 | The Two Noble Kinsmen |  |
Scena Tertia.
Enter Perithous, Hippolita, Emilia.Pir.
No further.
Hip.
Sir farewel; repeat my wishes
To our great Lord, of whose success I dare not
Make any timerous question; yet I wish him
Excess, and overflow of power, and't might be
To dure ill-dealing fortune; speed to him,
Store never hurts good Governors.
Pir.
Though I know
His Ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they
Must yield their tribute there: My precious Maid;
Those best affections that the heavens infuse
In their best temper'd pieces, keep enthron'd
In your dear heart.
Emil.
Thanks Sir; remember me
To our all-Royal Brother, for whose speed
The great Bellona I'll solicite; and
Since in our terrene State, petitions are not
Without gifts understood: I'll offer to her
What I shall be advis'd she likes; our hearts
Are in his Army, in his Tent.
Hip.
In's bosom:
We have been Soldiers, and we cannot weep
When our Friends do'n their helms, or put to Sea,
Or tell of Babes broach'd on the Launce, or Women
That have sod their Infants in (and after eat them)
The brine, they wept at killing 'em; Then if
You stay to see of us such Spinsters, we
Should hold you here for ever,
Pir.
Peace be to you
As I pursue this war, which shall be then
Beyond further requiring.
Exit Pir.
Emil.
How his longing
Follows his friend; since his depart, his sports
Though craving seriousness, and skill, past slightly
His careless execution, where nor gain
Made him regard, or loss consider, but
Playing o'er business in his hand, another
Directing in his head, his mind, nurse equal
To these so diff'ring Twins; have you observ'd him.
Since our great Lord departed?
Hip.
With much labour:
And I did love him sor't, they two have Cabin'd
In many as dangerous, as poor a corner,
Peril and want contending, they have skift
Torrents, whose roaring tyranny and power
I'th' least of these was dreadful, and they have
Fought out together, where Death's-self was lodg'd,
Yet Fate hath brought them off their knot of love
Ti'd, weav'd, intangl'd, with so true, so long,
And with a finger of so deep a cunning
May be out-worn, never undone. I think
Theseus cannot be umpire to himself
Cleaving his conscience into twain, and doing
Each side like Justice, which he loves best.
Emil.
Doubtless
There is a best, and reason has no manners
429
Once with a time, when I enjoy'd a Play-fellow;
You were at wars, when she the grave enrich'd,
Who made too proud the Bed, took leave o'th' Moon
(Which then lookt pale at parting) when our count
Was each eleven.
Hip.
'Twas Flavia.
Two Hearses ready with Palamon, and Arcite: The three Queens. Theseus, and his Lords ready.
Emil.
Yes,
You talk of Pirithous and Theseus love;
Theirs has more ground, is more maturely season'd,
More buckled with strong judgement, and their needs
The one of th'other may be said to water
Their intertangled roots of love, but I
And she (I sigh and spoke of) were things innocent,
Lov'd for we did, and like the Elements
That know not what, nor why, yet do effect
Rare issues by their operance; our souls
Did so to one another; what she lik'd,
Was then of me approv'd, what not condemn'd
No more arraignment; the flower that I would pluck
And put between my breasts, oh (then but beginning
To swell about the blossom) she would long
Till she had such another, and commit it
To the like innocent Cradle, where Phenix-like
They di'd in perfume: on my head no toy
But was her pattern, her affections (pretty
Though happily, her careless, were, I followed
For my most serious decking, I had mine ear
Stol'n some new air, or at adventure humm'd on
From musical Coynage, why, it was a Note
Whereon her spirits would sojourn (rather dwell on)
And sing it in her slumbers; This rehearsal
(Which fury innocent wots well) comes in
Like old importments-bastard, has this end;
That the true love 'tween Maid, and Maid, may be
More than in sex individual.
Hip.
Y'are out of breath
And this high speeded-pace, is but to say
That you shall never (like the Maid Flavina)
Love any that's call'd Man
Emil.
I'm sure I shall not.
Hip.
Now alack weak Sister,
I must no more believe thee in this point
(Though in't I know thou dost believe thy self)
Then I will trust a sickly appetite,
That loaths even as it longs, but sure my Sister
If I were ripe for your perswasion, you
Have said enough to shake me from the Arm
Of the all noble Theseus, for whose fortunes,
I will now in, and kneel with great assurance,
That we, more than his Pirathous, possess
The high Throne in his heart.
Ewil.
I am not against your faith,
Yet I continue mine.
Exeunt.
Cornets.
| The Two Noble Kinsmen | |