University of Virginia Library

Scæna Prima.

Enter Jailor and his freind.
Jail.
Hear you no more? was nothing said of me
Concerning the escape of Palamon?
Good Sir remember.

1 Fr.
Nothing that I heard,
For I came home before the business
Was fully ended: yet I might perceive
E'r I departed, a great likelyhood
Of both their pardons: for Hippolita,
And fair-ey'd Emilia, upon their knees,
Begg'd with such handsome pitty, that the Duke
Methought stood staggering whether he should follow
His rash oath, or the sweet compassion
Of those two Ladies; and to second them,
That truly noble Prince Perithous.
Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope
All shall be well: neither heard I one question
Of your name, or his scape.

Enter 2 Friends.
Jail.
Pray Heaven it hold so.

2 Fr.
Be of good comfort man; I bring you news
Good news.

Jail.
They are welcome,

2 Fr.
Palamon has clear'd you,
And got your pardon, and discover'd
How, and by whose means he scap'd, which was your Daughter's,
Whose pardon is procured too, and the prisoner
Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness,
Has given a sum of money to her Marriage,
A large one I'll assure you.

Jail.
Ye are a good man
And ever bring good news.

1 Fr.
How was it ended?

2 Fr.
Why, as it should be; they that ne'er begg'd
But they prevail'd, had their suits fairly granted.
The prisoners have their lives.

1 Fr.
I knew 'twould be so.

2 Fr.
But there be new conditions, which you'll hear of
At better time.

Jail.
I hope they are good.

2 Fr.
They are honourable,
How good they'll prove, I know not.

Enter Wooer.
1 Fr.
'Twill be known.

Woo.
Alas Sir, where's your Daughter?

Jail.
Why do you ask?

Woo.
Oh Sir, when did you see her?

2 Fr.
How he looks?

Jail.
This morning.

Woo.
Was she well? was she in health Sir? when did she sleep?

1 Fr.
These are strange questions.

Jail.
I do not think she was very well, for now
You make me mind her, but this very day
I ask'd her questions, and she answer'd 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:

Woo.
Nothing but my pity, but you must know it, and as good by me
As by another that less loves her:

Jail.
Well Sir.

1 Fr.
Not right?

2 Fr.
Not well?—

Woo.
No Sir, not well.

Woo.
'Tis too true, she is mad.

1 Fr.
It cannot be.

Woo.
Believe, you'll find it so.

Jay.
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.

Woo.
'Tis likely.

Jay.
But why all this haste, Sir?

Woo.
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 perceiv'd not
Who made the sound; the Rushes, and the Reeds
Had so encompast it: I laid me down
And listned to the words she sung, for then
Through a small glade cut by the Fisher-men,
I saw it was your Daughter.

Jail.
Pray goe on Sir?

Woo.
She sung much, but no sence; only I heard her
Repeat this often. Palamon is gone,
Is gone to th'wood to gather Mulberries,
I'll find him out to morrow.

1 Fr.
Pretty soul.

Woo.
His shackles will betray him, he'll be taken,
And what shall I do then? I'll bring a beavy,
A hundred black-ey'd Maids that love as I do
With Chaplets on their heads with Daffadillies,
With cherry lips, and cheeks of Damask Roses,
And all we'll dance an Antique 'fore the Duke,
And beg his pardon; then she talk'd of you, Sir;
That you must lose your head to morrow 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 sate; her careless Tresses,
A wreak of Bull-rush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand fresh Water Flowers of several colours.
That methought she appear'd like the fair Nymph
That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropt down from heaven; Rings she made
Of Rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
The prettiest posies: thus our true love's ty'd,
This you may loose, not me, and many a one:
And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh'd,
And with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand.

2 Fr.
Alas what pity it is?

Woo.
I made into her,
She saw me, and straight sought the stood, I sav'd her,
And set her safe to land: when presently
She slipt 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 we staid,
And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her.
Enter Brother, Daughter, and others.
And hither came to tell you: Here they are.

Daugh.
May you never more enjoy the light, &c.
Is not this a fine Song?

Bro.
Oh, a very fine one.

Daugh.
I can sing twenty more.

Bro.
I think you can,

Daugh.
Yes truly can I, I can sing the Broom,
And Bonny Robbin. Are not you a Tailor?

Bro.
Yes.

Daugh.
Where's my wedding-Gown?

Bro.
I'll bring it to morrow.

Daugh.

Sings.
Bro.
You must ev'n take it patiently.

Jay.
'Tis true,

Daugh.
Good ev'n, good men, pray did you ever hear
Of one young Palamon?

Jay.
Yes wench, we know him.

Daugh.
Is't not a fine young Gentleman?

Jay.
'Tis Love.

Bro.
By no mean cross her, she is then distemper'd
For worse than now she shows.

1 Fr.
Yes, he's a fine man.

Daugh.
Oh, is he so? you have a Sister.

1 Fr.
Yes.

Daugh.
But she shall never have him, tell her so,
For a trick that I know, y' had 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?

1 Fr.
Yes.

Daugh.
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.

2 Fr.
This is strange.

Daugh.
As ever your heard, but say nothing.

1 Fr.
No.

Daugh.
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.

Jay.
She's lost
Past all cure.

Bro.
Heaven forbid man.

Daug.
Come hither, you are a wise man.

1 Fr.
Does she know him?

2. Fr.
No, would she did.

Daugh.
You are master of a Ship?

Jay.
Yes.

Daugh.
Where's your Compass?

Jay.
Here.

Daugh.
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.
Owgh, owgh, owgh, 'tis up, the wind's fair, top the
Bowling; out with the main sail, where's your
Whistle Master?

Bro.
Let's get her in.

Jay.
Up to the top Boy.

Bro.
Where's the Pilot?

1 Fr.
Here.

Daugh.
What ken'st thou?

3 Fr.
A fair wood.

Daugh.
Bear for it master: tack about:
Sings.
When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c.

Exeunt.