The arden shakespeare co.., p.559
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works, page 559
If she entreat again, do anything.
Lie with her if she ask you.
JAILER Whoa there, Doctor!
DOCTOR Yes, in the way of cure.
JAILER But first, by your leave,
I’th’ way of honesty.
DOCTOR That’s but a niceness.
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Ne’er cast your child away for honesty.
Cure her first this way; then if she will be honest,
She has the path before her.
JAILER Thank ye, Doctor.
DOCTOR Pray bring her in and let’s see how she is.
JAILER I will, and tell her
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Her Palamon stays for her. But, Doctor,
Methinks you are i’th’ wrong still. Exit Jailer.
DOCTOR Go, go,
You fathers are fine fools. Her honesty?
An we should give her physic till we find that!
WOOER Why, do you think she is not honest, sir?
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DOCTOR How old is she?
WOOER She’s eighteen.
DOCTOR She may be,
But that’s all one, ’tis nothing to our purpose.
Whate’er her father says, if you perceive
Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of,
Videlicet, the ‘way of flesh’ – you have me?
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WOOER Yes, very well, sir.
DOCTOR Please her appetite
And do it home, it cures her, ipso facto,
The melancholy humour that infects her.
WOOER I am of your mind, Doctor.
Enter Jailer, Daughter and maid.
DOCTOR You’ll find it so. She comes; pray, humour her.
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JAILER Come, your love Palamon stays for you, child,
And has done this long hour, to visit you.
DAUGHTER I thank him for his gentle patience;
He’s a kind gentleman and I am much bound to him.
Did you ne’er see the horse he gave me?
JAILER Yes.
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DAUGHTER How do you like him?
JAILER He’s a very fair one.
DAUGHTER You never saw him dance?
JAILER No.
DAUGHTER I have, often.
He dances very finely, very comely,
And for a jig, come cut and long tail to him,
He turns ye like a top.
JAILER That’s fine indeed.
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DAUGHTER
He’ll dance the morris twenty mile an hour –
And that will founder the best hobby-horse,
If I have any skill, in all the parish –
And gallops to the tune of ‘Light o’ love’.
What think you of this horse?
JAILER Having these virtues,
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I think he might be brought to play at tennis.
DAUGHTER Alas, that’s nothing.
JAILER Can he read and write too?
DAUGHTER
A very fair hand, and casts himself th’accounts
Of all his hay and provender. That ostler
Must rise betimes that cozens him. You know
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The chestnut mare the Duke has?
JAILER Very well.
DAUGHTER
She is horribly in love with him, poor beast!
But he is like his master, coy and scornful.
JAILER What dowry has she?
DAUGHTER Some two hundred bottles
And twenty strike of oats – but he’ll ne’er have her.
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He lisps in’s neighing, able to entice
A miller’s mare. He’ll be the death of her.
DOCTOR What stuff she utters!
JAILER Make curtsey, here your love comes.
[Wooer comes forward and bows.]
WOOER Pretty soul,
How do ye? [She curtseys.]
That’s a fine maid! There’s a curtsey!
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DAUGHTER Yours to command i’th’ way of honesty.
How far is’t now to th’end o’th’ world, my masters?
DOCTOR Why, a day’s journey, wench.
DAUGHTER [to Wooer] Will you go with me?
WOOER What shall we do there, wench?
DAUGHTER Why, play at stool-ball;
What is there else to do?
WOOER I am content,
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If we shall keep our wedding there.
DAUGHTER ’Tis true,
For there, I will assure you, we shall find
Some blind priest for the purpose, that will venture
To marry us, for here they are nice and foolish.
Besides, my father must be hanged tomorrow
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And that would be a blot i’th’ business.
Are not you Palamon?
WOOER Do not you know me?
DAUGHTER Yes, but you care not for me. I have nothing
But this poor petticoat and two coarse smocks.
WOOER That’s all one; I will have you.
DAUGHTER Will you surely?
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WOOER Yes, by this fair hand, will I. [Takes her hand.]
DAUGHTER We’ll to bed then.
WOOER E’en when you will. [Kisses her.]
DAUGHTER [Rubs off the kiss.]
O, sir, you would fain be nibbling.
WOOER Why do you rub my kiss off?
DAUGHTER ’Tis a sweet one
And will perfume me finely against the wedding.
Is not this your cousin Arcite? [Indicates the Doctor.]
DOCTOR Yes, sweetheart,
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And I am glad my cousin Palamon
Has made so fair a choice.
DAUGHTER [to Doctor] Do you think he’ll have me?
DOCTOR Yes, without doubt.
DAUGHTER [to Jailer] Do you think so too?
JAILER Yes.
DAUGHTER We shall have many children.
[to Doctor] Lord, how you’re grown!
My Palamon, I hope, will grow too, finely,
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Now he’s at liberty. Alas, poor chicken,
He was kept down with hard meat and ill lodging!
But I’ll kiss him up again.
Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER
What do you here? You’ll lose the noblest sight
That e’er was seen.
JAILER Are they i’th’ field?
MESSENGER They are.
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You bear a charge there too.
JAILER I’ll away straight.
I must e’en leave you here.
DOCTOR Nay, we’ll go with you;
I will not lose the sight.
JAILER [to Doctor] How did you like her?
DOCTOR
I’ll warrant you, within these three or four days
I’ll make her right again. Exit Jailer with Messenger.
[to Wooer] You must not from her,
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But still preserve her in this way.
WOOER I will.
DOCTOR Let’s get her in.
WOOER [to Daughter] Come, sweet, we’ll go to dinner
And then we’ll play at cards.
DAUGHTER And shall we kiss too?
WOOER An hundred times.
DAUGHTER And twenty?
WOOER Ay, and twenty.
DAUGHTER And then we’ll sleep together.
DOCTOR Take her offer.
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WOOER [to Daughter] Yes, marry, will we.
DAUGHTER But you shall not hurt me.
WOOER I will not, sweet.
DAUGHTER If you do, love, I’ll cry. Exeunt.
5.3 Flourish. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EMILIA, PIRITHOUS and attendants.
EMILIA I’ll no step further.
PIRITHOUS Will you lose this sight?
EMILIA I had rather see a wren hawk at a fly
Than this decision. Every blow that falls
Threats a brave life; each stroke laments
The place whereon it falls and sounds more like
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A bell than blade. I will stay here.
It is enough my hearing shall be punished
With what shall happen, ’gainst the which there is
No deafing, but to hear, not taint mine eye
With dread sights it may shun.
PIRITHOUS [to Theseus] Sir, my good lord,
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Your sister will no further.
THESEUS O, she must.
She shall see deeds of honour in their kind,
Which sometime show well, pencilled. Nature now
Shall make and act the story, the belief
Both sealed with eye and ear.
[to Emilia] You must be present:
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You are the victor’s meed, the prize and garland
To crown the question’s title.
EMILIA Pardon me;
If I were there, I’d wink.
THESEUS You must be there:
This trial is as ’twere i’th’ night, and you
The only star to shine.
EMILIA I am extinct.
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There is but envy in that light which shows
The one the other. Darkness, which ever was
The dam of horror, who does stand accursed
Of many mortal millions, may even now,
By casting her black mantle over both
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That neither could find other, get herself
Some part of a good name and many a murder
Set off whereto she’s guilty.
HIPPOLYTA You must go.
EMILIA In faith, I will not.
THESEUS Why, the knights must kindle
Their valour at your eye. Know, of this war
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You are the treasure and must needs be by
To give the service pay.
EMILIA Sir, pardon me;
The title of a kingdom may be tried
Out of itself.
THESEUS Well, well, then, at your pleasure.
Those that remain with you could wish their office
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To any of their enemies.
HIPPOLYTA Farewell, sister.
I am like to know your husband ’fore yourself
By some small start of time; he whom the gods
Do of the two know best, I pray them he
Be made your lot. Exeunt all but Emilia.
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EMILIA Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eye
Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon
In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage
Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon
Has a most menacing aspect; his brow
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Is graved and seems to bury what it frowns on,
Yet sometime ’tis not so, but alters to
The quality of his thoughts. Long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object. Melancholy
Becomes him nobly. So does Arcite’s mirth.
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But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth,
So mingled as if mirth did make him sad
And sadness merry. Those darker humours that
Stick misbecomingly on others, on them
Live in fair dwelling.
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[Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge.]
Hark how yon spurs to spirit do incite
The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me
And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to
The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity
Enough for such a chance? If I were by
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I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes
Toward my seat and in that motion might
Omit a ward or forfeit an offence
Which craved that very time. It is much better
I am not there.
[Cornets; a great cry and noise within, crying, ‘ A Palamon!’]
O, better never born
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Than minister to such harm!
Enter Servant.
What is the chance?
SERVANT The cry’s ‘A Palamon!’
EMILIA Then he has won.
’Twas ever likely.
