The Two Noble Kinsmen · John Fletcher
PROLOGVE.
DAUGHTER. I have forgot it quite; The burden on’t, was DOWNE A, DOWNE A, and pend by no worse man, then Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he’s as Fantasticall 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 Eneas. DOCTOR. What stuff’s here? pore soule! IAILOR. Ev’n thus all day long. DAUGHTER. Now for this Charme, that I told you of: you must bring a peece of silver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your chance to come where the blessed spirits, as ther’s a sight now—we maids that have our Lyvers perish’d, crakt to peeces with Love, we shall come there, and doe nothing all day long but picke flowers with Proserpine; then will I make Palamon a Nosegay; then let him marke me,—then— DOCTOR. How prettily she’s amisse? note her a little further. DAUGHTER. Faith, ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake, we of the blessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i’th other place, such burning, frying, boyling, hissing, howling, chattring, cursing, oh they have shrowd measure! take heede; if one be mad, or hang or drowne themselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse vs, and there shall we be put in a Caldron of lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million of cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon that will never be enough. [Exit.]
DOCTOR. How her braine coynes! DAUGHTER. Lords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this place: they shall stand in fire up to the Nav’le, and in yce up to’th hart, and there th’offending part burnes, and the deceaving part freezes; in troth, a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for such a Trifle; beleve me, one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid on’t, Ile assure you. DOCTOR. How she continues this fancie! Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a most thicke, and profound mellencholly. DAUGHTER. To heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together! I were a beast and il’d call it good sport: one cries, ‘O this smoake!’ another, ‘this fire!’ One cries, ‘O, that ever I did it behind the arras!’ and then howles; th’other curses a suing fellow and her garden house. [Sings] I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c. [Exit Daugh.] IAILOR. What thinke you of her, Sir? DOCTOR. I thinke she has a perturbed minde, which I cannot minister to. IAILOR. Alas, what then? DOCTOR. Vnderstand you, she ever affected any man, ere she beheld Palamon? IAILOR. I was once, Sir, in great hope she had fixd her liking on this gentleman, my friend. WOOER. I did thinke so too, and would account I had a great pen-worth on’t, to give halfe my state, that both she and I at this present stood unfainedly on the same tearmes.
DOCTOR. That intemprat surfeit of her eye hath distemperd the other sences: they may returne and settle againe to execute their preordaind faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must doe: Confine her to a place, where the light may rather seeme to steale in, then be permitted; take vpon you (yong Sir, her friend) the name of Palamon; say you come to eate with her, and to commune of Love; this will catch her attention, for this her minde beates upon; other objects that are inserted tweene her minde and eye become the prankes and friskins of her madnes; Sing to her such greene songs of Love, as she sayes Palamon hath sung in prison; Come to her, stucke in as sweet flowers as the season is mistres of, and thereto make an addition of som other compounded odours, which are grateful to the sence: all this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and ev’ry good thing: desire to eate with her, carve her, drinke to her, and still among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her favour: Learne what Maides have beene her companions and play-pheeres, and let them repaire to her with Palamon in their mouthes, and appeare with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in, which is with falsehood to be combated. This may bring her to eate, to sleepe, and reduce what’s now out of square in her, into their former law, and regiment; I have seene it approved, how many times I know not, but to make the number more, I have great hope in this. I will, betweene the passages of this project, come in with my applyance: Let us put it in execution, and hasten the successe, which, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Florish. Exeunt.]
Actus Quintus Scaena 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.) [Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.] THESEUS. Now let’em enter, and before the gods Tender their holy prayers: Let the Temples Burne 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 worke in hand, will honour The very powers that love ’em. [Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.] PERITHOUS. Sir, they enter. THESEUS. You valiant and strong harted Enemies, You royall German foes, that this day come To blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye: Lay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like, Before the holy Altars of your helpers, (The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies. Your ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be, And as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice; Ile leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye I part my wishes. PERITHOUS. Honour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.] PALAMON. The glasse is running now that cannot finish Till one of us expire: Thinke you but thus, That were there ought in me which strove to show Mine enemy in this businesse, wer’t one eye Against another, Arme opprest by Arme, I would destroy th’offender, Coz, I would, Though parcell of my selfe: Then from this gather How I should tender you.
ARCITE. I am in labour To push your name, your auncient love, our kindred Out of my memory; and i’th selfe same place To seate something I would confound: So hoyst we The sayles, that must these vessells port even where The heavenly Lymiter pleases. PALAMON. You speake well; Before I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen: This I shall never doe agen. ARCITE. One farewell. PALAMON. Why, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and his Knights.] ARCITE. Farewell, Sir.— Knights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices, True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you Expells the seedes of feare, 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 Lyons, and The breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too, Yea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane, Else wish we to be Snayles: you know my prize Must be drag’d out of blood; force and great feate Must put my Garland on, where she stickes The Queene of Flowers: our intercession then Must be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron Brymd with the blood of men: give me your aide And bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.] Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd Greene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach) Comets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild Vnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe, The teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke With hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes The masond Turrets, that both mak’st and break’st The stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple, Yongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day With military skill, that to thy lawde 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.
Take to thy grace Me, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke As t’wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier Then Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles. I have never beene foule mouthd against thy law, Nev’r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not, Had I kend all that were; I never practised Vpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade Of liberall wits; I never at great feastes Sought to betray a Beautie, but have blush’d At simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh To large Confessors, and have hotly ask’d them If they had Mothers: I had one, a woman, And women t’wer they wrong’d. I knew a man Of eightie winters, this I told them, who A Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power To put life into dust; the aged Crampe Had screw’d his square foote round, The Gout had knit his fingers into knots, Torturing Convulsions from his globie eyes, Had almost drawne their spheeres, that what was life In him seem’d torture: this Anatomie Had by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I Beleev’d it was him, for she swore it was, And who would not beleeve her? briefe, 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 doe not love, that tells close offices The fowlest way, nor names concealements in The boldest language: such a one I am, And vow that lover never yet made sigh Truer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse, Give me the victory of this question, which Is true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe Of thy great pleasure. [Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall againe upon their faces, then on their knees.] PALAMON. O thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign’st In mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world, And we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes For this faire Token, which, being layd unto Mine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.] My body to this businesse. Let us rise And bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.] [Still Musicke of Records.] [Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a wheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke with flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is conveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of Diana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they curtsey and kneele.]
EMILIA. O sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene, Abandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative, Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure As windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights Alow’st no more blood than will make a blush, Which is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest, Am humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe, With that thy rare greene eye, which never yet Beheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin; And, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare (Which nev’r heard scurrill terme, into whose port Ne’re entred wanton found,) to my petition Seasond with holy feare: This is my last Of vestall office; I am bride habited, But mayden harted, a husband I have pointed, But doe not know him; out of two I should Choose one and pray for his successe, but I Am guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes, Were I to loose one, they are equall precious, I could doombe neither, that which perish’d should Goe too’t unsentenc’d: Therefore, most modest Queene, He of the two Pretenders, that best loves me And has the truest title in’t, Let him Take off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant The fyle and qualitie I hold, I may Continue in thy Band. [Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]
See what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes Out from the bowells of her holy Altar With sacred act advances! But one Rose: If well inspird, this Battaile shal confound Both these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre Must grow alone unpluck’d. [Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)] The flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris, Thou here dischargest me; I shall be gather’d: I thinke so, but I know not thine owne will; Vnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she’s pleas’d, Her Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.] Scaena 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.) [Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.] DOCTOR. Has this advice I told you, done any good upon her? WOOER. O very much; The maids that kept her company Have halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon; Within this halfe houre she came smiling to me, And asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her: I told her presently, and kist her twice. DOCTOR. Twas well done; twentie times had bin far better, For there the cure lies mainely. WOOER. Then she told me She would watch with me to night, for well she knew What houre my fit would take me.
DOCTOR. Let her doe so, And when your fit comes, fit her home, And presently. WOOER. She would have me sing. DOCTOR. You did so? WOOER. No. DOCTOR. Twas very ill done, then; You should observe her ev’ry way. WOOER. Alas, I have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way. DOCTOR. That’s all one, if yee make a noyse; If she intreate againe, doe any thing,— Lye with her, if she aske you. IAILOR. Hoa, there, Doctor! DOCTOR. Yes, in the waie of cure. IAILOR. But first, by your leave, I’th way of honestie. DOCTOR. That’s but a nicenesse, Nev’r cast your child away for honestie; Cure her first this way, then if shee will be honest, She has the path before her. IAILOR. Thanke yee, Doctor. DOCTOR. Pray, bring her in, And let’s see how shee is. IAILOR. I will, and tell her Her Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor, Me thinkes you are i’th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.] DOCTOR. Goe, goe: You Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty? And we should give her physicke till we finde that— WOOER. Why, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir? DOCTOR. How old is she? WOOER. She’s eighteene. DOCTOR. She may be, But that’s all one; tis nothing to our purpose. What ere her Father saies, if you perceave Her moode inclining that way that I spoke of, Videlicet, the way of flesh—you have me?
WOOER. Yet, very well, Sir. DOCTOR. Please her appetite, And doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto, The mellencholly humour that infects her. WOOER. I am of your minde, Doctor. [Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.] DOCTOR. You’l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her. IAILOR. Come, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe, And has done this long houre, to visite you. DAUGHTER. I thanke him for his gentle patience; He’s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him. Did you nev’r see the horse he gave me? IAILOR. Yes. DAUGHTER. How doe you like him? IAILOR. He’s a very faire one. DAUGHTER. You never saw him dance? IAILOR. No. DAUGHTER. I have often. He daunces very finely, very comely, And for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him, He turnes ye like a Top. IAILOR. That’s fine, indeede. DAUGHTER. Hee’l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre, And that will founder the best hobby-horse (If I have any skill) in all the parish, And gallops to the turne of LIGHT A’ LOVE: What thinke you of this horse? IAILOR. Having these vertues, I thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis. DAUGHTER. Alas, that’s nothing. IAILOR. Can he write and reade too? DAUGHTER. A very faire hand, and casts himselfe th’accounts Of all his hay and provender: That Hostler Must rise betime that cozens him. You know The Chestnut Mare the Duke has?
IAILOR. Very well. DAUGHTER. She is horribly in love with him, poore beast, But he is like his master, coy and scornefull. IAILOR. What dowry has she? DAUGHTER. Some two hundred Bottles, And twenty strike of Oates; but hee’l ne’re have her; He lispes in’s neighing, able to entice A Millars Mare: Hee’l be the death of her. DOCTOR. What stuffe she utters! IAILOR. Make curtsie; here your love comes. WOOER. Pretty soule, How doe ye? that’s a fine maide, ther’s a curtsie! DAUGHTER. Yours to command ith way of honestie. How far is’t now to’th end o’th world, my Masters? DOCTOR. Why, a daies Iorney, wench. DAUGHTER. Will you goe with me? WOOER. What shall we doe there, wench? DAUGHTER. Why, play at stoole ball: What is there else to doe? WOOER. I am content, If we shall keepe our wedding there. DAUGHTER. Tis true: For there, I will assure you, we shall finde 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 businesse. Are not you Palamon? WOOER. Doe not you know me? DAUGHTER. Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing But this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes. WOOER. That’s all one; I will have you.
DAUGHTER. Will you surely? WOOER. Yes, by this faire hand, will I. DAUGHTER. Wee’l to bed, then. WOOER. Ev’n when you will. [Kisses her.] DAUGHTER. O Sir, you would faine be nibling. WOOER. Why doe you rub my kisse off? DAUGHTER. Tis a sweet one, And will perfume me finely against the wedding. Is not this your Cosen Arcite? DOCTOR. Yes, sweet heart, And I am glad my Cosen Palamon Has made so faire a choice. DAUGHTER. Doe you thinke hee’l have me? DOCTOR. Yes, without doubt. DAUGHTER. Doe you thinke so too? IAILOR. Yes. DAUGHTER. We shall have many children:—Lord, how y’ar growne! My Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely, Now he’s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken, He was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging, But ile kisse him up againe. [Emter a Messenger.] MESSENGER. What doe you here? you’l loose the noblest sight That ev’r was seene. IAILOR. Are they i’th Field? MESSENGER. They are. You beare a charge there too. IAILOR. Ile away straight. I must ev’n leave you here. DOCTOR. Nay, wee’l goe with you; I will not loose the Fight. IAILOR. How did you like her? DOCTOR. Ile warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daies Ile make her right againe. You must not from her, But still preserve her in this way.
WOOER. I will. DOCTOR. Lets get her in. WOOER. Come, sweete, wee’l goe to dinner; And then weele play at Cardes. DAUGHTER. And shall we kisse too? WOOER. A hundred times. DAUGHTER. And twenty. WOOER. I, and twenty. DAUGHTER. And then wee’l sleepe together. DOCTOR. Take her offer. WOOER. Yes, marry, will we. DAUGHTER. But you shall not hurt me. WOOER. I will not, sweete. DAUGHTER. If you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt] Scaena 3. (A Place near the Lists.) [Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants, (T. Tucke: Curtis.)] EMILIA. Ile no step further. PERITHOUS. Will you loose this sight? EMILIA. I had rather see a wren hawke at a fly Then this decision; ev’ry blow that falls Threats a brave life, each stroake laments The place whereon it fals, and sounds more like A Bell then blade: I will stay here; It is enough my hearing shall be punishd With what shall happen—gainst the which there is No deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eye With dread sights, it may shun. PERITHOUS. Sir, my good Lord, Your Sister will no further. THESEUS. Oh, she must. She shall see deeds of honour in their kinde, Which sometime show well, pencild. Nature now Shall make and act the Story, the beleife Both seald with eye and eare; you must be present, You are the victours meede, the price, and garlond To crowne the Questions title.
EMILIA. Pardon me; If I were there, I’ld winke. THESEUS. You must be there; This Tryall is as t’wer i’th night, and you The onely star to shine. EMILIA. I am extinct; There is but envy in that light, which showes The one the other: darkenes, which ever was The dam of horrour, who do’s stand accurst Of many mortall Millions, may even now, By casting her blacke mantle over both, That neither coulde finde other, get her selfe Some part of a good name, and many a murther Set off wherto she’s guilty. HIPPOLITA. You must goe. EMILIA. In faith, I will not. THESEUS. Why, the knights must kindle Their valour at your eye: know, of this war You are the Treasure, and must needes be by To give the Service pay. EMILIA. Sir, pardon me; The tytle of a kingdome may be tride Out of it selfe. THESEUS. Well, well, then, at your pleasure; Those that remaine with you could wish their office To any of their Enemies. HIPPOLITA. Farewell, Sister; I am like to know your husband fore your selfe By some small start of time: he whom the gods Doe of the two know best, I pray them he Be made your Lot. [Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]
EMILIA. Arcite is gently visagd; yet his eye Is like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage Are bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon Has a most menacing aspect: his brow Is grav’d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on; Yet sometime tis not so, but alters to The quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye Will dwell upon his object. Mellencholly Becomes him nobly; So do’s Arcites mirth, But Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth, So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad, And sadnes, merry; those darker humours that Sticke misbecomingly on others, on them Live in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a charge.] Harke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite The Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me, And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to The spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty Enough for such a chance; if I were by, I might doe 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 borne Then minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within, crying ‘a Palamon’.] What is the chance?
SERVANT. The cry is ‘Arcite’, and ‘victory’, harke: ‘Arcite, victory!’ The Combats consummation is proclaim’d By the wind Instruments. EMILIA. Halfe sights saw That Arcite was no babe; god’s lyd, his richnes And costlines of spirit look’t through him, it could No more be hid in him then fire in flax, Then humble banckes can goe to law with waters, That drift windes force to raging: I did thinke Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not Why I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets, When oft our fancies are. They are comming off: Alas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.] [Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and attendants, &c.] THESEUS. Lo, where our Sister is in expectation, Yet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily, The gods by their divine arbitrament Have given you this Knight; he is a good one As ever strooke at head. Give me your hands; Receive you her, you him; be plighted with A love that growes, as you decay. ARCITE. Emily, To buy you, I have lost what’s deerest to me, Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely, As I doe rate your value.
Ideas discussed in this chapter
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