The Two Noble Kinsmen · John Fletcher
PROLOGVE.
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.
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. DAUGHTER. Wher’s my wedding Gowne? BROTHER. Ile bring it to morrow. DAUGHTER. Doe, very rarely; I must be abroad else To call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels, For I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light; Twill never thrive else. [Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c. BROTHER. You must ev’n take it patiently. IAILOR. Tis true. DAUGHTER. Good ev’n, good men; pray, did you ever heare Of one yong Palamon?
IAILOR. Yes, wench, we know him. DAUGHTER. Is’t not a fine yong Gentleman? IAILOR. Tis Love. BROTHER. By no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd Far worse then now she showes. 1. FRIEND. Yes, he’s a fine man. DAUGHTER. O, is he so? you have a Sister? 1. FRIEND. Yes. DAUGHTER. But she shall never have him, tell her so, For a tricke that I know; y’had best looke to her, For if she see him once, she’s gone, she’s done, And undon in an howre. All the young Maydes Of our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at ’em And let ’em all alone; Is’t not a wise course? 1. FRIEND. Yes. DAUGHTER. There is at least two hundred now with child by him— There must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this, Close as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes, He has the tricke on’t, and at ten yeares old They must be all gelt for Musitians, And sing the wars of Theseus. 2. FRIEND. This is strange. DAUGHTER. As ever you heard, but say nothing. 1. FRIEND. No. DAUGHTER. They come from all parts of the Dukedome to him; Ile warrant ye, he had not so few last night As twenty to dispatch: hee’l tickl’t up In two howres, if his hand be in.
IAILOR. She’s lost Past all cure. BROTHER. Heaven forbid, man. DAUGHTER. Come hither, you are a wise man. 1. FRIEND. Do’s she know him? 2. FRIEND. No, would she did. DAUGHTER. You are master of a Ship? IAILOR. Yes. DAUGHTER. Wher’s your Compasse? IAILOR. Heere. DAUGHTER. Set it too’th North. And now direct your course to’th wood, wher Palamon Lyes longing for me; For the Tackling Let me alone; Come, waygh, my hearts, cheerely! ALL. Owgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind’s faire, Top the Bowling, out with the maine saile; Wher’s your Whistle, Master? BROTHER. Lets get her in. IAILOR. Vp to the top, Boy. BROTHER. Wher’s the Pilot? 1. FRIEND. Heere. DAUGHTER. What ken’st thou? 2. FRIEND. A faire wood. DAUGHTER. Beare for it, master: take about! [Singes.] When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.] Scaena 2. (A Room in the Palace.) [Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.]
EMILIA. Yet I may binde those wounds up, that must open And bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose, And end their strife: Two such yong hansom men Shall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers, Following the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes, Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven, What a sweet face has Arcite! if wise nature, With all her best endowments, all those beuties She sowes into the birthes of noble bodies, Were here a mortall woman, and had in her The coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles, She would run mad for this man: what an eye, Of what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes, Has this yong Prince! Here Love himselfe sits smyling, Iust such another wanton Ganimead Set Jove a fire with, and enforcd 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 eyd Iuno’s, but far sweeter, Smoother then Pelops Shoulder! Fame and honour, Me thinks, 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 neere ’em.
Palamon Is but his foyle, to him a meere dull shadow: Hee’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 sharpenes not a smile; Yet these that we count errours may become him: Narcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:— Oh who can finde the bent of womans fancy? I am a Foole, my reason is lost in me; I have no choice, and I have ly’d so lewdly That women ought to beate me. On my knees I aske thy pardon, Palamon; thou art alone, And only beutifull, and these the eyes, These the bright lamps of beauty, that command And threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse ’em? What a bold gravity, and yet inviting, Has this browne manly face! O Love, this only From this howre is Complexion: Lye there, Arcite, Thou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey, And this the noble Bodie. I am sotted, Vtterly 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 aske me, Brother.— Alas, I know not! Aske me now, sweet Sister;— I may goe looke. What a meere child is Fancie, That, having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse, Cannot distinguish, but must crie for both.
THESEUS. Thou ha’st well describde him. PERITHOUS. Yet a great deale short, Me thinkes, of him that’s first with Palamon. THESEUS. Pray, speake him, friend. PERITHOUS. I ghesse he is a Prince too, And, if it may be, greater; for his show Has all the ornament of honour in’t: Hee’s somewhat bigger, then 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 owne: In’s face appeares All the faire hopes of what he undertakes, And when he’s angry, then a setled valour (Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body, And guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot, He shewes no such soft temper; his head’s yellow, Hard hayr’d, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tods, Not to undoe with thunder; In his face The liverie of the warlike Maide appeares, Pure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him. And in his rowling eyes sits victory, As if she ever ment to court his valour: His Nose stands high, a Character of honour. His red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies. EMILIA. Must these men die too? PERITHOUS. When he speakes, his tongue Sounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments Are as a man would wish ’em, strong and cleane, He weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold; His age some five and twenty.
MESSENGER. Ther’s another, A little man, but of a tough soule, seeming As great as any: fairer promises In such a Body yet I never look’d on. PERITHOUS. O, he that’s freckle fac’d? MESSENGER. The same, my Lord; Are they not sweet ones? PERITHOUS. Yes, they are well. MESSENGER. Me thinkes, Being so few, and well disposd, they show Great, and fine art in nature: he’s white hair’d, Not wanton white, but such a manly colour Next to an aborne; tough, and nimble set, Which showes an active soule; his armes are brawny, Linde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece Gently they swell, like women new conceav’d, Which speakes him prone to labour, never fainting Vnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still, But when he stirs, a Tiger; he’s gray eyd, Which yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe To spy advantages, and where he finds ’em, He’s swift to make ’em his: He do’s no wrongs, Nor takes none; he’s round fac’d, and when he smiles He showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier: About his head he weares the winners oke, And in it stucke the favour of his Lady: His age, some six and thirtie. In his hand He beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver. THESEUS. Are they all thus? PERITHOUS. They are all the sonnes of honour.
THESEUS. Now, as I have a soule, I long to see’em. Lady, you shall see men fight now. HIPPOLITA. I wish it, But not the cause, my Lord; They would show Bravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes; Tis pitty Love should be so tyrannous: O my soft harted Sister, what thinke you? Weepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be. THESEUS. You have steel’d ’em with your Beautie.—Honord Friend, To you I give the Feild; pray, order it Fitting the persons that must use it. PERITHOUS. Yes, Sir. THESEUS. Come, Ile goe visit ’em: I cannot stay, Their fame has fir’d me so; Till they appeare. Good Friend, be royall. PERITHOUS. There shall want no bravery. EMILIA. Poore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins, Looses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.] Scaena 3. (A room in the prison.) [Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.] DOCTOR. Her distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some, is it not? IAILOR. She is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little, altogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another world, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so’ere she’s about, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev’ry busines withall, fyts it to every question.— [Enter Daughter.] Looke where shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour.
Ideas discussed in this chapter
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.