Chapter 4

SCHOOLMASTER. Perswasively, and cunningly: away, boyes, [Ex. all but Schoolemaster.] I heare the hornes: give me some meditation, And marke your Cue.—Pallas inspire me.

[Enter Thes. Pir. Hip. Emil. Arcite, and traine.]

THESEUS. This way the Stag tooke.

SCHOOLMASTER. Stay, and edifie.

THESEUS. What have we here?

PERITHOUS. Some Countrey sport, upon my life, Sir.

THESEUS. Well, Sir, goe forward, we will edifie. Ladies, sit downe, wee’l stay it.

SCHOOLMASTER. Thou, doughtie Duke, all haile: all haile, 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 veritie, and not to fable, We are a merry rout, or else a rable, Or company, or, by a figure, Choris, That fore thy dignitie will dance a Morris. And I, that am the rectifier of all, By title Pedagogus, that let fall The Birch upon the breeches of the small ones, And humble with a Ferula the tall ones, Doe here present this Machine, or this frame: And daintie Duke, whose doughtie dismall fame From Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar, Is blowne abroad, helpe me thy poore well willer, And with thy twinckling eyes looke right and straight Vpon this mighty MORR—of mickle waight; IS now comes in, which being glewd together, Makes MORRIS, and the cause that we came hether. The body of our sport, of no small study, I first appeare, though rude, and raw, and muddy, To speake before thy noble grace this tenner: At whose great feete I offer up my penner. The next the Lord of May and Lady bright, The Chambermaid and Servingman by night That seeke out silent hanging: Then mine Host And his fat Spowse, that welcomes to their cost The gauled Traveller, and with a beckning Informes the Tapster to inflame the reckning: Then the beast eating Clowne, and next the foole, The Bavian, with long tayle and eke long toole, Cum multis alijs that make a dance: Say ‘I,’ and all shall presently advance.

THESEUS. I, I, by any meanes, deere Domine.

PERITHOUS. Produce.

(SCHOOLMASTER.) Intrate, filij; Come forth, and foot it.—

[Musicke, Dance. Knocke for Schoole.]

[Enter the Dance.]

Ladies, if we have beene merry, And have pleasd yee with a derry, And a derry, and a downe, Say the Schoolemaster’s no Clowne: Duke, if we have pleasd thee too, And have done as good Boyes should doe, Give us but a tree or twaine For a Maypole, and againe, Ere another yeare run out, Wee’l make thee laugh and all this rout.

THESEUS. Take 20., Domine; how does my sweet heart?

HIPPOLITA. Never so pleasd, Sir.

EMILIA. Twas an excellent dance, and for a preface I never heard a better.

THESEUS. Schoolemaster, I thanke you.—One see’em all rewarded.

PERITHOUS. And heer’s something to paint your Pole withall.

THESEUS. Now to our sports againe.

SCHOOLMASTER. May the Stag thou huntst stand long, And thy dogs be swift and strong: May they kill him without lets, And the Ladies eate his dowsets! Come, we are all made. [Winde Hornes.] Dij Deoeq(ue) omnes, ye have danc’d rarely, wenches. [Exeunt.]

Scaena 6. (Same as Scene III.)

[Enter Palamon from the Bush.]

PALAMON. About this houre my Cosen gave his faith To visit me againe, and with him bring Two Swords, and two good Armors; if he faile, He’s neither man nor Souldier. When he left me, I did not thinke a weeke could have restord My lost strength to me, I was growne so low, And Crest-falne with my wants: I thanke thee, Arcite, Thou art yet a faire Foe; and I feele my selfe With this refreshing, able once againe To out dure 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 Souldier: Therefore, this blest morning Shall be the last; and that Sword he refuses, If it but hold, I kill him with; tis Iustice: So love, and Fortune for me!—O, good morrow.

[Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords.]

ARCITE. Good morrow, noble kinesman.

PALAMON. I have put you to too much paines, Sir.

ARCITE. That too much, faire Cosen, Is but a debt to honour, and my duty.

PALAMON. Would you were so in all, Sir; I could wish ye As kinde a kinsman, as you force me finde A beneficiall foe, that my embraces Might thanke ye, not my blowes.

ARCITE. I shall thinke either, well done, A noble recompence.

PALAMON. Then I shall quit you.

ARCITE. Defy me in these faire termes, and you show More then a Mistris to me, no more anger As you love any thing that’s honourable: We were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm’d 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 Truely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes, Dispisings of our persons, and such powtings, Fitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene And quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir, Or if you feele your selfe not fitting yet And furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen, And ev’ry day discourse you into health, As I am spard: your person I am friends with, And I could wish I had not saide I lov’d her, Though I had dide; 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 Cosen’s fit to kill thee: I am well and lusty, choose your Armes.

ARCITE. Choose you, Sir.

PALAMON. Wilt thou exceede in all, or do’st thou doe it To make me spare thee?

ARCITE. If you thinke so, Cosen, You are deceived, for as I am a Soldier, I will not spare you.

PALAMON. That’s well said.

ARCITE. You’l finde it.

PALAMON. Then, as I am an honest man and love With all the justice of affection, Ile pay thee soundly. This ile take.

ARCITE. That’s mine, then; Ile arme you first.

PALAMON. Do: pray thee, tell me, Cosen, Where gotst thou this good Armour?

ARCITE. Tis the Dukes, And to say true, I stole it; doe I pinch you?

PALAMON. Noe.

ARCITE. Is’t not too heavie?

PALAMON. I have worne a lighter, But I shall make it serve.

ARCITE. Ile buckl’t close.

PALAMON. By any meanes.

ARCITE. You care not for a Grand guard?

PALAMON. No, no; wee’l use no horses: I perceave You would faine be at that Fight.

ARCITE. I am indifferent.

PALAMON. Faith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle Through far enough.

ARCITE. I warrant you.

PALAMON. My Caske now.

ARCITE. Will you fight bare-armd?

PALAMON. We shall be the nimbler.

ARCITE. But use your Gauntlets though; those are o’th least, Prethee take mine, good Cosen.

PALAMON. Thanke you, Arcite. How doe I looke? am I falne much away?

ARCITE. Faith, very little; love has usd you kindly.

PALAMON. Ile warrant thee, Ile strike home.

ARCITE. Doe, and spare not; Ile give you cause, sweet Cosen.

PALAMON. Now to you, Sir: Me thinkes this Armor’s very like that, Arcite, Thou wor’st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.

ARCITE. That was a very good one; and that day, I well remember, you outdid me, Cosen. I never saw such valour: when you chargd Vpon the left wing of the Enemie, I spurd hard to come up, and under me I had a right good horse.

PALAMON. You had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember.

ARCITE. Yes, but all Was vainely labour’d in me; you outwent me, Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little I did by imitation.

PALAMON. More by vertue; You are modest, Cosen.

ARCITE. When I saw you charge first, Me thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder Breake from the Troope.

PALAMON. But still before that flew The lightning of your valour. Stay a little, Is not this peece too streight?

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 thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it. Here’s one; if it but hold, I aske no more For all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow severall wayes: then advance and stand.]

ARCITE. And me my love! Is there ought else to say?

PALAMON. This onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son, And that blood we desire to shed is mutuall; In me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword Is in my hand, and if thou killst me, The gods and I forgive thee; If there be A place prepar’d for those that sleepe in honour, I wish his wearie soule that falls may win it: Fight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand.

ARCITE. Here, Palamon: This hand shall never more Come neare 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 Tryalls. Once more farewell, my Cosen.

PALAMON. Farewell, Arcite. [Fight.]

[Hornes within: they stand.]

ARCITE. Loe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us.

PALAMON. Why?

ARCITE. This is the Duke, a hunting as I told you. If we be found, we are wretched. O retire For honours sake, and safety presently Into your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde Too many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen, If you be seene you perish instantly For breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me, For my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us, And say we had a noble difference, But base disposers of it.

PALAMON. No, no, Cosen, I will no more be hidden, nor put off This great adventure to a second Tryall: I know your cunning, and I know your cause; He that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe Vpon thy present guard—

ARCITE. You are not mad?

PALAMON. Or I will make th’advantage of this howre Mine owne, and what to come shall threaten me, I feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen, I love Emilia, and in that ile bury Thee, and all crosses else.

ARCITE. Then, come what can come, Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well Die, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me, The law will have the honour of our ends. Have at thy life.

PALAMON. Looke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.]

[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.]

THESEUS. What ignorant and mad malicious Traitors, Are you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes Are making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed, Without my leave, and Officers of Armes? By Castor, both shall dye.

PALAMON. Hold thy word, Theseus. We are certainly both Traitors, both despisers Of thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon, That cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison; Thinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite, A bolder Traytor never trod thy ground, A Falser neu’r seem’d friend: This is the man Was begd and banish’d; this is he contemnes thee And what thou dar’st doe, and in this disguise Against thy owne Edict followes thy Sister, That fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia, Whose servant, (if there be a right in seeing, And first bequeathing of the soule to) justly I am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his. This treacherie, like a most trusty Lover, I call’d him now to answer; if thou bee’st, As thou art spoken, great and vertuous, The true descider of all injuries, Say, ‘Fight againe,’ and thou shalt see me, Theseus, Doe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie. Then take my life; Ile wooe thee too’t.

PERITHOUS. O heaven, What more then man is this!

THESEUS. I have sworne.

ARCITE. We seeke not Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me A thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it, And no more mov’d: where this man calls me Traitor, Let me say thus much: if in love be Treason, In service of so excellent a Beutie, As I love most, and in that faith will perish, As I have brought my life here to confirme it, As I have serv’d her truest, worthiest, As I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it, So let me be most Traitor, and ye please me. For scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady Why she is faire, and why her eyes command me Stay here to love her; and if she say ‘Traytor,’ I am a villaine fit to lye unburied.

PALAMON. Thou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus, If unto neither thou shew mercy; stop (As thou art just) thy noble eare against us. As thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule Whose 12. strong labours crowne his memory, Lets die together, at one instant, Duke, Onely a little let him fall before me, That I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.

THESEUS. I grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen Has ten times more offended; for I gave him More mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses Being no more then his. None here speake for ’em, For, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever.

HIPPOLITA. Alas the pitty! now or never, Sister, Speake, not to be denide; That face of yours Will beare the curses else of after ages For these lost Cosens.

EMILIA. In my face, deare Sister, I finde no anger to ’em, nor no ruyn; The misadventure of their owne eyes kill ’em; Yet that I will be woman, and have pitty, My knees shall grow to’th ground but Ile get mercie. Helpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous The powers of all women will be with us. Most royall Brother—

HIPPOLITA. Sir, by our tye of Marriage—

EMILIA. By your owne spotlesse honour—

HIPPOLITA. By that faith, That faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me.

EMILIA. By that you would have pitty in another, By your owne vertues infinite.

HIPPOLITA. By valour, By all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you.

THESEUS. These are strange Conjurings.

PERITHOUS. Nay, then, Ile in too: By all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers, By all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady.

EMILIA. By that you would have trembled to deny, A blushing Maide.

HIPPOLITA. By your owne eyes: By strength, In which you swore I went beyond all women, Almost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus.

PERITHOUS. To crowne all this: By your most noble soule, Which cannot want due mercie, I beg first.

HIPPOLITA. Next, heare my prayers.

EMILIA. Last, let me intreate, Sir.

PERITHOUS. For mercy.

HIPPOLITA. Mercy.

EMILIA. Mercy on these Princes.

THESEUS. Ye make my faith reele: Say I felt Compassion to’em both, how would you place it?

EMILIA. Vpon their lives: But with their banishments.

THESEUS. You are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty, But want the vnderstanding where to use it. If you desire their lives, invent a way Safer then banishment: Can these two live And have the agony of love about ’em, And not kill one another? Every day They’ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour In publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then, And here forget ’em; it concernes your credit And my oth equally: I have said they die; Better they fall by’th law, then one another. Bow not my honor.

EMILIA. O my noble Brother, That oth was rashly made, and in your anger, Your reason will not hold it; if such vowes Stand for expresse will, all the world must perish. Beside, I have another oth gainst yours, Of more authority, I am sure more love, Not made in passion neither, but good heede.

THESEUS. What is it, Sister?

PERITHOUS. Vrge it home, brave Lady.

EMILIA. That you would nev’r deny me any thing Fit for my modest suit, and your free granting: I tye you to your word now; if ye fall in’t, Thinke how you maime your honour, (For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe To all but your compassion.) How, their lives Might breed the ruine of my name, Opinion! Shall any thing that loves me perish for me? That were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne The straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms, Because they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus, The goodly Mothers that have groand for these, And all the longing Maides that ever lov’d, If your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty, And in their funerall songs for these two Cosens Despise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me, Till I am nothing but the scorne of women; For heavens sake save their lives, and banish ’em.

THESEUS. On what conditions?

EMILIA. Sweare’em never more To make me their Contention, or to know me, To tread upon thy Dukedome; and to be, Where ever they shall travel, ever strangers To one another.

PALAMON. Ile be cut a peeces Before I take this oth: forget I love her? O all ye gods dispise me, then! Thy Banishment I not mislike, so we may fairely carry Our Swords and cause along: else, never trifle, But take our lives, Duke: I must love and will, And for that love must and dare kill this Cosen On any peece the earth has.

THESEUS. Will you, Arcite, Take these conditions?

PALAMON. He’s a villaine, then.

PERITHOUS. These are men.

ARCITE. No, never, Duke: Tis worse to me than begging To take my life so basely; though I thinke I never shall enjoy her, yet ile preserve The honour of affection, and dye for her, Make death a Devill.

THESEUS. What may be done? for now I feele compassion.

PERITHOUS. Let it not fall agen, Sir.

THESEUS. Say, Emilia, If one of them were dead, as one must, are you Content to take th’other to your husband? They cannot both enjoy you; They are Princes As goodly as your owne eyes, and as noble As ever fame yet spoke of; looke upon ’em, And if you can love, end this difference. I give consent; are you content too, Princes?

BOTH. With all our soules.

THESEUS. He that she refuses Must dye, then.

BOTH. Any death thou canst invent, Duke.

PALAMON. If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour, And Lovers yet unborne shall blesse my ashes.

ARCITE. If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me, And Souldiers sing my Epitaph.

THESEUS. Make choice, then.

EMILIA. I cannot, Sir, they are both too excellent: For me, a hayre shall never fall of these men.

HIPPOLITA. What will become of ’em?

THESEUS. Thus I ordaine it; And by mine honor, once againe, it stands, Or both shall dye:—You shall both to your Countrey, And each within this moneth, accompanied With three faire Knights, appeare againe in this place, In which Ile plant a Pyramid; and whether, Before us that are here, can force his Cosen By fayre and knightly strength to touch the Pillar, He shall enjoy her: the other loose his head, And all his friends; Nor shall he grudge to fall, Nor thinke he dies with interest in this Lady: Will this content yee?

PALAMON. Yes: here, Cosen Arcite, I am friends againe, till that howre.

ARCITE. I embrace ye.

THESEUS. Are you content, Sister?

EMILIA. Yes, I must, Sir, Els both miscarry.

THESEUS. Come, shake hands againe, then; And take heede, as you are Gentlemen, this Quarrell Sleepe till the howre prefixt; and hold your course.

PALAMON. We dare not faile thee, Theseus.

THESEUS. Come, Ile give ye Now usage like to Princes, and to Friends: When ye returne, who wins, Ile settle heere; Who looses, yet Ile weepe upon his Beere. [Exeunt.]

Actus Quartus.

Scaena 1. (Athens. A room in the prison.)

[Enter Iailor and his friend.]

IAILOR. Heare you no more? was nothing saide of me Concerning the escape of Palamon? Good Sir, remember.

1. FRIEND. Nothing that I heard, For I came home before the busines Was fully ended: Yet I might perceive, Ere I departed, a great likelihood Of both their pardons: For Hipolita, And faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees Begd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke Me thought stood staggering, whether he should follow His rash oth, or the sweet compassion Of those two Ladies; and to second them, That truely noble Prince Perithous, Halfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope All shall be well: Neither heard I one question Of your name or his scape.

[Enter 2. Friend.]

IAILOR. Pray heaven it hold so.

2. FRIEND. Be of good comfort, man; I bring you newes, Good newes.

IAILOR. They are welcome,

2. FRIEND. Palamon has cleerd you, And got your pardon, and discoverd how And by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters, Whose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner, Not to be held ungratefull to her goodnes, Has given a summe of money to her Marriage, A large one, ile assure you.

IAILOR. Ye are a good man And ever bring good newes.

1. FRIEND. How was it ended?

2. FRIEND. Why, as it should be; they that nev’r begd But they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted, The prisoners have their lives.

1. FRIEND. I knew t’would be so.

2. FRIEND. But there be new conditions, which you’l heare of At better time.

IAILOR. I hope they are good.

2. FRIEND. They are honourable, How good they’l prove, I know not.

[Enter Wooer.]

1. FRIEND. T’will be knowne.

WOOER. Alas, Sir, wher’s your Daughter?

IAILOR. Why doe you aske?

WOOER. O, Sir, when did you see her?

2. FRIEND. How he lookes?

IAILOR. This morning.

WOOER. Was she well? was she in health, Sir? When did she sleepe?

1. FRIEND. These are strange Questions.

IAILOR. I doe not thinke she was very well, for now You make me minde her, but this very day I ask’d her questions, and she answered me So farre from what she was, so childishly, So sillily, as if she were a foole, An Inocent, and I was very angry. But what of her, Sir?

WOOER. Nothing but my pitty; But you must know it, and as good by me As by an other that lesse loves her—

IAILOR. Well, Sir.

1. FRIEND. Not right?

2. FRIEND. Not well?

WOOER. No, Sir, not well. Tis too true, she is mad.

1. FRIEND. It cannot be.

WOOER. Beleeve, you’l finde it so.

IAILOR. I halfe suspected What you (have) told me: the gods comfort her: Either this was her love to Palamon, Or feare of my miscarrying on his scape, Or both.

WOOER. Tis likely.

IAILOR. But why all this haste, Sir?

WOOER. Ile tell you quickly. As I late was angling In the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace, From the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges, As patiently I was attending sport, I heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive I gave my eare, when I might well perceive T’was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it A boy or woman. I then left my angle To his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not Who made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds Had so encompast it: I laide me downe And listned to the words she sung, for then, Through a small glade cut by the Fisher men, I saw it was your Daughter.

IAILOR. Pray, goe on, Sir?

WOOER. She sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her Repeat this often: ‘Palamon is gone, Is gone to’th wood to gather Mulberies; Ile finde him out to morrow.’

1. FRIEND. Pretty soule.

WOOER. ‘His shackles will betray him, hee’l be taken, And what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy, A hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe, With Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies, With cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses, And all wee’l daunce an Antique fore the Duke, And beg his pardon.’ Then she talk’d of you, Sir; That you must loose your head to morrow morning, And she must gather flowers to bury you, And see the house made handsome: then she sung Nothing but ‘Willow, willow, willow,’ and betweene Ever was, ‘Palamon, faire Palamon,’ And ‘Palamon was a tall yong man.’ The place Was knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses A wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke Thousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors, That me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph That feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris Newly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke The prettiest posies: ‘Thus our true love’s tide,’ ‘This you may loose, not me,’ and many a one: And then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh’d, And with the same breath smil’d, and kist her hand.

2. FRIEND. Alas, what pitty it is!

WOOER. I made in to her. She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav’d her, And set her safe to land: when presently She slipt away, and to the Citty made, With such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me, Shee left me farre behinde her; three or foure I saw from farre off crosse her, one of ’em I knew to be your brother; where she staid, And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter Brother, Daughter, and others.] And hether came to tell you. Here they are.

DAUGHTER. [sings.]

May you never more enjoy the light, &c.

Is not this a fine Song?

BROTHER. O, a very fine one.

DAUGHTER. I can sing twenty more.

BROTHER. I thinke you can.

DAUGHTER. Yes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome, And Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?

BROTHER. Yes.