a man of tougher synewes; What ere you are, you run the best, and wrastle, That these times can allow.
ARCITE. I am proud to please you.
THESEUS. What Countrie bred you?
ARCITE. This; but far off, Prince.
THESEUS. Are you a Gentleman?
ARCITE. My father said so; And to those gentle uses gave me life.
THESEUS. Are you his heire?
ARCITE. His yongest, Sir.
THESEUS. Your Father Sure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you?
ARCITE. A little of all noble Quallities: I could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa’d To a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me Would say it was my best peece: last, and greatest, I would be thought a Souldier.
THESEUS. You are perfect.
PERITHOUS. Vpon my soule, a proper man.
EMILIA. He is so.
PERITHOUS. How doe you like him, Ladie?
HIPPOLITA. I admire him; I have not seene so yong a man so noble (If he say true,) of his sort.
EMILIA. Beleeve, His mother was a wondrous handsome woman; His face, me thinkes, goes that way.
HIPPOLITA. But his Body And firie minde illustrate a brave Father.
PERITHOUS. Marke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun, Breakes through his baser garments.
HIPPOLITA. Hee’s well got, sure.
THESEUS. What made you seeke this place, Sir?
ARCITE. Noble Theseus, To purchase name, and doe my ablest service To such a well-found wonder as thy worth, For onely in thy Court, of all the world, Dwells faire-eyd honor.
PERITHOUS. All his words are worthy.
THESEUS. Sir, we are much endebted to your travell, Nor shall you loose your wish: Perithous, Dispose of this faire Gentleman.
PERITHOUS. Thankes, Theseus. What ere you are y’ar mine, and I shall give you To a most noble service, to this Lady, This bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse; You have honourd hir faire birth-day with your vertues, And as your due y’ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir.
ARCITE. Sir, y’ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie, Thus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant (Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you, Command him die, he shall.
EMILIA. That were too cruell. If you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see’t: Y’ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke Ile use you.
PERITHOUS. Ile see you furnish’d, and because you say You are a horseman, I must needs intreat you This after noone to ride, but tis a rough one.
ARCITE. I like him better, Prince, I shall not then Freeze in my Saddle.
THESEUS. Sweet, you must be readie, And you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all, To morrow by the Sun, to doe observance To flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir, Vpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope He shall not goe a foote.
EMILIA. That were a shame, Sir, While I have horses: take your choice, and what You want at any time, let me but know it; If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you You’l finde a loving Mistris.
ARCITE. If I doe not, Let me finde that my Father ever hated, Disgrace and blowes.
THESEUS. Go, leade the way; you have won it: It shall be so; you shall receave all dues Fit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else. Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant, That, if I were a woman, would be Master, But you are wise. [Florish.]
EMILIA. I hope too wise for that, Sir. [Exeunt omnes.]
Scaena 6. (Before the prison.)
[Enter Iaylors Daughter alone.]
DAUGHTER. Let all the Dukes, and all the divells rore, He is at liberty: I have venturd for him, And out I have brought him to a little wood A mile hence. I have sent him, where a Cedar, Higher than all the rest, spreads like a plane Fast by a Brooke, and there he shall keepe close, Till I provide him Fyles and foode, for yet His yron bracelets are not off. O Love, What a stout hearted child thou art! My Father Durst better have indur’d cold yron, than done it: I love him beyond love and beyond reason, Or wit, or safetie: I have made him know it. I care not, I am desperate; If the law Finde me, and then condemne me for’t, some wenches, Some honest harted Maides, will sing my Dirge, And tell to memory my death was noble, Dying almost a Martyr: That way he takes, I purpose is my way too: Sure he cannot Be so unmanly, as to leave me here; If he doe, Maides will not so easily Trust men againe: And yet he has not thank’d me For what I have done: no not so much as kist me, And that (me thinkes) is not so well; nor scarcely Could I perswade him to become a Freeman, He made such scruples of the wrong he did To me, and to my Father. Yet I hope, When he considers more, this love of mine Will take more root within him: Let him doe What he will with me, so he use me kindly; For use me so he shall, or ile proclaime him, And to his face, no man. Ile presently Provide him necessaries, and packe my cloathes up, And where there is a patch of ground Ile venture, So hee be with me; By him, like a shadow, Ile ever dwell; within this houre the whoobub Will be all ore the prison: I am then Kissing the man they looke for: farewell, Father; Get many more such prisoners and such daughters, And shortly you may keepe your selfe. Now to him!
Actus Tertius.
Scaena 1. (A forest near Athens.)
[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a Maying.]
[Enter Arcite alone.]
ARCITE. The Duke has lost Hypolita; each tooke A severall land. This is a solemne Right They owe bloomd May, and the Athenians pay it To’th heart of Ceremony. O Queene Emilia, Fresher then May, sweeter Then hir gold Buttons on the bowes, or all Th’enamelld knackes o’th Meade or garden: yea, We challenge too the bancke of any Nymph That makes the streame seeme flowers; thou, o Iewell O’th wood, o’th world, hast likewise blest a place With thy sole presence: in thy rumination That I, poore man, might eftsoones come betweene And chop on some cold thought! thrice blessed chance, To drop on such a Mistris, expectation Most giltlesse on’t! tell me, O Lady Fortune, (Next after Emely my Soveraigne) how far I may be prowd. She takes strong note of me, Hath made me neere her; and this beuteous Morne (The prim’st of all the yeare) presents me with A brace of horses: two such Steeds might well Be by a paire of Kings backt, in a Field That their crownes titles tride. Alas, alas, Poore Cosen Palamon, poore prisoner, thou So little dream’st upon my fortune, that Thou thinkst thy selfe the happier thing, to be So neare Emilia; me thou deem’st at Thebs, And therein wretched, although free. But if Thou knew’st my Mistris breathd on me, and that I ear’d her language, livde in her eye, O Coz, What passion would enclose thee!
[Enter Palamon as out of a Bush, with his Shackles: bends his fist at Arcite.]
PALAMON. Traytor kinesman, Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signes Of prisonment were off me, and this hand But owner of a Sword: By all othes in one, I and the iustice of my love would make thee A confest Traytor. O thou most perfidious That ever gently lookd; the voydest of honour, That eu’r bore gentle Token; falsest Cosen That ever blood made kin, call’st thou hir thine? Ile prove it in my Shackles, with these hands, Void of appointment, that thou ly’st, and art A very theefe in love, a Chaffy Lord, Nor worth the name of villaine: had I a Sword And these house clogges away—
ARCITE. Deere Cosin Palamon—
PALAMON. Cosoner Arcite, give me language such As thou hast shewd me feate.
ARCITE. Not finding in The circuit of my breast any grosse stuffe To forme me like your blazon, holds me to This gentlenesse of answer; tis your passion That thus mistakes, the which to you being enemy, Cannot to me be kind: honor, and honestie I cherish, and depend on, how so ev’r You skip them in me, and with them, faire Coz, Ile maintaine my proceedings; pray, be pleas’d To shew in generous termes your griefes, since that Your question’s with your equall, who professes To cleare his owne way with the minde and Sword Of a true Gentleman.
PALAMON. That thou durst, Arcite!
ARCITE. My Coz, my Coz, you have beene well advertis’d How much I dare, y’ave seene me use my Sword Against th’advice of feare: sure, of another You would not heare me doubted, but your silence Should breake out, though i’th Sanctuary.
PALAMON. Sir, I have seene you move in such a place, which well Might justifie your manhood; you were calld A good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke’s not faire, If any day it rayne: Their valiant temper Men loose when they encline to trecherie, And then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly Were they not tyde.
ARCITE. Kinsman, you might as well Speake this and act it in your Glasse, as to His eare which now disdaines you.
PALAMON. Come up to me, Quit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword, Though it be rustie, and the charity Of one meale lend me; Come before me then, A good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say That Emily is thine: I will forgive The trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life, If then thou carry’t, and brave soules in shades That have dyde manly, which will seeke of me Some newes from earth, they shall get none but this, That thou art brave and noble.
ARCITE. Be content: Againe betake you to your hawthorne house; With counsaile 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 your selfe and say but, ‘Arcite, I am in plight,’ there shall be at your choyce Both Sword and Armour.
PALAMON. Oh you heavens, dares any So noble beare a guilty busines! none But onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite In this kinde is so bold.
ARCITE. Sweete Palamon.
PALAMON. I doe embrace you and your offer,—for Your offer doo’t I onely, Sir; your person, Without hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.] More then my Swords edge ont.
ARCITE. You heare the Hornes; Enter your Musite least this match between’s Be crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell. Ile bring you every needfull thing: I pray you, Take comfort and be strong.
PALAMON. Pray hold your promise; And doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine You love me not, be rough with me, and powre This oile out of your language; by this ayre, I could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach Not reconcild by reason.
ARCITE. Plainely spoken, Yet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.] My horse, I chide him not; content and anger In me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call The scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse I have an office there.
PALAMON. Sir, your attendance Cannot please heaven, and I know your office Vnjustly is atcheev’d.
ARCITE. If a good title, I am perswaded this question sicke between’s By bleeding must be cur’d. I am a Suitour, That to your Sword you will bequeath this plea And talke of it no more.
PALAMON. But this one word: You are going now to gaze upon my Mistris, For note you, mine she is—
ARCITE. Nay, then.
PALAMON. Nay, pray you, You talke of feeding me to breed me strength: You are going now to looke upon a Sun That strengthens what it lookes on; there You have a vantage ore me, but enjoy’t till I may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.]
Scaena 2. (Another Part of the forest.)
[Enter Iaylors daughter alone.]
DAUGHTER. He has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone After his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning; No matter, would it were perpetuall night, And darkenes Lord o’th world. Harke, tis a woolfe: In me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing I care for nothing, and that’s Palamon. I wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so He had this File: what if I hallowd for him? I cannot hallow: if I whoop’d, what then? If he not answeard, I should call a wolfe, And doe him but that service. I have heard Strange howles this live-long night, why may’t not be They have made prey of him? he has no weapons, He cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives Might call fell things to listen, who have in them A sence to know a man unarmd, and can Smell where resistance is. Ile set it downe He’s torne to peeces; they howld many together And then they fed on him: So much for that, Be bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then? All’s char’d when he is gone. No, no, I lye, My Father’s to be hang’d for his escape; My selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much As to deny my act, but that I would not, Should I try death by dussons.—I am mop’t, Food tooke I none these two daies, Sipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes Save when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas, Dissolue my life, Let not my sence unsettle, Least I should drowne, or stab or hang my selfe. O state of Nature, faile together in me, Since thy best props are warpt! So, which way now? The best way is the next way to a grave: Each errant step beside is torment. Loe, The Moone is down, the Cryckets chirpe, the Schreichowle Calls in the dawne; all offices are done Save what I faile in: But the point is this, An end, and that is all. [Exit.]
Scaena 3. (Same as Scene I.)
[Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.]
ARCITE. I should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter Palamon.]
PALAMON. Arcite?
ARCITE. The same: I have brought you foode and files. Come forth and feare not, here’s no Theseus.
PALAMON. Nor none so honest, Arcite.
ARCITE. That’s no matter, Wee’l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage; You shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke; I know you are faint: then ile talke further with you.
PALAMON. Arcite, thou mightst now poyson me.
ARCITE. I might, But I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now No more of these vaine parlies; let us not, Having our ancient reputation with us, Make talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c.
PALAMON. Doe.
ARCITE. Pray, sit downe then; and let me entreate you, By all the honesty and honour in you, No mention of this woman: t’will disturbe us; We shall have time enough.
PALAMON. Well, Sir, Ile pledge you.
ARCITE. Drinke a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man. Doe not you feele it thaw you?
PALAMON. Stay, Ile tell you after a draught or two more.
ARCITE. Spare it not, the Duke has more, Cuz: Eate now.
PALAMON. Yes.
ARCITE. I am glad you have so good a stomach.
PALAMON. I am gladder I have so good meate too’t.
ARCITE. Is’t not mad lodging here in the wild woods, Cosen?
PALAMON. Yes, for them that have wilde Consciences.
ARCITE. How tasts your vittails? your hunger needs no sawce, I see.
PALAMON. Not much; But if it did, yours is too tart, sweete Cosen: what is this?
ARCITE. Venison.
PALAMON. Tis a lusty meate: Giue me more wine; here, Arcite, to the wenches We have known in our daies. The Lord Stewards daughter, Doe you remember her?
ARCITE. After you, Cuz.
PALAMON. She lov’d a black-haird 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, Cuz? play o’th virginals?
ARCITE. Something she did, Sir.
PALAMON. Made her groane a moneth for’t, or 2. or 3. or 10.
ARCITE. The Marshals Sister Had her share too, as I remember, Cosen, Else there be tales abroade; you’l pledge her?
PALAMON. Yes.
ARCITE. A pretty broune wench t’is. There was a time When yong men went a hunting, and a wood, And a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:—heigh ho!
PALAMON. For Emily, upon my life! Foole, Away with this straind mirth; I say againe, That sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen, Dar’st thou breake first?
ARCITE. You are wide.
PALAMON. By heaven and earth, ther’s nothing in thee honest.
ARCITE. Then Ile leave you: you are a Beast now.
PALAMON. As thou makst me, Traytour.
ARCITE. Ther’s all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes: Ile come againe some two howres hence, and bring That that shall quiet all,
PALAMON. A Sword and Armour?
ARCITE. Feare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell. Get off your Trinkets; you shall want nought.
PALAMON. Sir, ha—
ARCITE. Ile heare no more. [Exit.]
PALAMON. If he keepe touch, he dies for’t. [Exit.]
Scaena 4. (Another part of the forest.)
[Enter Iaylors daughter.]
DAUGHTER. I am very cold, and all the Stars are out too, The little Stars, and all, that looke like aglets: The Sun has seene my Folly. Palamon! Alas no; hees in heaven. Where am I now? Yonder’s the sea, and ther’s a Ship; how’t tumbles! And ther’s a Rocke lies watching under water; Now, now, it beates upon it; now, now, now, Ther’s a leak sprung, a sound one, how they cry! Spoon her before the winde, you’l loose all els: Vp with a course or two, and take about, Boyes. Good night, good night, y’ar gone.—I am very hungry. Would I could finde a fine Frog; he would tell me Newes from all parts o’th world, then would I make A Carecke of a Cockle shell, and sayle By east and North East to the King of Pigmes, For he tels fortunes rarely. Now my Father, Twenty to one, is trust up in a trice To morrow morning; Ile say never a word.
[Sing.]
For ile cut my greene coat a foote above my knee, And ile clip my yellow lockes an inch below mine eie. hey, nonny, nonny, nonny, He’s buy me a white Cut, forth for to ride And ile goe seeke him, throw the world that is so wide hey nonny, nonny, nonny.
O for a pricke now like a Nightingale, To put my breast against. I shall sleepe like a Top else. [Exit.]
Scaena 5. (Another part of the forest.)
[Enter a Schoole master, 4. Countrymen, and Bavian. 2. or 3. wenches, with a Taborer.]
SCHOOLMASTER. Fy, fy, what tediosity, & disensanity is here among ye? have my Rudiments bin labourd so long with ye? milkd unto ye, and by a figure even the very plumbroth & marrow of my understanding laid upon ye? and do you still cry: where, and how, & wherfore? you most course freeze capacities, ye jane Iudgements, have I saide: thus let be, and there let be, and then let be, and no man understand mee? 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 appeares, I meete him and unto him I utter learned things and many figures; he heares, and nods, and hums, and then cries: rare, and I goe forward; at length I fling my Cap up; marke there; then do you, as once did Meleager and the Bore, break comly out before him: like true lovers, cast your selves in a Body decently, and sweetly, by a figure trace and turne, Boyes.
1. COUNTREYMAN. And sweetly we will doe it Master Gerrold.
2. COUNTREYMAN. Draw up the Company. Where’s the Taborour?
3. COUNTREYMAN. Why, Timothy!
TABORER. Here, my mad boyes, have at ye.
SCHOOLMASTER. But I say, where’s their women?
4. COUNTREYMAN. Here’s Friz and Maudline.
2. COUNTREYMAN. And little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbery.
1. COUNTREYMAN. And freckeled Nel, that never faild her Master.
SCHOOLMASTER. Wher be your Ribands, maids? swym with your Bodies And carry it sweetly, and deliverly And now and then a fauour, and a friske.
NEL. Let us alone, Sir.
SCHOOLMASTER. Wher’s the rest o’th Musicke?
3. COUNTREYMAN. Dispersd as you commanded.
SCHOOLMASTER. Couple, then, And see what’s wanting; wher’s the Bavian? My friend, carry your taile without offence Or scandall to the Ladies; and be sure You tumble with audacity and manhood; And when you barke, doe it with judgement.
BAVIAN. Yes, Sir.
SCHOOLMASTER. Quo usque tandem? Here is a woman wanting.
4. COUNTREYMAN. We may goe whistle: all the fat’s i’th fire.
SCHOOLMASTER. We have, As learned Authours utter, washd a Tile, We have beene FATUUS, and laboured vainely.
2. COUNTREYMAN. This is that scornefull peece, that scurvy hilding, That gave her promise faithfully, she would be here, Cicely the Sempsters daughter: The next gloves that I give her shall be dog skin; Nay and she faile me once—you can tell, Arcas, She swore by wine and bread, she would not breake.
SCHOOLMASTER. An Eele and woman, A learned Poet sayes, unles by’th taile And with thy teeth thou hold, will either faile. In manners this was false position
1. COUNTREYMAN. A fire ill take her; do’s she flinch now?
3. COUNTREYMAN. What Shall we determine, Sir?
SCHOOLMASTER. Nothing. Our busines is become a nullity; Yea, and a woefull, and a pittious nullity.
4. COUNTREYMAN. Now when the credite of our Towne lay on it, Now to be frampall, now to pisse o’th nettle! Goe thy waies; ile remember thee, ile fit thee.
[Enter Iaylors 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 haild, well haild, you jolly gallants, And whither now are you bound a? O let me have your company [Chaire and stooles out.] Till (I) come to the sound a.
There was three fooles, fell out about an howlet: The one sed it was an owle, The other he sed nay, The third he sed it was a hawke, And her bels wer cut away.
3. COUNTREYMAN. Ther’s a dainty mad woman M(aiste)r Comes i’th Nick, as mad as a march hare: If wee can get her daunce, wee are made againe: I warrant her, shee’l doe the rarest gambols.
1. COUNTREYMAN. A mad woman? we are made, Boyes.
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 foole: tell ten. I have pozd him: Buz! Friend you must eate no whitebread; if you doe, Your teeth will bleede extreamely. Shall we dance, ho? I know you, y’ar a Tinker: Sirha Tinker, Stop no more holes, but what you should.
SCHOOLMASTER. Dij boni. A Tinker, Damzell?
DAUGHTER. Or a Conjurer: Raise me a devill now, and let him play Quipassa o’th bels and bones.
SCHOOLMASTER. Goe, take her, And fluently perswade her to a peace: Et opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis. Strike up, and leade her in.
2. COUNTREYMAN. Come, Lasse, lets trip it.
DAUGHTER. Ile leade. [Winde Hornes.]
3. COUNTREYMAN. Doe, doe.