Two Noble Kinsmen — Act 5/Epilogue
[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.
[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a Battaile, whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.
] O Great Corrector of enormous times, Shaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider Of dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood The earth when it is sicke, and curst the world O’th pluresie of people; I doe take Thy signes auspiciously, and in thy name To my designe march boldly.
Let us goe.
[Exeunt.
] [Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.
] PALAMON.
Our stars must glister with new fire, or be To daie extinct; our argument is love, Which if the goddesse of it grant, she gives Victory too: then blend your spirits with mine, You, whose free noblenesse doe make my cause Your personall hazard; to the goddesse Venus Commend we our proceeding, and implore Her power unto our partie.
[Here they kneele as formerly.
] Haile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast power To call the feircest Tyrant from his rage, And weepe unto a Girle; that ha’st the might, Even with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis Drom And turne th’allarme to whispers; that canst make A Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure him Before Apollo; that may’st force the King To be his subjects vassaile, and induce Stale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour— Whose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres, Have skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catch And make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate, Abuse yong laies of love: what godlike power Hast thou not power upon?
To Phoebus thou Add’st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyres Did scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresse All moyst and cold, some say, began to throw Her Bow away, and sigh.
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.
