Speeches (Lines) for DAUGHTER in "The Two Noble Kinsmen"

JAILER. [to Daughter]
Your friend and I have chanced
to name you here, upon the old business. But no
more of that now; so soon as the court hurry is
over, we will have an end of it. I' th' meantime,
look tenderly to the two prisoners. I can tell you they are princes.

DAUGHTER. These strewings are for their chamber. 'Tis
pity they are in prison, and 'twere pity they should
be out. I do think they have patience to make any
adversity ashamed. The prison itself is proud of
'em, and they have all the world in their chamber.

JAILER. They are famed to be a pair of absolute men.

DAUGHTER. By my troth, I think fame but stammers
'em. They stand a grise above the reach of report.

JAILER. I heard them reported in the battle to be the only doers.

DAUGHTER. Nay, most likely, for they are noble suff'rers.
I marvel how they would have looked had they
been victors, that with such a constant nobility enforce
a freedom out of bondage, making misery
their mirth and affliction a toy to jest at.

JAILER. Do they so?

DAUGHTER. It seems to me they have no more sense
of their captivity than I of ruling Athens. They eat
well, look merrily, discourse of many things, but
nothing of their own restraint and disasters. Yet
sometimes a divided sigh, martyred as 'twere i' th'
deliverance, will break from one of them--when
the other presently gives it so sweet a rebuke that
I could wish myself a sigh to be so chid, or at least
a sigher to be comforted.

JAILER. The Duke himself came privately in the night,
and so did they.

[Enter Palamon and Arcite, in shackles, above.]

What the reason of it is, I know not. Look, yonder
they are; that's Arcite looks out.

DAUGHTER. No, sir, no, that's Palamon. Arcite is the
lower of the twain; you may perceive a part of him.

JAILER. Go to, leave your pointing; they would not
make us their object. Out of their sight.

DAUGHTER. It is a holiday to look on them. Lord, the
diff'rence of men!
[Jailer, Daughter, and Wooer exit.]

ARCITE. This is an offered opportunity
I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled--
The best men called it excellent--and run
Swifter than wind upon a field of corn,
Curling the wealthy ears, never flew. I'll venture,
And in some poor disguise be there. Who knows
Whether my brows may not be girt with garlands,
And happiness prefer me to a place
Where I may ever dwell in sight of her?

[Arcite exits.]

DAUGHTER. [Enter Jailer's Daughter, alone.]
Why should I love this gentleman? 'Tis odds
He never will affect me. I am base,
My father the mean keeper of his prison,
And he a prince. To marry him is hopeless;
To be his whore is witless. Out upon 't!
What pushes are we wenches driven to
When fifteen once has found us! First, I saw him;
I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man;
He has as much to please a woman in him,
If he please to bestow it so, as ever
These eyes yet looked on. Next, I pitied him,
And so would any young wench, o' my conscience,
That ever dreamed, or vowed her maidenhead
To a young handsome man. Then I loved him,
Extremely loved him, infinitely loved him!
And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too.
But in my heart was Palamon, and there,
Lord, what a coil he keeps! To hear him
Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is!
And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken
Was never gentleman. When I come in
To bring him water in a morning, first
He bows his noble body, then salutes me thus:
"Fair, gentle maid, good morrow. May thy goodness
Get thee a happy husband." Once he kissed me;
I loved my lips the better ten days after.
Would he would do so ev'ry day! He grieves much--
And me as much to see his misery.
What should I do to make him know I love him?
For I would fain enjoy him. Say I ventured
To set him free? What says the law then?
Thus much for law or kindred! I will do it,
And this night, or tomorrow, he shall love me.

[She exits.]

EMILIA. I hope too wise for that, sir.

[Flourish. They all exit.]

DAUGHTER. [Enter Jailer's Daughter alone.]
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 path 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.

[She exits.]

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 't till
I may enforce my remedy. Farewell.

[They exit.]

DAUGHTER. [Enter Jailer's Daughter, alone.]
He has mistook the brake I meant, is gone
After his fancy. 'Tis now well-nigh 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 hallowed for him?
I cannot hallow. 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 jingling 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.

[She exits.]

PALAMON. If he keep touch, he dies for 't.

[He exits.]

DAUGHTER. [Enter Jailer's Daughter.]
I am very cold, and all the stars are out too,
The little stars and all, that look like aglets.
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 cockleshell, and sail
By east and northeast to the king of pygmies,
For he tells fortunes rarely. Now my father,
Twenty to one, is trussed up in a trice
Tomorrow morning. I'll say never a word.

[Sing.]
For I'll cut my green coat a foot above my knee,
And I'll clip my yellow locks an inch below mine eye.
Hey nonny, nonny, nonny.
He's buy me a white cut, forth for to ride,
And I'll go seek him through the world that is so wide.
Hey nonny, nonny, nonny.
O, for a prick now, like a nightingale,
To put my breast against. I shall sleep like a top else.

[She exits.]

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. Now, when the credit of our town
lay on it, now to be frampold, now to piss o' th'
nettle! Go thy ways; I'll remember thee. I'll fit
thee!

[Enter Jailer's Daughter.]

DAUGHTER. [sings]
The George Alow came from the south,
From the coast of Barbary-a,
And there he met with brave gallants of war,
By one, by two, by three-a.
"Well hailed, well hailed, you jolly gallants,
And whither now are you bound-a?
O, let me have your company
Till I come to the sound-a."
There was three fools, fell out about an owlet--
[Sings]
The one he said it was an owl,
The other he said nay,
The third he said it was a hawk,
And her bells were cut away.

SCHOOLMASTER. [to Jailer's Daughter]
And are you mad,
good woman?

DAUGHTER. I would be sorry else. Give me your hand.

SCHOOLMASTER. Why?

DAUGHTER. I can tell your fortune.

[She looks at his hand.]

You are a fool. Tell ten.--I have posed him.
Buzz!--Friend, you must eat no white bread; if
you do, your teeth will bleed extremely. Shall we
dance, ho? I know you, you're a tinker. Sirrah tinker,
stop no more holes but what you should.

SCHOOLMASTER. Dii boni! A tinker, damsel?

DAUGHTER. Or a conjurer. Raise me a devil now, and let
him play Chi passa o' th' bells and bones.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN. Come, lass, let's trip it.

DAUGHTER. I'll lead.

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
And hither came to tell you.

[Enter Jailer's Brother, Jailer's Daughter, and others.]

Here they are.

DAUGHTER. [sings]
May you never more enjoy the light, etc.
Is not this a fine song?

BROTHER. O, a very fine one.

DAUGHTER. I can sing twenty more.

BROTHER. I think you can.

DAUGHTER. Yes, truly can I. I can sing "The Broom"
and "Bonny Robin." Are not you a tailor?

BROTHER. Yes.

DAUGHTER. Where's my wedding gown?

BROTHER. I'll bring it tomorrow.

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, etc.

JAILER. 'Tis true.

DAUGHTER. Good e'en, good men. Pray, did you ever
hear of one young Palamon?

JAILER. Yes, wench, we know him.

DAUGHTER. Is 't not a fine young gentleman?

FIRST FRIEND. [to Daughter]
Yes, he's a fine man.

DAUGHTER. O , is he so? You have a sister.

FIRST FRIEND. Yes.

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.

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.

DAUGHTER. As ever you heard, but say nothing.

FIRST FRIEND. No.

DAUGHTER. They come from all parts of the dukedom
to him; I'll warrant you, he had not so few last
night as twenty to dispatch. He'll tickle 't up in two
hours, if his hand be in.

BROTHER. Heaven forbid, man!

DAUGHTER. [to Jailer]
Come hither; you are a wise man.

SECOND FRIEND. No; would she did.

DAUGHTER. You are master of a ship?

JAILER. Yes.

DAUGHTER. Where's your compass?

JAILER. Here.

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.

SECOND FRIEND. A fair wood.

DAUGHTER. Bear for it, master. Tack about!

[Sings.]

When Cynthia with her borrowed light, etc.

[They exit.]

JAILER. She is continually in a harmless distemper,
sleeps little, altogether without appetite, save often
drinking, dreaming of another world, and a better;
and what broken piece of matter soe'er she's about,
the name Palamon lards it, that she farces ev'ry
business withal, fits it to every question.

[Enter Jailer's Daughter.]

Look where she comes; you shall perceive her behavior.

[They stand aside.]

DAUGHTER. I have forgot it quite. The burden on 't was
"down-a down-a," and penned by no worse man
than Geraldo, Emilia's schoolmaster. He's as fantastical,
too, as ever he may go upon 's legs, for in
the next world will Dido see Palamon, and then
will she be out of love with Aeneas.

JAILER. E'en thus all day long.

DAUGHTER. Now for this charm that I told you of, you
must bring a piece of silver on the tip of your
tongue, or no ferry; then if it be your chance to
come where the blessed spirits are, there's a
sight now! We maids that have our livers perished,
cracked to pieces with love, we shall come there,
and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with
Proserpine. Then will I make Palamon a nosegay;
then let him mark me then.

DOCTOR. How prettily she's amiss! Note her a little further.

DAUGHTER. Faith, I'll tell you, sometime we go to
barley-break, we of the blessed. Alas, 'tis a sore life
they have i' th' other place--such burning, frying,
boiling, hissing, howling, chatt'ring, cursing--O,
they have shrewd measure, take heed! If one be
mad, or hang or drown themselves, thither they
go, Jupiter bless us, and there shall we be put in
a cauldron of lead and usurers' grease, amongst a
whole million of cutpurses, and there boil like a
gammon of bacon that will never be enough.

DOCTOR. How her brains coins!

DAUGHTER. Lords and courtiers that have got maids
with child, they are in this place. They shall stand
in fire up to the navel and in ice up to th' heart, and
there th' offending part burns and the deceiving
part freezes: in troth, a very grievous punishment,
as one would think, for such a trifle. Believe me,
one would marry a leprous witch to be rid on 't, I'll assure you.

DOCTOR. How she continues this fancy! 'Tis not an engraffed
madness, but a most thick and profound
melancholy.

DAUGHTER. To hear there a proud lady and a proud city
wife howl together--I were a beast an I'd call it
good sport. One cries "O this smoke!" th' other,
"This fire!"; one cries, "O, that ever I did it behind
the arras!" and then howls; th' other curses a suing
fellow and her garden house.

[Sings.]

I will be true, my stars, my fate, etc.

[Daughter exits.]

JAILER. [to Daughter]
Come, your love Palamon stays for you, child,
And has done this long hour, to visit you.

DAUGHTER. I thank him for his gentle patience.
He's a kind gentleman, and I am much bound to him.
Did you ne'er see the horse he gave me?

JAILER. Yes.

DAUGHTER. How do you like him?

JAILER. He's a very fair one.

DAUGHTER. You never saw him dance?

JAILER. No.

DAUGHTER. I have, often.
He dances very finely, very comely,
And for a jig, come cut and long tail to him,
He turns you like a top.

JAILER. That's fine indeed.

DAUGHTER. He'll dance the morris twenty mile an hour,
And that will founder the best hobbyhorse,
If I have any skill, in all the parish,
And gallops to the tune of "Light o' love."
What think you of this horse?

JAILER. Having these virtues,
I think he might be brought to play at tennis.

DAUGHTER. Alas, that's nothing.

JAILER. Can he write and read too?

DAUGHTER. A very fair hand, and casts himself th' accounts
Of all his hay and provender. That hostler
Must rise betime that cozens him. You know
The chestnut mare the Duke has?

JAILER. Very well.

DAUGHTER. She is horribly in love with him, poor beast,
But he is like his master, coy and scornful.

JAILER. What dowry has she?

DAUGHTER. Some two hundred bottles,
And twenty strike of oats, but he'll ne'er have her.
He lisps in 's neighing able to entice
A miller's mare. He'll be the death of her.

WOOER. Pretty soul,
How do you? [Daughter curtsies.]
That's a fine maid; there's a curtsy!

DAUGHTER. Yours to command i' th' way of honesty.--
How far is 't now to th' end o' th' world, my masters?

DOCTOR. Why, a day's journey, wench.

DAUGHTER. [to Wooer]
Will you go with me?

WOOER. What shall we do there, wench?

DAUGHTER. Why, play at stool-ball.
What is there else to do?

WOOER. I am content,
If we shall keep our wedding there.

DAUGHTER. 'Tis true,
For there, I will assure you, we shall find
Some blind priest for the purpose, that will venture
To marry us; for here they are nice and foolish.
Besides, my father must be hanged tomorrow,
And that would be a blot i' th' business.
Are not you Palamon?

WOOER. Do not you know me?

DAUGHTER. Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing
But this poor petticoat and two coarse smocks.

WOOER. That's all one; I will have you.

DAUGHTER. Will you surely?

WOOER. [taking her hand]
Yes, by this fair hand, will I.

DAUGHTER. We'll to bed then.

WOOER. E'en when you will.

[He kisses her.]

DAUGHTER. [wiping her face]
O , sir, you would fain be nibbling.

WOOER. Why do you rub my kiss off?

DAUGHTER. 'Tis a sweet one,
And will perfume me finely against the wedding.
Is not this your cousin Arcite?

[She indicates Doctor.]

DOCTOR. Yes, sweetheart,
And I am glad my cousin Palamon
Has made so fair a choice.

DAUGHTER. Do you think he'll have me?

DOCTOR. Yes, without doubt.

DAUGHTER. [to Jailer]
Do you think so too?

JAILER. Yes.

DAUGHTER. We shall have many children.

[To Doctor.]

Lord,
how you're grown!
My Palamon, I hope, will grow too, finely,
Now he's at liberty. Alas, poor chicken,
He was kept down with hard meat and ill lodging,
But I'll kiss him up again.

[Enter a Messenger.]

DAUGHTER. We shall have many children.

[To Doctor.]

Lord,
how you're grown!
My Palamon, I hope, will grow too, finely,
Now he's at liberty. Alas, poor chicken,
He was kept down with hard meat and ill lodging,
But I'll kiss him up again.

[Enter a Messenger.]

DAUGHTER. What do you here? You'll lose the noblest sight
That e'er was seen.

WOOER. Come, sweet, we'll go to dinner
And then we'll play at cards.

DAUGHTER. And shall we kiss too?

WOOER. A hundred times.

DAUGHTER. And twenty.

WOOER. Ay, and twenty.

DAUGHTER. And then we'll sleep together.

WOOER. Yes, marry, will we.

DAUGHTER. But you shall not hurt me.

WOOER. I will not, sweet.

DAUGHTER. If you do, love, I'll cry.

[They exit.]