 | The Two Noble Kinsmen |  |
Scæna Tertia.
Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants, T. Tuck: Curtis.Emil.
I'll no step further.
Per.
Will you loose this sight?
Emil.
I had rather see a Wren hawk at a Fly
Than this decision; ev'ry blow that falls
Threats a brave life, each stroke laments
The place whereon it falls, and sounds more like
A Bell, than Blade, I will stay here,
It is enough, my hearing shall be punish'd,
With what shall happen, 'gainst the which there is
No deasing, but to hear; not taint mine eye
With dread sights, it may shun.
Per.
Sir, my good Lord
Your Sister will no further.
Thes.
Oh she must.
She shall see deeds of Honor in their kind,
Which sometime shew well pencill'd. Nature now
Shall make, and act the Story, the belief
Both seal'd with eye, and ear; you must be present,
You are the victors meed, the price, and garland
To crown the Questions Title.
Emil.
Pardon me,
If I were there, I'd wink
Thes.
You must be there;
This trial is as 'twere i'th' night, and you
The only Star to shine.
Emil.
I am extinct,
There is but envy in that light, which shows
The one the other: darkness which ever was
The dame of horror; who does stand accurst
Of many mortal Millions, may even now
By casting her black mantle over both
That neither could find other, get her self
Some part of a good name, and many a murther
Set off whereto she's guilty.
Hip.
You must go.
Emil.
In faith I will not.
Thes.
Why the Knights must kindle
Their valour at your eye: know of this war
You are the Treasure, and must needs be by
To give the Service pay.
Emil.
Sir, pardon me,
The Title of a Kingdom may be try'd
Out of it self.
Thes.
Well, well then, at your pleasure,
Those that remain with you, could wish their office
To any of their enemies.
Hip.
Farewel Sister,
I am like to know your Husband 'fore your self
By some small start of time, he whom the gods
Doe of the two, know best, I pray them, he
Be made your Lot,
Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, &c.
Emil.
Arcite is gently visag'd; 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
Is grav'd, and seems to bury what it frowns on,
Yet sometimes 'tis not so, but alters to
The quality of his thoughts; long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object. Melancholly
Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite's mirth,
But Palamon's sadness is a kind of mirth,
So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad.
And sadness, merry; those darker humors that
Stick mis-becomingly on others, on them
Live in fair dwelling.
Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a Charge.
Hark how your spurs to spirit doe incite
The Princes to their proof, Arcite may win me,
And yet may Palamon wound Arcite, to
The spoiling of his figure. Oh what pity
Enough for such a chance; if I were by
I might do hurt, for they would glance their eies
Toward my Seat, and in that motion might
Omit a Ward, or forfeit an offence
Which crav'd that very time: it is much better
(Cornets. A great cry, and noise within, crying a Palamon.)
I am not there, oh better never born
Than minister to such harm, what is the chance?
Enter Servant.
Ser.
The cry's a Palamon.
Emil.
Then he has won: 'twas ever likely,
He look'd all grace and success, and he is
Doubtless the prim'st of men: I prethee run
And tell me how it goes.
Shout, and Cornets; crying a Palamon.
Ser.
Still Palamon.
Emil.
Run and enquire, poor Servant thou hast lost,
Upon my right side still I wore thy Picture,
Palamon's on the left, why so I know not,
I had no end in't; else chance would have it so.
Another cry and shout within, and Cornets.
On the sinister side the heart lies; Palamon
Had the best boding chance: this burst of clamor
Is sure th'end o'th' combat.
Enter Servant.
Ser.
They said that Palamon had Arcites body
Within an inch o'th' Pyramid, that the cry
Was general a Palamon: but anon,
Th'Assistants made a brave redemption, and
The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are
Hand to hand at it.
Emil.
Were they metamorphos'd
Both into one; oh why? there were no woman
Worth so compos'd a man: their single share,
448
Cornets. Cry within, Arcite, Arcite.
To any Lady breathing—More exulting?
Palamon still?
Ser.
Nay, now the sound is Arcite.
Emil.
I prethee lay attention to the Cry.
Cornets. A great shout, and cry, Arcite, victory.
Set both thine ears to th'business.
Ser.
The cry is
Arcite, and victory, hark Arcite, victory,
The Combats consummation is proclaim'd
By the wind Instruments.
Emil.
Half sights saw
That Arcite was no babe; god's lyd, his richness
And costliness of spirit lookt through him; it could
No more be hid in him, than fire in flax,
Than humble banks can go to law with waters,
That drift winds, force to raging: I did think
Good Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew not
Why I did think so; Our reasons are not prophets
When oft our fancies are: they are coming off:
Alas poor Palamon.
Cornets.
Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, Arcite as Victor and Attendants, &c.
Thes.
Lo, where our Sister is in expectation,
Yet quaking, and unsetled: fairest Emilia,
The gods by their Divine arbitrament
Have given you this Knight, he is a good one
As ever struck at head: Give me your hands;
Receive you her, you him, be plighted with
A love that grows, as you decay;
Arcite.
Emily.
To buy you I have lost what's dearest to me,
Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheaply,
As I do rate your value.
Thes.
Oh loved Sister,
He speaks now of as brave a Knight as e'er
Did spur a noble Steed: surely the gods
Would have him die a batchelor, lest his race
Should show i'th' world too godlike: his behaviour
So charm'd me, that methought Alcides was
To him a Sow of Lead: if I could praise
Each part of him to th'all; I have spoke, your Arcite
Did not lose by't; for he that was thus good
Encountred yet his Better, I have heard
Two emulous Philomels, beat the ear o'th' night
With their contentious throats, now on the higher,
Anon the other, then again the first,
And by and by out-breasted, that the sense
Could not be judge between 'em: so it far'd
Good space between these kinsmen; till heavens did
Make hardly one the winner: wear the Garland
With joy that you have won: for the subdu'd,
Give them our present Justice, since I know
Their lives but pinch 'em, let it here be done:
The Scene's not for our seeing, goe we hence,
Right joyful, with some sorrow. Arm your prize,
I know you will not lose her: Hippolita
I see one eye of yours conceives a tear
The which it will deliver.
Florish.
Emil.
Is this winning?
Oh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?
But that your wills have said it must be so,
And charge me live to comfort this unfriended,
This miserable Prince that cuts away
A life more worthy from him, than all women;
I should, and would die too,
Hip.
Infinite pity
That four such eyes should be so fix'd on one
That two must needs be blind for't.
Thes.
So it is.
Exeunt.
| The Two Noble Kinsmen | |