The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

(To Emilia) Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a

  servant

  That, if I were a woman, would be master.

  But you are wise.

  EMILIA

  I hope too wise for that, sir.

  Flourish. Exeunt

  2.6 Enter the jailer’s Daughter

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  Let all the dukes and all the devils roar—

  He is at liberty! I have ventured for him,

  And out I have brought him. To a little wood

  A mile hence I have sent him, where a cedar

  Higher than all the rest spreads like a plane,

  Fast by a brook—and there he shall keep close

  Till I provide him files and food, for yet

  His iron bracelets are not off. O Love,

  What a stout-hearted child thou art! My father

  Durst better have endured cold iron than done it.

  I love him beyond love and beyond reason

  Or wit or safety. I have made him know it—

  I care not, I am desperate. If the law

  Find me and then condemn me for‘t, some wenches,

  Some honest-hearted maids, will sing my dirge

  And tell to memory my death was noble,

  Dying almost a martyr. That way he takes,

  I purpose, is my way too. Sure, he cannot

  Be so unmanly as to leave me here.

  If he do, maids will not so easily

  Trust men again. And yet, he has not thanked me

  For what I have done—no, not so much as kissed me—

  And that, methinks, is not so well. Nor scarcely

  Could I persuade him to become a free man,

  He made such scruples of the wrong he did

  To me and to my father. Yet, I hope

  When he considers more, this love of mine

  Will take more root within him. Let him do

  What he will with me—so he use me kindly.

  For use me, so he shall, or I’ll proclaim him,

  And to his face, no man. I’ll presently

  Provide him necessaries and pack my clothes up,

  And where there is a patch of ground I’ll venture,

  So he be with me. By him, like a shadow,

  I’ll ever dwell. Within this hour the hubbub

  Will be all o’er the prison—I am then

  Kissing the man they look for. Farewell, father:

  Get many more such prisoners and such daughters,

  And shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him.

  Exit

  3.1 A bush in place.⌉ Cornetts in sundry places. Noise and hollering as of people a-Maying. Enter Arcite

  ARCITE

  The Duke has lost Hippo)yta—each took

  A several laund. This is a solemn rite

  They owe bloomed May, and the Athenians pay it

  To th’ heart of ceremony. O, Queen Emilia,

  Fresher than May, sweeter

  Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all

  Th’enamelled knacks o’th’ mead or garden—yea,

  We challenge too the bank of any nymph

  That makes the stream seem flowers; thou, O jewel

  O’th’ wood, o’th’ world, hast likewise blessed a pace

  With thy sole presence in thy ⌈

  ⌉ rumination

  That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between

  And chop on some cold thought. Thrice blessèd

  chance

  To drop on such a mistress, expectation

  Most guiltless on‘t! Tell me, O Lady Fortune,

  Next after Emily my sovereign, how far

  I may be proud. She takes strong note of me,

  Hath made me near her, and this beauteous morn,

  The prim’st of all the year, presents me with

  A brace of horses—two such steeds might well

  Be by a pair of kings backed, in a field

  That their crowns’ titles tried. Alas, alas,

  Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner—thou

  So little dream’st upon my fortune that

  Thou think’st thyself the happier thing to be

  So near Emilia. Me thou deem’st at Thebes,

  And therein wretched, although free. But if

  Thou knew’st my mistress breathed on me, and that

  I eared her language, lived in her eye-O, coz,

  What passion would enclose thee!

  Enter Palamon as out of a bush with his shackles. He bends his fist at Arcite

  PALAMON

  Traitor kinsman, Thou shouldst perceive my passion if these signs

  Of prisonment were off me, and this hand

  But owner of a sword. By all oaths in one,

  I and the justice of my love would make thee

  A confessed traitor. O thou most perfidious

  That ever gently looked, the void’st of honour

  That e’er bore gentle token, falsest cousin

  That ever blood made kin—call’st thou her thine?

  I’ll prove it in my shackles, with these hands,

  Void of appointment, that thou liest and art

  A very thief in love, a chaffy lord

  Not worth the name of villain. Had I as word

  And these house-clogs away—

  ARCITE

  Dear cousin Palamon—

  PALAMON

  Cozener Arcite, give me language such

  As thou hast showed me feat.

  ARCITE

  Not finding in The circuit of my breast any gross stuff

  To form me like your blazon holds me to

  This gentleness of answer—’tis your passion

  That thus mistakes, the which, to you being enemy,

  Cannot to me be kind. Honour and honesty

  I cherish and depend on, howsoe’er

  You skip them in me, and with them, fair coz,

  I’ll maintain my proceedings. Pray be pleased

  To show in generous terms your griefs, since that

  Your question’s with your equal, who professes

  To clear his own way with the mind and sword

  Of a true gentleman.

  PALAMON

  That thou durst, Arcite!

  ARCITE

  My coz, my coz, you have been well advertised

  How much I dare; you’ve seen me use my sword

  Against th’advice of fear. Sure, of another

  You would not hear me doubted, but your silence

  Should break out, though i’th’ sanctuary.

  PALAMON

  Sir, I have seen you move in such a place which well

  Might justify your manhood; you were called

  A good knight and a bold. But the whole week’s not

  fair

  If any day it rain: their valiant temper

  Men lose when they incline to treachery,

  And then they fight like compelled bears—would fly

  Were they not tied.

  ARCITE

  Kinsman, you might as well Speak this and act it in your glass as to

  His ear which now disdains you.

  PALAMON

  Come up to me, Quit me of these cold gyves, give me a sword,

  Though it be rusty, and the charity

  Of one meal lend me. Come before me then,

  A good sword in thy hand, and do but say

  That Emily is thine-I will forgive

  The trespass thou hast done me, yea, my life,

  If then thou carry’t; and brave souls in shades

  That have died manly, which will seek of me

  Some news from earth, they shall get none but this—

  That thou art brave and noble.

  ARCITE

  Be content, Again betake you to your hawthorn house.

  With counsel of the night I will be here

  With wholesome viands. These impediments

  Will I file off. You shall have garments and

  Perfumes to kill the sm
ell o’th’ prison. After,

  When you shall stretch yourself and say but ’Arcite,

  I am in plight’, there shall be at your choice

  Both sword and armour.

  PALAMON

  O, you heavens, dares any So noble bear a guilty business! None

  But only Arcite, therefore none but Arcite

  In this kind is so bold.

  ARCITE Sweet Palamon.

  PALAMON

  I do embrace you and your offer—for

  Your offer do’t I only, sir; your person,

  Without hypocrisy, I may not wishWind horns within

  More than my sword’s edge on’t.

  ARCITE

  You hear the horns—Enter your muset lest this match between’s

  Be crossed ere met. Give me your hand, farewell.

  I’ll bring you every needful thing—I pray you,

  Take comfort and be strong.

  PALAMON

  Pray hold your promise, And do the deed with a bent brow. Most certain

  You love me not—be rough with me and pour

  This oil out of your language. By this air,

  I could for each word give a cuff, my stomach

  Not reconciled by reason.

  ARCITE

  Plainly spoken, Yet—pardon me—hard language: when I spur

  Wind horns within

  My horse I chide him not. Content and anger

  In me have but one face. Hark, sir, they call

  The scattered to the banquet. You must guess

  I have an office there.

  PALAMON

  Sir, your attendance Cannot please heaven, and I know your office

  Unjustly is achieved.

  ARCITE

  ’Tis a good title. I am persuaded this question, sick between’s,

  By bleeding must be cured. I am a suitor

  That to your sword you will bequeath this plea

  And talk of it no more.

  PALAMON

  But this one word: You are going now to gaze upon my mistress—

  For note you, mine she is—

  ARCITE Nay then—

  PALAMON

  Nay, pray you—You talk of feeding me to breed me strength—

  You are going now to look upon a sun

  That strengthens what it looks on. There you have

  A vantage o’er me, but enjoy it till

  I may enforce my remedy. Farewell.

  Exeunt severally, ⌈Palamon as into the bush⌉

  3.2 Enter the Jailer’s Daughter, with a file

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  He has mistook the brake I meant, is gone

  After his fancy. ’Tis now wellnigh morning.

  No matter—would it were perpetual night,

  And darkness lord o’th’ world. Hark, ’tis a wolf!

  In me hath grief slain fear, and, but for one thing,

  I care for nothing—and that’s Palamon.

  I reck not if the wolves would jaw me, so

  He had this file. What if I hollered for him?

  I cannot holler. If I whooped, what then?

  If he not answered, I should call a wolf

  And do him but that service. I have heard

  Strange howls this livelong night—why may’t not be

  They have made prey of him? He has no weapons;

  He cannot run; the jangling of his gyves

  Might call fell things to listen, who have in them

  A sense to know a man unarmed, and can

  Smell where resistance is. I’ll set it down

  He’s torn to pieces: they howled many together

  And then they fed on him. So much for that.

  Be bold to ring the bell. How stand I then?

  All’s chared when he is gone. No, no, I lie:

  My father’s to be hanged for his escape,

  Myself to beg, if I prized life so much

  As to deny my act—but that I would not,

  Should I try death by dozens. I am moped—

  Food took I none these two days,

  Sipped some water. I have not closed mine eyes

  Save when my lids scoured off their brine. Alas,

  Dissolve, my life; let not my sense unsettle,

  Lest I should drown or stab or hang myself.

  O state of nature, fail together in me,

  Since thy best props are warped. So which way now?

  The best way is the next way to a grave,

  Each errant step beside is torment. Lo,

  The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech-owl

  Calls in the dawn. All offices are done

  Save what I fail in: but the point is this,

  An end, and that is all.

  Exit

  3.3 Enter Arcite with a bundle containing meat, wine, and files

  ARCITE

  I should be near the place. Ho, cousin Patamon!

  Enter Palamon ⌈as from the bush⌉

  PALAMON

  Arcite.

  ARCITE

  The same. I have brought you food and files. Come forth and fear not, here’s no Theseus.

  PALAMON

  Nor none so honest, Arcite.

  ARCITE

  That’s no matter—We’ll argue that hereafter. Come, take courage—

  You shall not die thus beastly. Here, sir, drink;

  I know you are faint. Then I’ll talk further with you.

  PALAMON

  Arcite, thou mightst now poison me.

  ARCITE

  I might—But I must fear you first. Sit down and, good now,

  No more of these vain parleys. Let us not,

  Having our ancient reputation with us,

  Make talk for fools and cowards. To your health, sir.

  PALAMON

  Do.

  ⌈Arcite drinks⌉

  ARCITE Pray sit down, then, and let me entreat you, By all the honesty and honour in you, No mention of this woman—’twilt disturb us. We shall have time enough.

  PALAMON

  Well, sir, I’ll pledge you.

  Palamon drinks

  ARCITE

  Drink a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood,

  man.

  Do not you feel it thaw you?

  PALAMON

  Stay, I’ll tell you

  After a draught or two more.

  Palamon drinks

  ARCITE

  Spare it not—

  The Duke has more, coz. Eat now.

  PALAMON

  Yes.

  Palamon eats

  ARCITE

  I am glad

  You have so good a stomach.

  PALAMON

  I am gladder

  I have so good meat to’t.

  ARCITE

  Is’t not mad, lodging Here in the wild woods, cousin?

  PALAMON

  Yes, for them

  That have wild consciences.

  ARCITE

  How tastes your victuals?

  Your hunger needs no sauce, I see.

  PALAMON

  Not much.

  But if it did, yours is too tart, sweet cousin.

  What is this?

  ARCITE Venison.

  PALAMON

  ’Tis a lusty meat—

  Give me more wine. Here, Arcite, to the wenches

  We have known in our days. ⌈Drinking⌉ The lord

  steward’s daughter.

  Do you remember her?

  ARCITE

  After you, coz.

  PALAMON

  She loved a black-haired man.

  ARCITE

  She did so; well, sir.

  PALAMON

  And I have heard some call him Arcite, and—

  ARCITE

  Out with’t, faith.

  PALAMON

  She met him in an arbour—

  What did she there, coz? Play o’th’ virginals?

  ARCITE

  Something she did, sir—

 
; PALAMON

  Made her groan a month for’t—

  Or two, or three, or ten.

  ARCITE

  The marshal’s sister Had her share too, as I remember, cousin,

  Else there be tales abroad. You’ll pledge her?

  PALAMON Yes.

  ⌈They drink⌉

  ARCITE

  A pretty brown wench ’tis. There was a time

  When young men went a-hunting, and a wood,

  And a broad beech, and thereby hangs a tale—

  Heigh-ho!

  PALAMON

  For Emily, upon my life! Fool,

  Away with this strained mirth. I say again,

  That sigh was breathed for Emily. Base cousin,

  Dar’st thou break first?

  ARCITE

  You are wide.

  PALAMON

  By heaven and earth,

  There’s nothing in thee honest.

  ARCITE

  Then I’ll leave you—

  You are a beast now.

  PALAMON As thou mak’st me, traitor.

  ARCITE (pointing to the bundle)

  There’s all things needful: files and shirts and

  perfumes—

  I’ll come again some two hours hence and bring

  That that shall quiet all.

  PALAMON A sword and armour.

  ARCITE

  Fear me not. You are now too foul. Farewell.

  Get off your trinkets: you shall want naught.

  PALAMON Sirrah—

  ARCITE

  I’ll hear no more.

  Exit

  PALAMON

  If he keep touch, he dies for’t.

  Exit ⌈as into the bush⌉

  3.4 Enter the Jailer’s Daughter

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  I am very cold, and all the stars are out too,

  The little stars and all, that look like agtets—

  The sun has seen my folly. Palamon!

  Alas, no, he’s in heaven. Where am I now?

  Yonder’s the sea and there’s a ship—how’t tumbles!

  And there’s a rock lies watching under water—

  Now, now, it beats upon it—now, now, now,

  There’s a leak sprung, a sound one—how they cry!

  Open her before the wind—you’ll lose all else.

  Up with a course or two and tack about, boys.

  Good night, good night, you’re gone. I am very

  hungry.

  Would I could find a fine frog—he would tell me

  News from all parts o‘th’ world, then would I make

  A carrack of a cockle-shell, and sail

  By east and north-east to the King of Pygmies,