The Two Noble Kinsmen. (continued 2)

Jail. Hear you no more? was nothing said of me Concerning the escape of Palamon? Good Sir remember. 1 Fr. Nothing that I heard, For I came home before the business Was fully ended: yet I might perceive E'r I departed, a great likelyhood Of both their pardons: for Hippolita, And fair-ey'd Emilia, upon their knees, Begg'd with such handsome pitty, that the Duke Methought stood staggering whether he should follow His rash oath, or the sweet compassion Of those two Ladies; and to second them, That truly noble Prince Perithous Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope All shall be well: neither heard I one question Of your name, or his scape.

Jail. Pray Heaven it hold so. 2 Fr. Be of good comfort man; I bring you news Good news. Jail. They are welcome. 2 Fr. Palamon has clear'd you, And got your pardon, and discover'd How, and by whose means he scap'd, which was your Daughter's, Whose pardon is procured too, and the prisoner Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness, Has given a sum of money to her Marriage, A large one I'll assure you. Jail. Ye are a good man And ever bring good news. 1 Fr. How was it ended? 2 Fr. Why, as it should be; they that ne'er begg'd But they prevail'd, had their suits fairly granted. The prisoners have their lives. 1 Fr. I knew 'twould be so. 2 Fr. But there be new conditions, which you'll hear of At better time. Jail. I hope they are good. 2 Fr. They are honourable, How good they'll prove, I know not.

1 Fr. 'Twill be known. Woo. Alas Sir, where's your Daughter? Jail. Why do you ask? Woo. Oh Sir, when did you see her? 2 Fr. How he looks! Jail. This morning. Woo. Was she well? was she in health Sir? when did she sleep? 1 Fr. These are strange questions. Jail. I do not think she was very well, for now You make me mind her, but this very day I ask'd her questions, and she answer'd me So far from what she was, so childishly, So sillily, as if she were a fool, An Innocent, and I was very angry. But what of her Sir? Woo. Nothing but my pity, but you must know it, and as good by me As by another that less loves her: Jail. Well Sir. 1 Fr. Not right? 2 Fr. Not well?— [Woo.] No Sir, not well. 'Tis too true, she is mad. 1 Fr. It cannot be. Woo. Believe, you'll find it so. Jay. I half suspected What you told me: the gods comfort her: Either this was her love to Palamon, Or fear of my miscarrying on his scape, Or both. Woo. 'Tis likely. Jay. But why all this haste, Sir? Woo. I'll tell you quickly. As I late was angling In the great Lake that lies behind the Palace, From the far shore, thick set with Reeds and Sedges. As patiently I was attending sport, I heard a voice, a shrill one, and attentive I gave my ear, when I might well perceive 'Twas one that sung, and by the smallness of it A Boy or Woman. I then left my angle To his own skill, came near, but yet perceiv'd not Who made the sound; the Rushes, and the Reeds Had so encompast it: I laid me down And listned to the words she sung, for then Through a small glade cut by the Fisher-men, I saw it was your Daughter. Jail. Pray goe on Sir? Woo. She sung much, but no sence; only I heard her Repeat this often. Palamon is gone, Is gone to th' wood to gather Mulberries, I'll find him out to morrow. 1 Fr. Pretty soul. Woo. His shackles will betray him, he'll be taken, And what shall I do then? I'll bring a beavy, A hundred black-ey'd Maids that love as I do With Chaplets on their heads [of] Daffadillies, With cherry lips, and cheeks of Damask Roses, And all we'll dance an Antique 'fore the Duke, And beg his pardon; then she talk'd of you, Sir; That you must lose 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 between Ever was, Palamon, fair Palamon, And Palamon, was a tall young man. The place Was knee deep where she sate; her careless Tresses, A wrea[th] of Bull-rush rounded; about her stuck Thousand fresh Water Flowers of several colours. That methought she appear'd like the fair Nymph That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris Newly dropt down from heaven; Rings she made Of Rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke The prettiest posies: thus our true love's ty'd, This you may loose, not me, and many a one: And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh'd, And with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand. 2 Fr. Alas what pity it is? Woo. 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 City made, With such a cry, and swiftness, that believe me She left me far behind her; three, or four, I saw from far off cross 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.

And hither came to tell you: Here they are. Daugh. May you never more enjoy the light, &c. Is not this a fine Song? Bro. Oh, a very fine one. Daugh. I can sing twenty more. Bro. I think you can. Daugh. Yes truly can I, I can sing the Broom, And Bonny Robbin. Are not you a Tailor? Bro. Yes. Daugh. Where's my wedding-Gown? Bro. I'll bring it to morrow. Daugh. Doe, very rarely, I must be abroad else To call the Maids, and pay the Minstrels For I must loose my Maiden-head by cock-light 'Twill never thrive else. Oh fair, oh sweet, &c. [Sings. Bro. You must ev'n take it patiently. Jay. 'Tis true. Daugh. Good ev'n, good men, pray did you ever hear Of one young Palamon? Jay. Yes wench, we know him. Daugh. Is't not a fine young Gentleman? Jay. 'Tis Love. Bro. By no mean cross her, she is then distemper'd For worse than now she shows. 1 Fr. Yes, he's a fine man. Daugh. Oh, is he so? you have a Sister. 1 Fr. Yes. Daugh. But she shall never have him, tell her so, For a trick that I know, y'had best look to her, For if she see him once, she's gone, she's done, And undone in an hour. All the young Maids Of our Town are in love with him, but I laugh at 'em And let 'em all alone, is't not a wise course? 1 Fr. Yes. Daugh. There is at least two hundred now with child by him, There must be four; yet I keep close for all this, Close as a Cockle; and all these must be boys, He has the trick on't, and at ten years old They must be all gelt for Musicians, And sing the wars of Theseus. 2 Fr. This is strange. Daugh. As ever [you] heard, but say nothing. 1 Fr. No. Daugh. They come from all parts of the Dukedom to him, I'll warrant ye, he had not so few last night As twenty, to dispatch, he'll tickle't up In two hours, if his hand be in. Jay. She's lost Past all cure. Bro. Heaven forbid man. Daug. Come hither, you are a wise man. 1 Fr. Does she know him? 2 Fr. No, would she did. Daugh. You are master of a Ship? Jay. Yes. Daugh. Where's your Compass? Jay. Here. Daugh. Set it to th' North. And now direct your course to th' wood, where Palamon Lies longing for me; for the Tackling Let me alone; come weigh my hearts, cheerly. All. Owgh, owgh, owgh, 'tis up, the wind's fair, top the Bowling; out with the main sail, where's your Whistle Master? Bro. Let's get her in. Jay. Up to the top Boy. Bro. Where's the Pilot? 1 Fr. Here. Daugh. What ken'st thou? 3 Fr. A fair wood. Daugh. Bear for it master: tack about: [Sings. When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.

Emil. Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open And bleed to death for my sake else; I'll choose, And end their strife: two such young handsome men Shall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers, Following the dead cold ashes of their Sons Shall never curse my cruelty: Good Heaven; What a sweet face has Arcite, if wise nature With all her best endowments, all those beauties She [sowes] into the births of noble bodies, Were here a mortal woman, and had in her The coy denials of young Maids, yet doubtless, She would run mad for this man: what an eye! Of what a fiery sparkle, and quick sweetness: Has this young Prince! here Love himself sits smiling, Just such another wanton Ganimead, Set Love a fire with, and enforc'd the god Snatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him A shining constellation: what a brow, Of what a spacious Majesty he carries! Arch'd like the great ey'd Juno's, but far sweeter, Smoother than Pelops Shoulder! Fame and Honor Methinks from hence, as from a Promontory Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing To all the under world, the Loves, and Fights Of gods, and such men near 'em. Palamon, Is but his foil, to him, a mere dull shadow, He's swarth, and meagre, of an eye as heavy As if he had lost his mother; a still temper, No stirring in him, no alacrity, Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile; Yet these that we count errors, may become him: Narcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly: Oh who can find the bent of womans fancy? I'm a fool, my reason is lost in me, I have no choice, and I have ly'd so lewdly That Women ought to beat me. On my knees I ask thy pardon: Palamon, thou art alone, And only beautiful, and these th[e] eyes, These the bright lamps of Beauty that command And threaten Love, and what young Maid dare cross 'em What a bold gravity, and yet inviting Has this brown manly face! Oh Love, this only From this hour is complexion: lye there Arcite, Thou art a changling to him, a mere Gipsie. And this the noble Bodie: I am sotted, Utterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me. For if my Brother, but even now had ask'd me Whether I lov'd, I had run mad for Arcite. Now if my Sister; More for Palamon. Stand both together: now, come ask me Brother, Alas, I know not: ask me now sweet Sister, I may go look; what a mere child is Fancie, That having two fair gawds of equal sweetness, Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both.

Emil. How now Sir? Gent. From the Noble Duke your Brother Madam, I bring you news: the Knights are come. Emil. To end the quarrel? Gent. Yes. Emil. Would I might end first: What sins have I committed, chaste Diana, That my unspotted youth must now be soil'd With bloud of Princes? and my Chastity Be made the Altar, where the Lives of Lovers, Two greater, and two better never yet Made Mothers joy, must be the sacrifice To my unhappy Beauty?

Thes. Bring 'em in quickly, By any means I long to see 'em. Your two contending Lovers are return'd, And with them their fair Knights: Now my fair Sister, You must love one of them. Emil. I had rather both, So neither for my sake should fall untimely.

Thes. Who saw 'em? Per. I a while. Gent. And I. Thes. From whence come you, Sir? Mess. From the Knights. Thes. Pray speak You that have seen them, what they are. Mess. I will Sir, And truly what I think: six braver spirits Than those they have brought, (if we judge by the outside) I never saw, nor read of: he that stands In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming Should be a stout man, by his face a Prince, (His very looks so say him) his complexion, Nearer a brown, than black; stern, and yet noble, Which shews him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers: The circles of his eyes, shew fair within him, And as a heated Lion, so he looks: His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining Like Ravens wings: his shoulders broad, and strong, Arm'd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword Hung by a curious Bauldrick: when he frowns To seal his Will with, better o' my conscience Was never Soldiers friend. Thes. Thou hast well describ'd him. Per. Yet, a great deal short Methinks, of him that's first with Palamon. Thes. Pray speak him friend. Per. I ghess he is a Prince too, And if it may be, greater; for his show Has all the ornament of honor in't: He's somewhat bigger than the Knight he spoke of, But of a face far sweeter; his complexion Is (as a ripe Grape) ruddy: he has felt Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter To make this cause his own: in's face appears All the fair hopes of what he undertakes, And when he's angry, then a setled valour (Not tainted with extreams) runs through his body, And guides his arm to brave things: Fear he cannot, He shews no such soft temper, his head's yellow, Hard hair'd, and curl'd, thick twin'd, like Ivy tops, No[t] to undoe with thunder; in his face The Livery of the warlike Maid appears, Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blest him. And in his rowling eyes sits victory, As if she ever meant to correct his valour: His Nose stands high, a Character of honor, His red Lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies. Emil. Must these men die too? Per. When he speaks, his tongue Sounds like a Trumpet; all his lineaments Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and clean, He wears a well-steel'd Axe, the staffe of Gold, His age some five and twenty. Mess. There's another, A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming As great as any, fairer promises In such a Body yet I never look'd on. Per. Oh he that's freckle fac'd? Mess. The same my Lord, Are they not sweet ones? Per. Yes, they are well. Mess. Methinks, Being so few, and well dispos'd, they shew Great, and fine Art in nature, he's white hair'd, Not wanton white, but such a manly colour Next to an aborn, tough, and nimble set, Which shows an active soul: his arms are brawny Lin'd with strong sinews: to the shoulder-piece, Gently they swell, like Women new conceiv'd, Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting Under the weight of Arms, stout-hearted still, But when he stirs, a Tiger; he's grey ey'd, Which yields compassion where he conquers: sharp To spie advantages, and where he finds 'em, He's swift to make 'em his: He does no wrongs, Nor takes none; he's round fac'd, and when he smiles He shows a Lover, when he frowns, a Soldier: About his head he wears the winners oak, And in it stuck the favour of his Lady: His age, some six and thirty. In his hand He bears a Charging Staffe, emboss'd with Silver. Thes. Are they all thus? Per. They are all the sons of honor. Thes. Now as I have a soul, I long to see 'em, Lady, you shall see men fight now. Hip. I wish it, But not the cause my Lord; They would shew Bravely about the Titles of two Kingdoms; 'Tis pity Love should be so tyrannous: Oh my soft-hearted Sister, what think you? Weep not, till they weep bloud: Wench it must be. Thes. You have steel'd 'em with your Beauty: honor'd friend, To you I give the Field; pray order it, Fitting the persons that must use it. Per. Yes Sir. Thes. Come, I'll go visit 'em: I cannot stay, Their fame has fir'd me so; till they appear, Good friend be royal. Per. There shall want no bravery. Emil. Poor wench go weep, for whosoever wins, Looses a noble Cosin, for thy sins. [Exeunt.

Doct. Her distraction is more at some time of the Moon, Than at other some, is it not? Jay. She is continually in a harmless distemper, sleeps Little, altogether without appetite, save often drinking, Dreaming of another world, and a better; and what Broken piece of matter so e'er she's about, the name Palamon lards it, that she farces ev'ry business

Withal, fits it to every question; Look where She comes, you shall perceive her behaviour. Daugh. I have forgot it quite; the burden on't was Down A down a: and penn'd by no worse man, than Giraldo, Emilias Schoolmaster; he's as Fantastical too, as ever he may goe upon's legs, For in the next world will Dido see Palamon, and Then will she be out of love with Æneas. Doct. What stuff's here? poor soul. Jay. Ev'n thus all day long. Daugh. Now for this Charm, that I told you of, you must Bring a piece of silver on the tip of your tongue, Or no ferry: then if it be your chance to come where The blessed spirits, as there's a sight now; we Maids That have our Livers, perisht, crackt to pieces with Love, we shall come there, and do nothing all day long But pick Flowers with Proserpine, then will I make Palamon a Nosegay, then let him mark me,—then. Doct. How prettily she's amiss! note her a little farther. Da[u]. Faith I'll tell you, sometime we goe to Barly-break, We of the blessed; alas, 'tis a sore life they have i' th' Other place, such burning, frying, boiling, hissing, Howling, chatt'ring, cursing, oh they have shrowd Measure, take heed; if one be mad, or hang, or Drown themselves, thither they goe, Jupiter bless Us, and there shall we be put in a Cauldron of Lead, and Usurers grease, amongst a whole million of Cut-purses, and there boil like a Gamon of Bacon That will never be enough. [Exit. Doct. How her brain coins!

Doct. Understand you, she ever affected any man, e'r She beheld Palamon? Jay. I was once, Sir, in great hope she had fix'd her Liking on this Gentleman my friend. Woo. I did think so too, and would account I had a great Pen'worth on't, to give half my state, that both She and I at this present stood unfainedly on the Same terms. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Phœbus 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

Thes. Lo, where our Sister is in expectation, Yet quaking, and unsetled: fairest Emilia, The gods by their Divine arbitrament Have given you this Knight, he is a good one As ever struck at head: Give me your hands; Receive you her, you him, be plighted with A love that grows, as you decay. Arcite. Emily. To buy you I have lost what's dearest to me, Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheaply, As I do rate your value. Thes. Oh loved Sister, He speaks now of as brave a Knight as e'er Did spur a noble Steed: surely the gods Would have him die a batchelor, lest his race Should show i'th' world too godlike: his behaviour So charm'd me, that methought Alcides was To him a Sow of Lead: if I could praise Each part of him to th' all I have spoke, your Arcite Did not lose by't; for he that was thus good Encountred yet his Better, I have heard Two emulous Philomels, beat the ear o'th' night With their contentious throats, now on[e] the higher, Anon the other, then again the first, And by and by out-breasted, that the sense Could not be judge between 'em: so it far'd Good space between these kinsmen; till heavens did Make hardly one the winner: wear the Garland With joy that you have won: for the subdu'd, Give them our present Justice, since I know Their lives but pinch 'em, let it here be done: The Scene's not for our seeing, goe we hence, Right joyful, with some sorrow. Arm your prize, I know you will not lose her: Hippolita I see one eye of yours conceives a tear The which it will deliver. [Florish. Emil. Is this winning? Oh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy? But that your wills have said it must be so, And charge me live to comfort this unfriended, This miserable Prince that cuts away A life more worthy from him, than all women; I should, and would die too. Hip. Infinite pity That four such eyes should be so fix'd on one That two must needs be blind for't. Thes. So it is. [Exeunt.

[Pal.] There's many a man alive that hath out-liv'd The love o' th' people, yea, i'th' self-same state Stands many a Father with his child; some comfort We have by so considering: we expire And not without mens pity. To live still, Have their good wishes, we prevent The lothsome misery of age, beguile The Gout and Rheum, that in lag hours attend For grey approachers; we come towards the gods Young, and unwapper'd, not halting under Crimes Many and stale: that sure shall please the gods Sooner than such, to give us Nectar with 'em, For we are more clear Spirits. My dear kinsmen. Whose lives (for this poor comfort) are laid down, You have sold 'em too too cheap. 1 K. What ending could be Of more content? o'er us the victors have Fortune, whose Title is as momentary, As to us death is certain: a grain of honor They not o'er-weigh us. 2 K. Let us bid farewel; And, with our patience, anger tott'ring Fortune, Who at her certain'st reels. 3 K. Come: who begins? Pal. Ev'n he that led you to this Banquet, shall Taste to you all: ah ha my Friend, my Friend, Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once; You'll see't done now for ever: pray how does she? I heard she was not well; her kind of ill Gave me some sorrow. Jail. Sir, she's well restor'd, And to be married shortly. Pal. By my short life I am most glad on't; 'tis the latest thing I shall be glad of, prethee tell her so: Commend me to her, and to piece her portion Tender her this. 1 K. Nay, let's be offerers all. 2 K. Is it a maid? Pal. Verily I think so, A right good creature, more to me deserving Than I can quight or speak of. All K. Commend us to her. [They give their purses. Jail. The gods requite you all, And make her thankful. Pal. Adieu; and let my life be now as short, As my leave taking. [Lies on the Block. 1 K. Lead courageous Cosin. 1, 2 K. We'll follow cheerfully.

Mess. Hold, hold, oh hold, hold, hold.

Pir.. Hold, hoa: It is a cursed haste you made If you have done so quickly: noble Palamon, The gods will shew their glory in a life That thou art yet to lead. Pal. Can that be, When Venus I have said is false? How do things fare? Pir. Arise great Sir, and give the tidings ear That are most early sweet, and bitter. Pal. What Hath wak't us from our dream? Pir. List then: your Cosin Mounted upon a Steed that Emily Did first bestow on him, a black one, owing Not a hayr worth of white, which some will say Weakens his price, and many will not buy His goodness with this note: Which superstition Hear finds allowance: On this horse is Arcite Trotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins Did rather tell, than trample; For the horse Would make his length a mile, if't pleas'd his Rider To put pride in him: as he thus went counting The flinty pavement, dancing as t'were to'th' Musick His own hoofs made; (For as they say from iron Came Musicks origen) what envious Flint, Cold as old Saturne, and like him possest With fire malevolent, darted a Spark, Or what feirce sulphur else, to this end made, I comment not; The hot horse, hot as fire, Took Toy at this, and fell to what disorder His power could give his will, bounds, comes on end, Forgets school dooing, being therein train'd, And of kind mannage, pig-like he whines At the sharp Rowell, which he frets at rather Than any jot obeyes; Seeks all foul means Of boystrous and rough Jad'rie, to dis-seat His Lord, that kept it bravely: When nought serv'd, When neither Curb would crack, girth break, nor diff'ring plunges Dis-root his Rider whence he grew, but that He kept him 'tween his legs, on his hind hoofs on end he stands That Arcites legs being higher than his head Seem'd with strange art to hang: His victors wreath Even then fell off his head: And presently Backward the jade comes o'er, and his full poyze Becomes the Riders load: Yet is he living, But such a vessell 'tis that floats but for The surge that next approaches: He much desires To have some speech with you: Loe he appears.

Pal. O miserable end of our alliance The gods are mightie Arcite, if thy heart, Thy worthie, manly heart be yet unbroken: Give me thy last words, I'm Palamon, One that yet loves thee dying. Arc. Take Emilia And with her, all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand, Farewell: I have told my last hour; I was false, Yet never treacherous: Forgive me Cosen: One kiss from fair Emilia: 'Tis done: Take her: I die. Pal. Thy brave soul seek Elizium. Emil. I'll close thine eyes, Prince; Blessed souls be with thee Thou art a right good man, and while I live, This day I give to tears. Pal. And I to honor. These. In this place first you fought: Even very here I sundred you, acknowledg to the gods Our thanks that you are living: His part is play'd, and though it were too short He did it well: your day is length'ned, and The blissfull dew of heaven do's arowze you: The powerfull Venus, well hath grac'd her Altar, And given you your love: Our Master Mars, Hast vouch'd his Oracle, and to Arcite, gave The grace of the Contention: So the Deities Have shew'd due justice: Bear this hence. Pal. O Cosen, That we should things desire, which doe cost us The loss of our desire; That nought could buy Dear love, but loss of dear love. Thes. Never Fortune Did play a subtler Game: The conquer'd triumphs, The victor has the Loss: yet in the passage, The gods have been most equall: Palamon, Your kinsman hath confest the right o'th' Lady Did lye in you, for you first saw her, and Even then proclaim'd your fancie: He restor'd her As your stolen Jewell, and desir'd your spirit To send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice Take from my hand, and they themselves become The Executioners: Lead your Lady off; And call your Lovers from the stage of death, Whom I adopt my Friends. A day or two Let us look sadly, and give grace unto The Funerall of Arcite, in whose end The visages of Bridegroomes we'll put on And smile with Palamon; For whom an hour, But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry, As glad of Arcite: And am now as glad, As for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers, What things you make of us? For what we lack We laugh, for what we have, are sorry still, Are children in some kind. Let us be thankefull For that which is, and with you leave dispute That are above our question: Let's goe off, And bear us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.

I would now aske ye how ye like the Play, But as it is with School Boys, cannot say, I 'm cruell fearefull: pray yet stay a while, And let me look upon ye: No man smile? Then it goes hard I see; He that has Lov'd a young hansome wench then, show his face: 'Tis strange if none be here, and if he will Against his Conscience let him hiss and kill Our Market: 'Tis in vain, I see to stay ye, Have at the worst can come, then; Now what say ye? And yet mistake me not: I am not bold We have no such cause. If th' tale we have told (For 'tis no other) any way content ye (For to that honest purpose it was ment ye) We have our end; And ye shall have ere long I dare say many a better, to prolong Your old loves to us: We, and all our might, Rest at your service, Gentlemen, good night.