Two Noble Kinsmen — Act 2
[Enter Iailor, and Wooer.
] IAILOR.
I may depart with little, while I live; some thing I may cast to you, not much: Alas, the Prison I keepe, though it be for great ones, yet they seldome come; Before one Salmon, you shall take a number of Minnowes.
I am given out to be better lyn’d then it can appeare to me report is a true Speaker: I would I were really that I am deliverd to be.
Marry, what I have (be it what it will) I will assure upon my daughter at the day of my death.
WOOER.
Sir, I demaund no more then your owne offer, and I will estate your Daughter in what I have promised.
IAILOR.
Wel, we will talke more of this, when the solemnity is past.
But have you a full promise of her?
When that shall be seene, I tender my consent.
[Enter Daughter.
] WOOER.
I have Sir; here shee comes.
IAILOR.
Your Friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old busines: But no more of that now; so soone as the Court hurry is over, we will have an end of it: I’th meane time looke tenderly to the two Prisoners.
I can tell you they are princes.
DAUGHTER.
These strewings are for their Chamber; tis pitty they are in prison, and twer pitty they should be out: I doe thinke they have patience to make any adversity asham’d; the prison it selfe is proud of ’em; and they have all the world in their Chamber.
IAILOR.
They are fam’d to be a paire of absolute men.
DAUGHTER.
By my troth, I think Fame but stammers ’em; they stand a greise above the reach of report.
IAILOR.
I heard them reported in the Battaile to be the only doers.
DAUGHTER.
Nay, most likely, for they are noble suffrers; I mervaile how they would have lookd had they beene Victors, that with such a constant Nobility enforce a freedome out of Bondage, making misery their Mirth, and affliction a toy to jest at.
IAILOR.
Doe they so?
DAUGHTER.
It seemes to me they have no more sence of their Captivity, then I of ruling Athens: they eate well, looke merrily, discourse of many things, but nothing of their owne restraint, and disasters: yet sometime a devided sigh, martyrd as ’twer i’th deliverance, will breake from one of them; when the other presently gives it so sweete a rebuke, that I could wish my selfe a Sigh to be so chid, or at least a Sigher to be comforted.
WOOER.
I never saw ’em.
IAILOR.
The Duke himselfe came privately in the night, [Enter Palamon, and Arcite, above.
] and so did they: what the reason of it is, I know not: Looke, yonder they are!
that’s Arcite lookes out.
DAUGHTER.
No, Sir, no, that’s Palamon: Arcite is the lower of the twaine; you may perceive a part of him.
IAILOR.
Goe too, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object; out of their sight.
DAUGHTER.
It is a holliday to looke on them: Lord, the diffrence of men!
[Exeunt.
] Scaena 2. (The prison) [Enter Palamon, and Arcite in prison.
] PALAMON.
How doe you, Noble Cosen?
ARCITE.
How doe you, Sir?
PALAMON.
Why strong inough to laugh at misery, And beare the chance of warre, yet we are prisoners, I feare, for ever, Cosen.
ARCITE.
I beleeve it, And to that destiny have patiently Laide up my houre to come.
PALAMON.
O Cosen Arcite, Where is Thebs now?
where is our noble Country?
Where are our friends, and kindreds?
never more Must we behold those comforts, never see The hardy youthes strive for the Games of honour (Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies, Like tall Ships under saile) then start among’st ’em And as an Eastwind leave ’en all behinde us, Like lazy Clowdes, whilst Palamon and Arcite, Even in the wagging of a wanton leg Out-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands, Ere they have time to wish ’em ours.
O never Shall we two exercise, like Twyns of honour, Our Armes againe, and feele our fyry horses Like proud Seas under us: our good Swords now (Better the red-eyd god of war nev’r wore) Ravishd our sides, like age must run to rust, And decke the Temples of those gods that hate us: These hands shall never draw’em out like lightning, To blast whole Armies more.
ARCITE.
No, Palamon, Those hopes are Prisoners with us; here we are And here the graces of our youthes must wither Like a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us, And, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried;
The sweete embraces of a loving wife, Loden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids Shall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us, No figures of our selves shall we ev’r see, To glad our age, and like young Eagles teach ’em Boldly to gaze against bright armes, and say: ‘Remember what your fathers were, and conquer.
’ The faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Banishments, And in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune, Till shee for shame see what a wrong she has done To youth and nature.
This is all our world;
We shall know nothing here but one another, Heare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes.
The Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it: Sommer shall come, and with her all delights;
But dead-cold winter must inhabite here still.
PALAMON.
Tis too true, Arcite.
To our Theban houndes, That shooke the aged Forrest with their ecchoes, No more now must we halloa, no more shake Our pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine Flyes like a parthian quiver from our rages, Strucke with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses (The foode, and nourishment of noble mindes,) In us two here shall perish; we shall die (Which is the curse of honour) lastly Children of greife, and Ignorance.
ARCITE.
Yet, Cosen, Even from the bottom of these miseries, From all that fortune can inflict upon us, I see two comforts rysing, two meere blessings, If the gods please: to hold here a brave patience, And the enjoying of our greefes together.
Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish If I thinke this our prison.
PALAMON.
Certeinly, Tis a maine goodnes, Cosen, that our fortunes Were twyn’d together; tis most true, two soules Put in two noble Bodies—let ’em suffer The gaule of hazard, so they grow together— Will never sincke; they must not, say they could: A willing man dies sleeping, and all’s done.
ARCITE.
Shall we make worthy uses of this place That all men hate so much?
PALAMON.
How, gentle Cosen?
ARCITE.
Let’s thinke this prison holy sanctuary, To keepe us from corruption of worse men.
We are young and yet desire the waies of honour, That liberty and common Conversation, The poyson of pure spirits, might like women Wooe us to wander from.
What worthy blessing Can be but our Imaginations May make it ours?
And heere being thus together, We are an endles mine to one another;
We are one anothers wife, ever begetting New birthes of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;
We are, in one another, Families, I am your heire, and you are mine: This place Is our Inheritance, no hard Oppressour Dare take this from us; here, with a little patience, We shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seeke us: The hand of war hurts none here, nor the Seas Swallow their youth: were we at liberty, A wife might part us lawfully, or busines;
Quarrels consume us, Envy of ill men Grave our acquaintance; I might sicken, Cosen, Where you should never know it, and so perish Without your noble hand to close mine eies, Or praiers to the gods: a thousand chaunces, Were we from hence, would seaver us.
PALAMON.
You have made me (I thanke you, Cosen Arcite) almost wanton With my Captivity: what a misery It is to live abroade, and every where!
Tis like a Beast, me thinkes: I finde the Court here— I am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures That wooe the wils of men to vanity, I see through now, and am sufficient To tell the world, tis but a gaudy shaddow, That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.
What had we bin, old in the Court of Creon, Where sin is Iustice, lust and ignorance The vertues of the great ones!
Cosen Arcite, Had not the loving gods found this place for us, We had died as they doe, ill old men, unwept, And had their Epitaphes, the peoples Curses: Shall I say more?
ARCITE.
I would heare you still.
PALAMON.
Ye shall.
Is there record of any two that lov’d Better then we doe, Arcite?
ARCITE.
Sure, there cannot.
PALAMON.
I doe not thinke it possible our friendship Should ever leave us.
ARCITE.
Till our deathes it cannot;
[Enter Emilia and her woman (below).
] And after death our spirits shall be led To those that love eternally.
Speake on, Sir.
EMILIA.
This garden has a world of pleasures in’t. What Flowre is this?
WOMAN.
Tis calld Narcissus, Madam.
EMILIA.
That was a faire Boy, certaine, but a foole, To love himselfe; were there not maides enough?
ARCITE.
Pray forward.
PALAMON.
Yes.
EMILIA.
Or were they all hard hearted?
WOMAN.
They could not be to one so faire.
EMILIA.
Thou wouldst not.
WOMAN.
I thinke I should not, Madam.
EMILIA.
That’s a good wench: But take heede to your kindnes though.
WOMAN.
Why, Madam?
EMILIA.
Men are mad things.
ARCITE.
Will ye goe forward, Cosen?
EMILIA.
Canst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench?
WOMAN.
Yes.
EMILIA.
Ile have a gowne full of ’em, and of these;
This is a pretty colour, wilt not doe Rarely upon a Skirt, wench?
WOMAN.
Deinty, Madam.
ARCITE.
Cosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir?
Why, Palamon?
PALAMON.
Never till now I was in prison, Arcite.
ARCITE.
Why whats the matter, Man?
PALAMON.
Behold, and wonder.
By heaven, shee is a Goddesse.
ARCITE.
Ha.
PALAMON.
Doe reverence.
She is a Goddesse, Arcite.
EMILIA.
Of all Flowres, me thinkes a Rose is best.
WOMAN.
Why, gentle Madam?
EMILIA.
It is the very Embleme of a Maide.
For when the west wind courts her gently, How modestly she blowes, and paints the Sun, With her chaste blushes!
When the North comes neere her, Rude and impatient, then, like Chastity, Shee lockes her beauties in her bud againe, And leaves him to base briers.
WOMAN.
Yet, good Madam, Sometimes her modesty will blow so far She fals for’t: a Mayde, If shee have any honour, would be loth To take example by her.
EMILIA.
Thou art wanton.
ARCITE.
She is wondrous faire.
PALAMON.
She is beauty extant.
EMILIA.
The Sun grows high, lets walk in: keep these flowers;
Weele see how neere Art can come neere their colours.
I am wondrous merry hearted, I could laugh now.
WOMAN.
I could lie downe, I am sure.
EMILIA.
And take one with you?
WOMAN.
That’s as we bargaine, Madam.
EMILIA.
Well, agree then.
[Exeunt Emilia and woman.
] PALAMON.
What thinke you of this beauty?
ARCITE.
Tis a rare one.
PALAMON.
Is’t but a rare one?
ARCITE.
Yes, a matchles beauty.
PALAMON.
Might not a man well lose himselfe and love her?
ARCITE.
I cannot tell what you have done, I have;
Beshrew mine eyes for’t: now I feele my Shackles.
PALAMON.
You love her, then?
ARCITE.
Who would not?
PALAMON.
And desire her?
ARCITE.
Before my liberty.
PALAMON.
I saw her first.
ARCITE.
That’s nothing.
PALAMON.
But it shall be.
ARCITE.
I saw her too.
PALAMON.
Yes, but you must not love her.
ARCITE.
I will not as you doe, to worship her, As she is heavenly, and a blessed Goddes;
I love her as a woman, to enjoy her: So both may love.
PALAMON.
You shall not love at all.
ARCITE.
Not love at all!
Who shall deny me?
PALAMON.
I, that first saw her; I, that tooke possession First with mine eyes of all those beauties In her reveald to mankinde: if thou lou’st her, Or entertain’st a hope to blast my wishes, Thou art a Traytour, Arcite, and a fellow False as thy Title to her: friendship, blood, And all the tyes betweene us I disclaime, If thou once thinke upon her.
ARCITE.
Yes, I love her, And if the lives of all my name lay on it, I must doe so; I love her with my soule: If that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon;
I say againe, I love, and in loving her maintaine I am as worthy and as free a lover, And have as just a title to her beauty As any Palamon or any living That is a mans Sonne.
PALAMON.
Have I cald thee friend?
ARCITE.
Yes, and have found me so; why are you mov’d thus?
Let me deale coldly with you: am not I Part of your blood, part of your soule?
you have told me That I was Palamon, and you were Arcite.
PALAMON.
Yes.
ARCITE.
Am not I liable to those affections, Those joyes, greifes, angers, feares, my friend shall suffer?
PALAMON.
Ye may be.
ARCITE.
Why, then, would you deale so cunningly, So strangely, so vnlike a noble kinesman, To love alone?
speake truely: doe you thinke me Vnworthy of her sight?
PALAMON.
No; but unjust, If thou pursue that sight.
ARCITE.
Because an other First sees the Enemy, shall I stand still And let mine honour downe, and never charge?
PALAMON.
Yes, if he be but one.
ARCITE.
But say that one Had rather combat me?
PALAMON.
Let that one say so, And use thy freedome; els if thou pursuest her, Be as that cursed man that hates his Country, A branded villaine.
ARCITE.
You are mad.
PALAMON.
I must be, Till thou art worthy, Arcite; it concernes me, And in this madnes, if I hazard thee And take thy life, I deale but truely.
ARCITE.
Fie, Sir, You play the Childe extreamely: I will love her, I must, I ought to doe so, and I dare;
And all this justly.
PALAMON.
O that now, that now Thy false-selfe and thy friend had but this fortune, To be one howre at liberty, and graspe Our good Swords in our hands!
I would quickly teach thee What ’twer to filch affection from another: Thou art baser in it then a Cutpurse;
Put but thy head out of this window more, And as I have a soule, Ile naile thy life too’t. ARCITE.
Thou dar’st not, foole, thou canst not, thou art feeble.
Put my head out?
Ile throw my Body out, And leape the garden, when I see her next [Enter Keeper.
] And pitch between her armes to anger thee.
PALAMON.
No more; the keeper’s comming; I shall live To knocke thy braines out with my Shackles.
ARCITE.
Doe.
KEEPER.
By your leave, Gentlemen— PALAMON.
Now, honest keeper?
KEEPER.
Lord Arcite, you must presently to’th Duke;
The cause I know not yet.
ARCITE.
I am ready, keeper.
KEEPER.
Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you Of your faire Cosens Company.
[Exeunt Arcite, and Keeper.
] PALAMON.
And me too, Even when you please, of life.
Why is he sent for?
It may be he shall marry her; he’s goodly, And like enough the Duke hath taken notice Both of his blood and body: But his falsehood!
Why should a friend be treacherous?
If that Get him a wife so noble, and so faire, Let honest men ne’re love againe.
Once more I would but see this faire One.
Blessed Garden, And fruite, and flowers more blessed, that still blossom As her bright eies shine on ye!
would I were, For all the fortune of my life hereafter, Yon little Tree, yon blooming Apricocke;
How I would spread, and fling my wanton armes In at her window; I would bring her fruite Fit for the Gods to feed on: youth and pleasure Still as she tasted should be doubled on her, And if she be not heavenly, I would make her So neere the Gods in nature, they should feare her, [Enter Keeper.
] And then I am sure she would love me.
How now, keeper.
Wher’s Arcite?
KEEPER.
Banishd: Prince Pirithous Obtained his liberty; but never more Vpon his oth and life must he set foote Vpon this Kingdome.
PALAMON.
