The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  You make me mind her, but this very day

  I asked her questions and she answered me

  So far from what she was, so childishly,

  So sillily, as if she were a fool,

  An innocent—and I was very angry.

  But what of her, sir?

  WOOER

  Nothing, but my pity

  But you must know it, and as good by me

  As by another that less loves her—

  JAILER

  Well, sir?

  FIRST FRIEND Not right?

  WOOER

  No, sir, not well.

  SECOND FRIEND

  Not Well?

  WOOER

  ’Tis too true—she is mad.

  FIRST FRIEND

  It cannot be.

  WOOER

  Believe, you’ll find it so.

  JAILER

  I half suspected

  What you told me—the gods comfort her!

  Either this was her love to Palamon,

  Or fear of my miscarrying on his scape,

  Or both.

  WOOER

  ’Tis likely.

  JAILER

  But why all this haste, sir?

  WOOER

  I’ll tell you quickly. As I late was angling

  In the great lake that lies behind the palace,

  From the far shore, thick set with reeds and sedges,

  As patiently I was attending sport,

  I heard a voice—a shrill one—and attentive

  I gave my ear, when I might well perceive

  ’Twas one that sung, and by the smallness of it

  A boy or woman. I then left my angle

  To his own skill, came near, but yet perceived not

  Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds

  Had so encompassed it. I laid me down

  And listened to the words she sung, for then,

  Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,

  I saw it was your daughter.

  JAILER

  Pray go on, sir.

  WOOER

  She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her

  Repeat this often—‘Palamon is gone,

  Is gone to th’ wood to gather mulberries;

  I’ll find him out tomorrow.’

  FIRST FRIEND

  Pretty soul!

  WOOER

  ‘His shackles will betray him—he’ll be taken,

  And what shall I do then? I’ll bring a bevy,

  A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do,

  With chaplets on their heads of daffodillies,

  With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses,

  And all we’ll dance an antic fore the Duke

  And beg his pardon.’ Then she talked of you, sir—

  That you must lose your head tomorrow morning,

  And she must gather flowers to bury you,

  And see the house made handsome. Then she sung

  Nothing but ‘willow, willow, willow’, and between

  Ever was ‘Palamon, fair Palamon’,

  And ‘Palamon was a tall young man’. The place

  Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses

  A wreath of bull-rush rounded; about her stuck

  Thousand freshwater flowers of several colours—

  That she appeared, methought, like the fair nymph

  That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris

  Newly dropped down from heaven. Rings she made

  Of rushes that grew by, and to ‘em spoke

  The prettiest posies—‘Thus our true love’s tied’,

  ‘This you may lose, not me’, and many a one.

  And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed—

  And with the same breath smiled and kissed her

  hand.

  SECOND FRIEND

  Alas, what pity it is!

  WOOER

  I made in to her:

  She saw me and straight sought the flood—I saved

  her,

  And set her safe to land, when presently

  She slipped away and to the city made,

  With such a cry and swiftness that, believe me,

  She left me far behind her. Three or four

  I saw from far off cross her—one of ’em

  I knew to be your brother, where she stayed

  And fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with her,Enter the Jailer’s Brother, the Jailer’s Daughter, and others

  And hither came to tell you—here they are.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER (sings)

  ‘May you never more enjoy the light ...’—

  Is not this a fine song?

  JAILER’S BROTHER O, a very fine one.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  I can sing twenty more.

  JAILER’S BROTHER I think you can.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  Yes, truly can I—I can sing ‘The Broom’

  And ‘Bonny Robin’—are not you a tailor?

  JAILER’S BROTHER

  Yes.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER Where’s my wedding gown?

  JAILER’s BROTHER

  I’ll bring it tomorrow.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  Do, very rarely—I must be abroad else,

  To call the maids and pay the minstrels,

  For I must lose my maidenhead by cocklight,

  ‘Twill never thrive else. (Sings) ‘O fair, O sweet ...’

  JAILER’S BROTHER ⌈to the jailer⌉

  You must e’en take it patiently.

  JAILER

  ’Tis true.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  Good ev’n, good men. Pray, did you ever hear

  Of one young Palamon?

  JAILER Yes, wench, we know him.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  Is’t not a fine young gentleman?

  JAILER

  ’Tis, love.

  JAILER’S BROTHER

  By no mean cross her, she is then distempered

  Far worse than now she shows.

  FIRST FRIEND (to the Jailer’s Daughter)

  Yes, he’s a fine man.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  O, is he so? You have a sister.

  FIRST FRIEND Yes.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  But she shall never have him, tell her so,

  For a trick that I know. You’d best look to her,

  For if she see him once, she’s gone—she’s done

  And undone in an hour. All the young maids

  Of our town are in love with him, but I laugh at

  ’em

  And let ’em all alone. Is’t not a wise course?

  FIRST FRIEND

  Yes.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  There is at least two hundred now with child by him,

  There must be four; yet I keep close for all this,

  Close as a cockle; and all these must be boys—

  He has the trick on’t—and at ten years old

  They must be all gelt for musicians

  And sing the wars of Theseus.

  SECOND FRIEND

  This is strange.

  ⌈JAILER’S BROTHER⌉

  As ever you heard, but say nothing.

  FIRST FRIEND

  No.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  They come from all parts of the dukedom to him.

  I’ll warrant ye, he had not so few last night

  As twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle’t up

  In two hours, if his hand be in.

  JAILER

  She’s lost

  Past all cure.

  JAILER’S BROTHER Heaven forbid, man!

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER (to the Jailer)

  Come hither—you are a wise man.

  FIRST FRIEND

  Does she know him?

  SECOND FRIEND

  No—would she did.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER You are master of a ship?

  JAILER

  Y
es.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER Where’s your compass?

  JAILER

  Here.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  Set it to th’ north.

  And now direct your course to th’ wood where

  Palamon

  Lies longing for me. For the tackling,

  Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly all.

  Uff, uff, uff! ’Tis up. The wind’s fair. Top the bowline.

  Out with the mainsail. Where’s your whistle, master?

  JAILER’S BROTHER Let’s get her in.

  JAILER

  Up to the top, boy!

  JAILER’S BROTHER

  Where’s the pilot?

  FIRST FRIEND

  Here.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  What kenn’st thou?

  SECOND FRIEND

  A fair wood.

  JAILER’S DAUGHTER

  Bear for it, master.

  Tack about!

  (Sings) ‘When Cynthia with her borrowed light ...’

  Exeunt

  4.2 ⌈Enter Emilia, with two pictures⌉

  EMILIA

  Yet I may bind those wounds up that must open

  And bleed to death for my sake else—I’ll choose,

  And end their strife. Two such young handsome men

  Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers

  Following the dead cold ashes of their sons,

  Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,

  What a sweet face has Arcitel If wise nature,

  With all her best endowments, all those beauties

  She sows into the births of noble bodies,

  Were here a mortal woman and had in her

  The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless

  She would run mad for this man. What an eye,

  Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness

  Has this young prince! Here love himself sits smiling!

  Just such another wanton Ganymede

  Set Jove afire once, and enforced 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!

  Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter,

  Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and honour,

  Methinks, 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 near ’em. Palamon

  Is but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow;

  He’s swart 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 sharpness, not a smile.

  Yet these that we count errors may become him:

  Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.

  O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?

  I am a fool, my reason is lost in me,

  I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly

  That women ought to beat me. On my knees

  I ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art alone

  And only beautiful, and these the eyes,

  These the bright lamps of beauty, that command

  And threaten love—and what young maid dare cross

  ’em?

  What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,

  Has this brown manly face? O, love, this only

  From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite,

  Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,

  And this the noble body. I am sotted,

  Utterly lost—my virgin’s faith has fled me.

  For if my brother, but even now, had asked me

  Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite;

  Now if my sister, more for Palamon.

  Stand both together. Now come ask me, brother—

  Alas, I know not; ask me now, sweet sister—

  I may go look. What a mere child is fancy,

  That having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,

  Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!

  ⌈Enter a Gentlemanl⌉

  How now, sir?

  GENTLEMAN

  From the noble Duke your brother,

  Madam, I bring you news. The knights are come.

  EMILIA

  To end the quarrel?

  GENTLEMAN

  Yes.

  EMILIA

  Would I might end first!

  What sins have I committed, chaste Diana,

  That my unspotted youth must now be soiled

  With blood of princes, and my chastity

  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 beauty?

  Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, and attendants

  THESEUS

  Bring ’em in

  Quickly, by any means, I long to see ’em.

  Exit one or more

  (To Emilia) Your two contending lovers are returned,

  And with them their fair knights. Now, my fair sister,

  You must love one of them.

  EMILIA

  I had rather both,

  So neither for my sake should fall untimely.

  Enter a Messenger

  THESEUS

  Who saw ’em?

  PIRITHOUS

  I a while.

  GENTLEMAN

  And I.

  THESEUS (to the Messenger)

  From whence come you, sir?

  MESSENGER

  From the knights.

  THESEUS

  Pray speak,

  You that have seen them, what they are.

  MESSENGER

  I will, sir,

  And truly what I think. Six braver spirits

  Than 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 looks so say him: his complexion,

  Nearer a brown than black, stern and yet noble,

  Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers.

  The circles of his eyes show fire within him,

  And, as a heated lion, so he looks.

  His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining,

  Like ravens’ wings. His shoulders, broad and strong;

  Armed long and round; and on his thigh a sword

  Hung by a curious baldric, when he frowns

  To seal his will with. Better, o’ my conscience,

  Was never soldier’s friend.

  THESEUS Thou hast well described him.

  PIRITHOUS

  Yet a great deal short,

  Methinks, of him that’s first with Palamon.

  THESEUS

  Pray speak him, friend.

  PIRITHOUS

  I guess he is a prince too,

  And, if it may be, greater—for his show

  Has all the ornament of honour in’t.

  He’s somewhat bigger than 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 own. In’s face appears

  All the fair hopes of what he undertakes,

  And when he’s angry, then a settled valour,

  Not tainted with extremes, runs through his body

  And guides his arm to brave things. Fear he cannot—

  He shows no such soft temper. His head’s yellow,

  Hard-haired and curled, thick twined: like ivy tods,

  Not to undo with thunder. In his face

  The livery of the warlike mai
d appears,

  Pure red and white—for yet no beard has blessed

  him—

  And in his rolling eyes sits victory,

  As if she ever meant 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?

  PIRITHOUS

  When he speaks, his tongue

  Sounds like a trumpet. All his lineaments

  Are as a man would wish ’em—strong and clean.

  He wears a well-steeled axe, the staff of gold.

  His age, some five-and-twenty.

  MESSENGER

  There’s another—

  A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming

  As great as any. Fairer promises

  In such a body yet I never looked on.

  PIRITHOUS

  O, he that’s freckle-faced?

  MESSENGER

  The same, my lord.

  Are they not sweet ones?

  PIRITHOUS

  Yes, they are well.

  MESSENGER

  Methinks,

  Being so few and well disposed, they show

  Great and fine art in nature. He’s white-haired—

  Not wanton white, but such a manly colour

  Next to an auburn, tough and nimble set,

  Which shows an active soul. His arms are brawny,

  Lined with strong sinews—to the shoulder piece

  Gently they swell, like women new-conceived,

  Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting

  Under the weight of arms; stout-hearted, still,

  But when he stirs, a tiger. He’s grey-eyed,

  Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharp

  To spy advantages, and where he finds ’em,

  He’s swift to make ’em his. He does no wrongs,

  Nor takes none. He’s round-faced, and when he smiles

  He shows a lover; when he frowns, a soldier.

  About his head he wears the winner’s oak,

  And in it stuck the favour of his lady.

  His age, some six-and-thirty. In his hand

  He bears a charging staff embossed with silver.

  THESEUS

  Are they all thus?

  PIRITHOUS

  They are all the sons of honour.

  THESEUS

  Now as I have a soul, I long to see ’em.

  (To Hippolyta) Lady, you shall see men fight now.

  HIPPOLYTA

  I Wish it,

  But not the cause, my lord. They would show

  Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms—

  ’Tis pity love should be so tyrannous.

  (To Emilia) O my soft-hearted sister, what think you?

  Weep not till they weep blood. Wench, it must be.

  THESEUS (to Emilia)

  You have steeled ’em with your beauty.

  (To Pirithous)

  Honoured friend, To you I give the field: pray order it