Two Noble Kinsmen — Act 4
[Enter Iailor and his friend.
] IAILOR.
Heare you no more?
was nothing saide of me Concerning the escape of Palamon?
Good Sir, remember.
1. FRIEND.
Nothing that I heard, For I came home before the busines Was fully ended: Yet I might perceive, Ere I departed, a great likelihood Of both their pardons: For Hipolita, And faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees Begd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke Me thought stood staggering, whether he should follow His rash oth, or the sweet compassion Of those two Ladies; and to second them, That truely noble Prince Perithous, Halfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope All shall be well: Neither heard I one question Of your name or his scape.
[Enter 2. Friend.
] IAILOR.
Pray heaven it hold so.
2. FRIEND.
Be of good comfort, man; I bring you newes, Good newes.
IAILOR.
They are welcome, 2. FRIEND.
Palamon has cleerd you, And got your pardon, and discoverd how And by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters, Whose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner, Not to be held ungratefull to her goodnes, Has given a summe of money to her Marriage, A large one, ile assure you.
IAILOR.
Ye are a good man And ever bring good newes.
1. FRIEND.
How was it ended?
2. FRIEND.
Why, as it should be; they that nev’r begd But they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted, The prisoners have their lives.
1. FRIEND.
I knew t’would be so.
2. FRIEND.
But there be new conditions, which you’l heare of At better time.
IAILOR.
I hope they are good.
2. FRIEND.
They are honourable, How good they’l prove, I know not.
[Enter Wooer.
] 1. FRIEND.
T’will be knowne.
WOOER.
Alas, Sir, wher’s your Daughter?
IAILOR.
Why doe you aske?
WOOER.
O, Sir, when did you see her?
2. FRIEND.
How he lookes?
IAILOR.
This morning.
WOOER.
Was she well?
was she in health, Sir?
When did she sleepe?
1. FRIEND.
These are strange Questions.
IAILOR.
I doe not thinke she was very well, for now You make me minde her, but this very day I ask’d her questions, and she answered me So farre from what she was, so childishly, So sillily, as if she were a foole, An Inocent, and I was very angry.
But what of her, Sir?
WOOER.
Nothing but my pitty;
But you must know it, and as good by me As by an other that lesse loves her— IAILOR.
Well, Sir.
1. FRIEND.
Not right?
2. FRIEND.
Not well?
WOOER.
No, Sir, not well.
Tis too true, she is mad.
1. FRIEND.
It cannot be.
WOOER.
Beleeve, you’l finde it so.
IAILOR.
I halfe suspected What you (have) told me: the gods comfort her: Either this was her love to Palamon, Or feare of my miscarrying on his scape, Or both.
WOOER.
Tis likely.
IAILOR.
But why all this haste, Sir?
WOOER.
Ile tell you quickly.
As I late was angling In the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace, From the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges, As patiently I was attending sport, I heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive I gave my eare, when I might well perceive T’was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it A boy or woman.
I then left my angle To his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not Who made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds Had so encompast it: I laide me downe And listned to the words she sung, for then, Through a small glade cut by the Fisher men, I saw it was your Daughter.
IAILOR.
Pray, goe on, Sir?
WOOER.
She sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her Repeat this often: ‘Palamon is gone, Is gone to’th wood to gather Mulberies;
Ile finde him out to morrow.
’ 1. FRIEND.
Pretty soule.
WOOER.
‘His shackles will betray him, hee’l be taken, And what shall I doe then?
Ile bring a beavy, A hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe, With Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies, With cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses, And all wee’l daunce an Antique fore the Duke, And beg his pardon.
’ Then she talk’d of you, Sir;
That you must loose your head to morrow morning, And she must gather flowers to bury you, And see the house made handsome: then she sung Nothing but ‘Willow, willow, willow,’ and betweene Ever was, ‘Palamon, faire Palamon,’ And ‘Palamon was a tall yong man.
’ The place Was knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses A wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke Thousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors, That me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph That feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris Newly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke The prettiest posies: ‘Thus our true love’s tide,’ ‘This you may loose, not me,’ and many a one: And then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh’d, And with the same breath smil’d, and kist her hand.
2. FRIEND.
Alas, what pitty it is!
WOOER.
I made in to her.
She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav’d her, And set her safe to land: when presently She slipt away, and to the Citty made, With such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me, Shee left me farre behinde her; three or foure I saw from farre off crosse her, one of ’em I knew to be your brother; where she staid, And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter Brother, Daughter, and others.
] And hether came to tell you.
Here they are.
DAUGHTER.
[sings.
] May you never more enjoy the light, &c. Is not this a fine Song?
BROTHER.
O, a very fine one.
DAUGHTER.
I can sing twenty more.
BROTHER.
I thinke you can.
DAUGHTER.
Yes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome, And Bony Robin.
Are not you a tailour?
BROTHER.
Yes.
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.
[Enter (a) Gent(leman.
)] EMILIA.
How now, Sir?
GENTLEMAN.
From the Noble Duke your Brother, Madam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come.
EMILIA.
To end the quarrell?
GENTLEMAN.
Yes.
EMILIA.
Would I might end first: What sinnes have I committed, chast Diana, That my unspotted youth must now be soyld With blood of Princes?
and my Chastitie 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 Beautie?
[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.
] THESEUS.
Bring ’em in Quickly, By any meanes; I long to see ’em.
— Your two contending Lovers are return’d, And with them their faire Knights: Now, my faire Sister, You must love one of them.
EMILIA.
I had rather both, So neither for my sake should fall untimely.
[Enter Messenger.
(Curtis.
)] THESEUS.
Who saw ’em?
PERITHOUS.
I, a while.
GENTLEMAN.
And I. THESEUS.
From whence come you, Sir?
MESSENGER.
From the Knights.
THESEUS.
Pray, speake, You that have seene them, what they are.
MESSENGER.
I will, Sir, And truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits Then these 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 lookes so say him) his complexion, Nearer a browne, than blacke, sterne, and yet noble, Which shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers: The circles of his eyes show fire within him, And as a heated Lyon, so he lookes;
His haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining Like Ravens wings: his shoulders broad and strong, Armd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword Hung by a curious Bauldricke, when he frownes To seale his will with: better, o’my conscience Was never Souldiers friend.
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.
