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

ARCITE. [Enter Palamon and Arcite.]
Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood
And our prime cousin, yet unhardened in
The crimes of nature, let us leave the city
Thebes, and the temptings in 't, before we further
Sully our gloss of youth,
And here to keep in abstinence we shame
As in incontinence; for not to swim
I' th' aid o' th' current were almost to sink,
At least to frustrate striving; and to follow
The common stream, 'twould bring us to an eddy
Where we should turn or drown; if labor through,
Our gain but life and weakness.

PALAMON. Your advice
Is cried up with example. What strange ruins,
Since first we went to school, may we perceive
Walking in Thebes! Scars and bare weeds
The gain o' th' martialist, who did propound
To his bold ends honor and golden ingots,
Which though he won, he had not, and now flirted
By peace for whom he fought. Who then shall offer
To Mars's so-scorned altar? I do bleed
When such I meet, and wish great Juno would
Resume her ancient fit of jealousy
To get the soldier work, that peace might purge
For her repletion, and retain anew
Her charitable heart, now hard and harsher
Than strife or war could be.

ARCITE. Are you not out?
Meet you no ruin but the soldier in
The cranks and turns of Thebes? You did begin
As if you met decays of many kinds.
Perceive you none that do arouse your pity
But th' unconsidered soldier?

PALAMON. Yes, I pity
Decays where'er I find them, but such most
That, sweating in an honorable toil,
Are paid with ice to cool 'em.

ARCITE. 'Tis not this
I did begin to speak of. This is virtue
Of no respect in Thebes. I spake of Thebes--
How dangerous, if we will keep our honors,
It is for our residing, where every evil
Hath a good color; where every seeming good's
A certain evil; where not to be e'en jump
As they are here were to be strangers, and,
Such things to be, mere monsters.

PALAMON. 'Tis in our power--
Unless we fear that apes can tutor 's--to
Be masters of our manners. What need I
Affect another's gait, which is not catching
Where there is faith? Or to be fond upon
Another's way of speech, when by mine own
I may be reasonably conceived--saved too,
Speaking it truly? Why am I bound
By any generous bond to follow him
Follows his tailor, haply so long until
The followed make pursuit? Or let me know
Why mine own barber is unblessed, with him
My poor chin too, for 'tis not scissored just
To such a favorite's glass? What canon is there
That does command my rapier from my hip
To dangle 't in my hand, or to go tiptoe
Before the street be foul? Either I am
The forehorse in the team, or I am none
That draw i' th' sequent trace. These poor slight sores
Need not a plantain. That which rips my bosom
Almost to th' heart's--

ARCITE. Our Uncle Creon.

PALAMON. He.
A most unbounded tyrant, whose successes
Makes heaven unfeared and villainy assured
Beyond its power there's nothing; almost puts
Faith in a fever, and deifies alone
Voluble chance; who only attributes
The faculties of other instruments
To his own nerves and act; commands men service,
And what they win in 't, boot and glory; one
That fears not to do harm; good, dares not. Let
The blood of mine that's sib to him be sucked
From me with leeches; let them break and fall
Off me with that corruption.

ARCITE. Clear-spirited cousin,
Let's leave his court, that we may nothing share
Of his loud infamy; for our milk
Will relish of the pasture, and we must
Be vile or disobedient, not his kinsmen
In blood unless in quality.

PALAMON. Nothing truer.
I think the echoes of his shames have deafed
The ears of heav'nly justice. Widows' cries
Descend again into their throats and have not
Due audience of the gods.

VALERIUS. [Enter Valerius.]
The King calls for you; yet be leaden-footed
Till his great rage be off him. Phoebus, when
He broke his whipstock and exclaimed against
The horses of the sun, but whispered to
The loudness of his fury.

PALAMON. Small winds shake him.
But what's the matter?

ARCITE. Let him approach.
But that we fear the gods in him, he brings not
A jot of terror to us. Yet what man
Thirds his own worth--the case is each of ours--
When that his action's dregged with mind assured
'Tis bad he goes about?

PALAMON. Leave that unreasoned.
Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon.
Yet to be neutral to him were dishonor,
Rebellious to oppose. Therefore we must
With him stand to the mercy of our fate,
Who hath bounded our last minute.

ARCITE. So we must.
[To Valerius.] Is 't said this war's afoot? Or, it shall
be,
On fail of some condition?

VALERIUS 'Tis in motion;
The intelligence of state came in the instant
With the defier.

PALAMON. Let's to the King, who, were he
A quarter carrier of that honor which
His enemy come in, the blood we venture
Should be as for our health, which were not spent,
Rather laid out for purchase. But alas,
Our hands advanced before our hearts, what will
The fall o' th' stroke do damage?

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

PALAMON. [Palamon and Arcite remain, above.]
How do you, noble cousin?

ARCITE. How do you, sir?

PALAMON. Why, strong enough to laugh at misery
And bear the chance of war; yet we are prisoners
I fear forever, cousin.

ARCITE. I believe it,
And to that destiny have patiently
Laid up my hour to come.

PALAMON. O, cousin Arcite,
Where is Thebes now? Where is our noble country?
Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more
Must we behold those comforts, never see
The hardy youths strive for the games of honor,
Hung with the painted favors of their ladies,
Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst 'em
And as an east wind leave 'em all behind us,
Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite,
Even in the wagging of a wanton leg,
Outstripped the people's praises, won the garlands
Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. O, never
Shall we two exercise, like twins of honor,
Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses
Like proud seas under us. Our good swords now--
Better the red-eyed god of war ne'er wore--
Ravished our sides, like age must run to rust
And deck the temples of those gods that hate us;
These hands shall never draw 'em out like lightning
To blast whole armies more.

ARCITE. No, Palamon,
Those hopes are prisoners with us. Here we are
And here the graces of our youths must wither
Like a too-timely spring. Here age must find us
And--which is heaviest, Palamon--unmarried.
The sweet embraces of a loving wife,
Loaden with kisses, armed with thousand Cupids,
Shall never clasp our necks; no issue know us--
No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see,
To glad our age, and like young eagles teach 'em
Boldly to gaze against bright arms and say
"Remember what your fathers were, and conquer!"
The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments
And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune
Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done
To youth and nature. This is all our world.
We shall know nothing here but one another,
Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes.
The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it;
Summer shall come, and with her all delights,
But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still.

PALAMON. 'Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds
That shook the aged forest with their echoes
No more now must we halloo; no more shake
Our pointed javelins whilst the angry swine
Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages,
Struck with our well-steeled darts. All valiant uses,
The food and nourishment of noble minds,
In us two here shall perish; we shall die,
Which is the curse of honor, lastly,
Children of grief and ignorance.

ARCITE. Yet, cousin,
Even from the bottom of these miseries,
From all that fortune can inflict upon us,
I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings,
If the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,
And the enjoying of our griefs together.
Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish
If I think this our prison!

PALAMON. Certainly
'Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes
Were twined together. 'Tis most true, two souls
Put in two noble bodies, let 'em suffer
The gall of hazard, so they grow together,
Will never sink; they must not, say they could.
A willing man dies sleeping and all's done.

ARCITE. Shall we make worthy uses of this place
That all men hate so much?

PALAMON. How, gentle cousin?

ARCITE. Let's think this prison holy sanctuary
To keep us from corruption of worse men.
We are young and yet desire the ways of honor
That liberty and common conversation,
The poison of pure spirits, might like women
Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing
Can be but our imaginations
May make it ours? And here being thus together,
We are an endless mine to one another;
We are one another's wife, ever begetting
New births of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;
We are, in one another, families;
I am your heir, and you are mine. This place
Is our inheritance; no hard oppressor
Dare take this from us; here with a little patience
We shall live long and loving. No surfeits seek us;
The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas
Swallow their youth. Were we at liberty,
A wife might part us lawfully, or business;
Quarrels consume us; envy of ill men
Crave our acquaintance. I might sicken, cousin,
Where you should never know it, and so perish
Without your noble hand to close mine eyes,
Or prayers to the gods. A thousand chances,
Were we from hence, would sever us.

PALAMON. You have made me--
I thank you, cousin Arcite--almost wanton
With my captivity. What a misery
It is to live abroad and everywhere!
'Tis like a beast, methinks. I find the court here,
I am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures
That woo the wills of men to vanity
I see through now, and am sufficient
To tell the world 'tis but a gaudy shadow
That old Time as he passes by takes with him.
What had we been, old in the court of Creon,
Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance
The virtues of the great ones? Cousin Arcite,
Had not the loving gods found this place for us,
We had died as they do, ill old men, unwept,
And had their epitaphs, the people's curses.
Shall I say more?

ARCITE. I would hear you still.

PALAMON. You shall.
Is there record of any two that loved
Better than we do, Arcite?

ARCITE. Sure there cannot.

PALAMON. I do not think it possible our friendship
Should ever leave us.

ARCITE. [to Palamon, who is stunned by the sight of Emilia]
Pray, forward.

PALAMON. Yes.

ARCITE. [to Palamon]
Cousin, cousin! How do you, sir? Why, Palamon!

PALAMON. Never till now I was in prison, Arcite.

ARCITE. Why, what's the matter, man?

PALAMON. Behold, and wonder!
By heaven, she is a goddess.

ARCITE. [seeing Emilia]
Ha!

PALAMON. Do reverence.
She is a goddess, Arcite.

ARCITE. [to Palamon]
She is wondrous fair.

PALAMON. She is all the beauty extant.

EMILIA. Well, agree then.
[Emilia and Woman exit.]

PALAMON. What think you of this beauty?

ARCITE. 'Tis a rare one.

PALAMON. Is 't but a rare one?

ARCITE. Yes, a matchless beauty.

PALAMON. Might not a man well lose himself and love her?

ARCITE. I cannot tell what you have done; I have,
Beshrew mine eyes for 't! Now I feel my shackles.

PALAMON. You love her, then?

ARCITE. Who would not?

PALAMON. And desire her?

ARCITE. Before my liberty.

PALAMON. I saw her first.

ARCITE. That's nothing.

PALAMON. But it shall be.

ARCITE. I saw her, too.

PALAMON. Yes, but you must not love her.

ARCITE. I will not, as you do, to worship her
As she is heavenly and a blessed goddess.
I love her as a woman, to enjoy her.
So both may love.

PALAMON. You shall not love at all.

ARCITE. Not love at all! Who shall deny me?

PALAMON. I, that first saw her; I that took possession
First with mine eye of all those beauties
In her revealed to mankind. If thou lov'st her,
Or entertain'st a hope to blast my wishes,
Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow
False as thy title to her. Friendship, blood,
And all the ties between us I disclaim
If thou once think upon her.

ARCITE. Yes, I love her,
And, if the lives of all my name lay on it,
I must do so. I love her with my soul.
If that will lose you, farewell, Palamon.
I say again, I love, and in loving her maintain
I am as worthy and as free a lover
And have as just a title to her beauty
As any Palamon or any living
That is a man's son.

PALAMON. Have I called thee friend?

ARCITE. Yes, and have found me so. Why are you moved thus?
Let me deal coldly with you: am not I
Part of your blood, part of your soul? You have told me
That I was Palamon and you were Arcite.

PALAMON. Yes.

ARCITE. Am not I liable to those affections,
Those joys, griefs, angers, fears, my friend shall suffer?

PALAMON. You may be.

ARCITE. Why then would you deal so cunningly,
So strangely, so unlike a noble kinsman,
To love alone? Speak truly, do you think me
Unworthy of her sight?

PALAMON. No, but unjust
If thou pursue that sight.

ARCITE. Because another
First sees the enemy, shall I stand still
And let mine honor down, and never charge?

PALAMON. Yes, if he be but one.

ARCITE. But say that one
Had rather combat me?

PALAMON. Let that one say so,
And use thy freedom. Else, if thou pursuest her,
Be as that cursed man that hates his country,
A branded villain.

ARCITE. You are mad.

PALAMON. I must be.
Till thou art worthy, Arcite, it concerns me.
And in this madness if I hazard thee
And take thy life, I deal but truly.

ARCITE. Fie, sir!
You play the child extremely. I will love her;
I must, I ought to do so, and I dare,
And all this justly.

PALAMON. O, that now, that now,
Thy false self and thy friend had but this fortune
To be one hour at liberty, and grasp
Our good swords in our hands, I would quickly teach thee
What 'twere to filch affection from another.
Thou art baser in it than a cutpurse.
Put but thy head out of this window more
And, as I have a soul, I'll nail thy life to 't.

ARCITE. Thou dar'st not, fool; thou canst not; thou art feeble.
Put my head out? I'll throw my body out
And leap the garden when I see her next,
And pitch between her arms to anger thee.

[Enter Jailer, above.]

PALAMON. No more; the keeper's coming. I shall live
To knock thy brains out with my shackles.

JAILER. By your leave, gentlemen.

PALAMON. Now, honest keeper?

JAILER. Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you
Of your fair cousin's company.

[Arcite and Jailer exit.]

PALAMON. And me too,
Even when you please, of life.--Why is he sent for?
It may be he shall marry her; he's goodly,
And like enough the Duke hath taken notice
Both of his blood and body. But his falsehood!
Why should a friend be treacherous? If that
Get him a wife so noble and so fair,
Let honest men ne'er love again. Once more
I would but see this fair one. Blessed garden
And fruit and flowers more blessed that still
blossom
As her bright eyes shine on you, would I were,
For all the fortune of my life hereafter,
Yon little tree, yon blooming apricock!
How I would spread and fling my wanton arms
In at her window; I would bring her fruit
Fit for the gods to feed on; youth and pleasure
Still as she tasted should be doubled on her;
And, if she be not heavenly, I would make her
So near the gods in nature, they should fear her.

[Enter Jailer, above.]

And then I am sure she would love me.--How now, keeper,
Where's Arcite?

JAILER. Banished. Prince Pirithous
Obtained his liberty, but never more
Upon his oath and life must he set foot
Upon this kingdom.

PALAMON. He's a blessed man.
He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms
The bold young men that, when he bids 'em charge,
Fall on like fire. Arcite shall have a fortune,
If he dare make himself a worthy lover,
Yet in the field to strike a battle for her,
And, if he lose her then, he's a cold coward.
How bravely may he bear himself to win her
If he be noble Arcite--thousand ways!
Were I at liberty, I would do things
Of such a virtuous greatness that this lady,
This blushing virgin, should take manhood to her
And seek to ravish me.

JAILER. My lord, for you
I have this charge to--

PALAMON. To discharge my life?

JAILER. No, but from this place to remove your Lordship;
The windows are too open.

PALAMON. Devils take 'em
That are so envious to me! Prithee, kill me.

JAILER. And hang for 't afterward!

PALAMON. By this good light,
Had I a sword I would kill thee.

JAILER. Why, my lord?

PALAMON. Thou bringst such pelting, scurvy news continually,
Thou art not worthy life. I will not go.

JAILER. Indeed you must, my lord.

PALAMON. May I see the garden?

JAILER. No.

PALAMON. Then I am resolved, I will not go.

ARCITE. [Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing
as people a-Maying. Enter Arcite alone.]

The Duke has lost Hippolyta; each took
A several laund. This is a solemn rite
They owe bloomed May, and the Athenians pay it
To th' heart of ceremony. O Queen Emilia,
Fresher than May, sweeter
Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all
Th' enameled knacks o' th' mead or garden--yea,
We challenge too the bank of any nymph
That makes the stream seem flowers; thou, O jewel
O' th' wood, o' th' world, hast likewise blessed a pace
With thy sole presence. In thy rumination
That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between
And chop on some cold thought! Thrice blessed chance
To drop on such a mistress, expectation
Most guiltless on 't. Tell me, O Lady Fortune,
Next after Emily my sovereign, how far
I may be proud. She takes strong note of me,
Hath made me near her; and this beauteous morn,
The prim'st of all the year, presents me with
A brace of horses; two such steeds might well
Be by a pair of kings backed, in a field
That their crowns' titles tried. Alas, alas,
Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner, thou
So little dream'st upon my fortune that
Thou think'st thyself the happier thing, to be
So near Emilia; me thou deem'st at Thebes,
And therein wretched, although free. But if
Thou knew'st my mistress breathed on me, and that
I eared her language, lived in her eye--O coz,
What passion would enclose thee!

[Enter Palamon as out of a bush, with his shackles;
he bends his fist at Arcite.]

PALAMON. Traitor kinsman,
Thou shouldst perceive my passion if these signs
Of prisonment were off me, and this hand
But owner of a sword. By all oaths in one,
I and the justice of my love would make thee
A confessed traitor, O thou most perfidious
That ever gently looked, the void'st of honor
That e'er bore gentle token, falsest cousin
That ever blood made kin! Call'st thou her thine?
I'll prove it in my shackles, with these hands,
Void of appointment, that thou liest, and art
A very thief in love, a chaffy lord,
Nor worth the name of villain. Had I a sword,
And these house clogs away--

ARCITE. Dear cousin Palamon--

PALAMON. Cozener Arcite, give me language such
As thou hast showed me feat.

PALAMON. Cozener Arcite, give me language such
As thou hast showed me feat.

PALAMON. Cozener Arcite, give me language such
As thou hast showed me feat.

ARCITE. Not finding in
The circuit of my breast any gross stuff
To form me like your blazon holds me to
This gentleness of answer: 'tis your passion
That thus mistakes, the which, to you being enemy,
Cannot to me be kind. Honor and honesty
I cherish and depend on, howsoe'er
You skip them in me, and with them, fair coz,
I'll maintain my proceedings. Pray be pleased
To show in generous terms your griefs, since that
Your question's with your equal, who professes
To clear his own way with the mind and sword
Of a true gentleman.

PALAMON. That thou durst, Arcite!

ARCITE. My coz, my coz, you have been well advertised
How much I dare; you've seen me use my sword
Against th' advice of fear. Sure, of another
You would not hear me doubted, but your silence
Should break out, though i' th' sanctuary.

PALAMON. Sir,
I have seen you move in such a place which well
Might justify your manhood; you were called
A good knight and a bold. But the whole week's not fair
If any day it rain; their valiant temper
Men lose when they incline to treachery,
And then they fight like compelled bears--would fly
Were they not tied.

ARCITE. Kinsman, you might as well
Speak this and act it in your glass as to
His ear which now disdains you.

PALAMON. Come up to me;
Quit me of these cold gyves, give me a sword
Though it be rusty, and the charity
Of one meal lend me. Come before me then,
A good sword in thy hand, and do but say
That Emily is thine, I will forgive
The trespass thou hast done me--yea, my life,
If then thou carry 't; and brave souls in shades
That have died manly, which will seek of me
Some news from Earth, they shall get none but this:
That thou art brave and noble.

ARCITE. Be content.
Again betake you to your hawthorn house.
With counsel of the night I will be here
With wholesome viands. These impediments
Will I file off. You shall have garments and
Perfumes to kill the smell o' th' prison. After,
When you shall stretch yourself and say but "Arcite,
I am in plight," there shall be at your choice
Both sword and armor.

PALAMON. O you heavens, dares any
So noble bear a guilty business? None
But only Arcite. Therefore none but Arcite
In this kind is so bold.

ARCITE. Sweet Palamon.

PALAMON. I do embrace you and your offer; for
Your offer do 't I only. Sir, your person
Without hypocrisy I may not wish
More than my sword's edge on 't.

[Wind horns off; sound cornets.]

ARCITE. You hear the horns.
Enter your muset, lest this match between 's
Be crossed ere met. Give me your hand; farewell.
I'll bring you every needful thing. I pray you,
Take comfort and be strong.

PALAMON. Pray hold your promise,
And do the deed with a bent brow. Most certain
You love me not; be rough with me, and pour
This oil out of your language. By this air,
I could for each word give a cuff, my stomach
Not reconciled by reason.

ARCITE. Plainly spoken,
Yet pardon me hard language. When I spur
My horse, I chide him not; content and anger
In me have but one face.

[Wind horns.]

Hark, sir, they call
The scattered to the banquet; you must guess
I have an office there.

PALAMON. Sir, your attendance
Cannot please heaven, and I know your office
Unjustly is achieved.

ARCITE. 'Tis a good title.
I am persuaded this question, sick between 's,
By bleeding must be cured. I am a suitor
That to your sword you will bequeath this plea,
And talk of it no more.

PALAMON. But this one word:
You are going now to gaze upon my mistress,
For note you, mine she is--

ARCITE. Nay then,--

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.]

ARCITE. [Enter Arcite with meat, wine, and files.]

I should be near the place.--Ho! Cousin Palamon!

PALAMON. [within]
Arcite?

ARCITE. The same. I have brought you food and files.
Come forth and fear not; here's no Theseus.

PALAMON. Nor none so honest, Arcite.

ARCITE. That's no matter.
We'll argue that hereafter. Come, take courage;
You shall not die thus beastly. Here, sir, drink--
I know you are faint--then I'll talk further with you.

PALAMON. Arcite, thou mightst now poison me.

ARCITE. I might;
But I must fear you first. Sit down and, good now,
No more of these vain parleys. Let us not,
Having our ancient reputation with us,
Make talk for fools and cowards. To your health.

[He drinks.]

PALAMON. Do!

ARCITE. Pray sit down, then, and let me entreat you,
By all the honesty and honor in you,
No mention of this woman; 'twill disturb us.
We shall have time enough.

PALAMON. Well, sir, I'll pledge you.

[He drinks.]

ARCITE. Drink a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man.
Do not you feel it thaw you?

PALAMON. Stay, I'll tell you
After a draught or two more.

ARCITE. Spare it not.
The Duke has more, coz. Eat now.

PALAMON. Yes.

[He eats.]

PALAMON. Yes.

[He eats.]

PALAMON. I am glad
You have so good a stomach.

PALAMON. I am glad
You have so good a stomach.

PALAMON. I am gladder
I have so good meat to 't.

ARCITE. Is 't not mad lodging
Here in the wild woods, cousin?

PALAMON. Yes, for them
That have wild consciences.

ARCITE. How tastes your victuals?
Your hunger needs no sauce, I see.

PALAMON. Not much.
But if it did, yours is too tart, sweet cousin.
What is this?

ARCITE. Venison.

PALAMON. 'Tis a lusty meat.
Give me more wine. Here, Arcite, to the wenches
We have known in our days!

[He raises his cup in a toast.]

The Lord Steward's daughter!
Do you remember her?

ARCITE. After you, coz.

PALAMON. She loved a black-haired man.

ARCITE. She did so; well, sir?

PALAMON. And I have heard some call him Arcite, and--

ARCITE. Out with 't, faith.

PALAMON. She met him in an arbor.
What did she there, coz? Play o' th' virginals?

ARCITE. Something she did, sir.

PALAMON. Made her groan a month for 't--
Or two, or three, or ten.

ARCITE. The Marshal's sister
Had her share, too, as I remember, cousin,
Else there be tales abroad. You'll pledge her?

PALAMON. PALAMON Yes.

[He lifts his cup and then drinks.]

ARCITE. A pretty brown wench 'tis. There was a time
When young men went a-hunting, and a wood,
And a broad beech--and thereby hangs a tale.
Heigh ho!

PALAMON. For Emily, upon my life! Fool,
Away with this strained mirth. I say again
That sigh was breathed for Emily. Base cousin,
Dar'st thou break first?

ARCITE. You are wide.

PALAMON. By heaven and Earth,
There's nothing in thee honest.

ARCITE. Then I'll leave you.
You are a beast now.

PALAMON. As thou mak'st me, traitor.

ARCITE. There's all things needful: files and shirts and perfumes.
I'll come again some two hours hence and bring
That that shall quiet all.

PALAMON. A sword and armor.

ARCITE. Fear me not. You are now too foul. Farewell.
Get off your trinkets; you shall want naught.

PALAMON. Sirrah--

ARCITE. I'll hear no more.

[He exits.]

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

[He exits.]

SCHOOLMASTER. May the stag thou hunt'st stand long,
And thy dogs be swift and strong;
May they kill him without lets,
And the ladies eat his dowsets.
[Wind horns within. Theseus, Hippolyta,
Emilia, Pirithous, and Train exit.]
Come, we are all made. Dii deaeque omnes,
You have danced rarely, wenches.

[They exit.]

PALAMON. [Enter Palamon from the bush.]
About this hour my cousin gave his faith
To visit me again, and with him bring
Two swords and two good armors. If he fail,
He's neither man nor soldier. When he left me,
I did not think a week could have restored
My lost strength to me, I was grown so low
And crestfall'n with my wants. I thank thee, Arcite,
Thou art yet a fair foe, and I feel myself,
With this refreshing, able once again
To outdure danger. To delay it longer
Would make the world think, when it comes to hearing,
That I lay fatting like a swine to fight
And not a soldier. Therefore, this blest morning
Shall be the last; and that sword he refuses,
If it but hold, I kill him with. 'Tis justice.
So, love and fortune for me!

[Enter Arcite with armors and swords.]

O, good morrow.

ARCITE. Good morrow, noble kinsman.

PALAMON. I have put you
To too much pains, sir.

ARCITE. That too much, fair cousin,
Is but a debt to honor and my duty.

PALAMON. Would you were so in all, sir; I could wish you
As kind a kinsman as you force me find
A beneficial foe, that my embraces
Might thank you, not my blows.

ARCITE. I shall think either,
Well done, a noble recompense.

PALAMON. Then I shall quit you.

ARCITE. Defy me in these fair terms, and you show
More than a mistress to me. No more anger,
As you love anything that's honorable!
We were not bred to talk, man; when we are armed
And both upon our guards, then let our fury,
Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,
And then to whom the birthright of this beauty
Truly pertains--without upbraidings, scorns,
Despisings of our persons, and such poutings,
Fitter for girls and schoolboys--will be seen,
And quickly, yours or mine. Will 't please you arm, sir?
Or if you feel yourself not fitting yet
And furnished with your old strength, I'll stay, cousin,
And ev'ry day discourse you into health,
As I am spared. Your person I am friends with,
And I could wish I had not said I loved her,
Though I had died. But loving such a lady,
And justifying my love, I must not fly from 't.

PALAMON. Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy
That no man but thy cousin's fit to kill thee.
I am well and lusty. Choose your arms.

ARCITE. Choose you, sir.

PALAMON. Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it
To make me spare thee?

ARCITE. If you think so, cousin,
You are deceived, for as I am a soldier,
I will not spare you.

PALAMON. That's well said.

ARCITE. You'll find it.

PALAMON. Then, as I am an honest man and love
With all the justice of affection,
I'll pay thee soundly.

[He chooses armor.]

This I'll take.

ARCITE. [taking the other]
That's mine, then.
I'll arm you first.

PALAMON. Do.

[Arcite begins arming him.]

Pray thee tell me, cousin,
Where got'st thou this good armor?

ARCITE. 'Tis the Duke's,
And to say true, I stole it. Do I pinch you?

PALAMON. No.

ARCITE. Is 't not too heavy?

PALAMON. I have worn a lighter,
But I shall make it serve.

ARCITE. I'll buckle 't close.

PALAMON. By any means.

ARCITE. You care not for a grand guard?

PALAMON. No, no, we'll use no horses. I perceive
You would fain be at that fight.

ARCITE. I am indifferent.

PALAMON. Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle
Through far enough.

ARCITE. I warrant you.

PALAMON. My casque now.

ARCITE. Will you fight bare-armed?

PALAMON. We shall be the nimbler.

ARCITE. But use your gauntlets though. Those are o' th' least.
Prithee take mine, good cousin.

PALAMON. Thank you, Arcite.
How do I look? Am I fall'n much away?

ARCITE. Faith, very little; love has used you kindly.

PALAMON. I'll warrant thee, I'll strike home.

ARCITE. Do, and spare not.
I'll give you cause, sweet cousin.

PALAMON. Now to you, sir.

[He begins to arm Arcite.]

Methinks this armor's very like that, Arcite,
Thou wor'st that day the three kings fell, but lighter.

ARCITE. That was a very good one, and that day,
I well remember, you outdid me, cousin.
I never saw such valor. When you charged
Upon the left wing of the enemy,
I spurred hard to come up, and under me
I had a right good horse.

PALAMON. You had, indeed;
A bright bay, I remember.

ARCITE. Yes, but all
Was vainly labored in me; you outwent me,
Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little
I did by imitation.

PALAMON. More by virtue;
You are modest, cousin.

ARCITE. When I saw you charge first,
Methought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder
Break from the troop.

PALAMON. But still before that flew
The lightning of your valor. Stay a little;
Is not this piece too strait?

ARCITE. No, no, 'tis well.

PALAMON. I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword.
A bruise would be dishonor.

ARCITE. Now I am perfect.

PALAMON. Stand off, then.

ARCITE. Take my sword; I hold it better.

PALAMON. I thank you, no; keep it; your life lies on it.
Here's one; if it but hold, I ask no more
For all my hopes. My cause and honor guard me!

ARCITE. And me my love!

[They bow several ways, then advance and stand.]

Is there aught else to say?

PALAMON. This only, and no more: thou art mine aunt's son.
And that blood we desire to shed is mutual--
In me thine, and in thee mine. My sword
Is in my hand, and if thou kill'st me,
The gods and I forgive thee. If there be
A place prepared for those that sleep in honor,
I wish his weary soul that falls may win it.
Fight bravely, cousin. Give me thy noble hand.

ARCITE. [as they shake hands]
Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more
Come near thee with such friendship.

PALAMON. I commend thee.

ARCITE. If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,
For none but such dare die in these just trials.
Once more farewell, my cousin.

PALAMON. Farewell, Arcite.

[Fight.]
[Horns within. They stand.]

ARCITE. Lo, cousin, lo, our folly has undone us!

PALAMON. Why?

ARCITE. This is the Duke, a-hunting, as I told you.
If we be found, we are wretched. O, retire,
For honor's sake, and safely, presently
Into your bush again. Sir, we shall find
Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin,
If you be seen, you perish instantly
For breaking prison, and I, if you reveal me,
For my contempt. Then all the world will scorn us,
And say we had a noble difference,
But base disposers of it.

PALAMON. No, no, cousin,
I will no more be hidden, nor put off
This great adventure to a second trial.
I know your cunning, and I know your cause.
He that faints now, shame take him! Put thyself
Upon thy present guard--

ARCITE. You are not mad?

PALAMON. Or I will make th' advantage of this hour
Mine own, and what to come shall threaten me
I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin,
I love Emilia, and in that I'll bury
Thee and all crosses else.

ARCITE. Then come what can come,
Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well
Die as discourse or sleep. Only this fears me:
The law will have the honor of our ends.
Have at thy life!

PALAMON. Look to thine own well, Arcite.

[Fight again.]
[Horns. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous and train.]

THESEUS. What ignorant and mad malicious traitors
Are you, that 'gainst the tenor of my laws
Are making battle, thus like knights appointed,
Without my leave and officers of arms?
By Castor, both shall die.

PALAMON. Hold thy word, Theseus.
We are certainly both traitors, both despisers
Of thee and of thy goodness. I am Palamon,
That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison.
Think well what that deserves. And this is Arcite.
A bolder traitor never trod thy ground,
A falser ne'er seemed friend. This is the man
Was begged and banished; this is he contemns thee
And what thou dar'st do; and in this disguise,
Against thine own edict, follows thy sister,
That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia,
Whose servant--if there be a right in seeing
And first bequeathing of the soul to--justly
I am; and, which is more, dares think her his.
This treachery, like a most trusty lover,
I called him now to answer. If thou be'st
As thou art spoken, great and virtuous,
The true decider of all injuries,
Say "Fight again," and thou shalt see me, Theseus,
Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy.
Then take my life; I'll woo thee to 't.

ARCITE. We seek not
Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. 'Tis to me
A thing as soon to die as thee to say it,
And no more moved. Where this man calls me traitor,
Let me say thus much: if in love be treason,
In service of so excellent a beauty,
As I love most, and in that faith will perish,
As I have brought my life here to confirm it,
As I have served her truest, worthiest,
As I dare kill this cousin that denies it,
So let me be most traitor, and you please me.
For scorning thy edict, duke, ask that lady
Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me
Stay here to love her; and if she say "traitor,"
I am a villain fit to lie unburied.

PALAMON. Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus,
If unto neither thou show mercy. Stop,
As thou art just, thy noble ear against us;
As thou art valiant, for thy cousin's soul,
Whose twelve strong labors crown his memory,
Let's die together at one instant, duke;
Only a little let him fall before me,
That I may tell my soul he shall not have her.

EMILIA. Swear 'em never more
To make me their contention, or to know me,
To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be,
Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers
To one another.

PALAMON. I'll be cut a-pieces
Before I take this oath! Forget I love her?
O, all you gods, despise me then! Thy banishment
I not mislike, so we may fairly carry
Our swords and cause along; else never trifle,
But take our lives, duke. I must love, and will,
And for that love must and dare kill this cousin
On any piece the Earth has.

THESEUS. Will you, Arcite,
Take these conditions?

PALAMON. He's a villain, then.

"Both". Any death thou canst invent, duke.

PALAMON. If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favor,
And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.

THESEUS. Thus I ordain it--
And, by mine honor, once again, it stands,
Or both shall die: you shall both to your country,
And each within this month, accompanied
With three fair knights, appear again in this place,
In which I'll plant a pyramid; and whether,
Before us that are here, can force his cousin
By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar,
He shall enjoy her; the other lose his head,
And all his friends; nor shall he grudge to fall,
Nor think he dies with interest in this lady.
Will this content you?

PALAMON. Yes.--Here, Cousin Arcite,
I am friends again till that hour.

[He offers his hand.]

THESEUS. [to Palamon and Arcite]
Come, shake hands again, then,
And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel
Sleep till the hour prefixed, and hold your course.

PALAMON. We dare not fail thee, Theseus.

[They shake hands again.]

PIRITHOUS. Honor crown the worthiest!

[Theseus and his train exit.]

PALAMON. The glass is running now that cannot finish
Till one of us expire. Think you but thus,
That were there aught in me which strove to show
Mine enemy in this business, were 't one eye
Against another, arm oppressed by arm,
I would destroy th' offender, coz--I would
Though parcel of myself. Then from this gather
How I should tender you.

ARCITE. I am in labor
To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred
Out of my memory, and i' th' selfsame place
To seat something I would confound. So hoist we
The sails that must these vessels port even where
The heavenly Limiter pleases.

PALAMON. You speak well.
Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin.

[They embrace.]

This I shall never do again.

ARCITE. One farewell.

PALAMON. Why, let it be so. Farewell, coz.

ARCITE. Farewell, sir.

[Palamon and his Knights exit.]

Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices,
True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you
Expels the seeds of fear and th' apprehension
Which still is father of it, go with me
Before the god of our profession. There
Require of him the hearts of lions and
The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too,
Yea, the speed also--to go on, I mean;
Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize
Must be dragged out of blood; force and great feat
Must put my garland on, where she sticks,
The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then,
Must be to him that makes the camp a cistern
Brimmed with the blood of men. Give me your aid,
And bend your spirits towards him.

[They go to Mars's altar, fall on
their faces before it, and then kneel.]

Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turned
Green Neptune into purple, whose approach
Comets prewarn, whose havoc in vast field
Unearthed skulls proclaim, whose breath blows down
The teeming Ceres' foison, who dost pluck
With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds
The masoned turrets, that both mak'st and break'st
The stony girths of cities; me thy pupil,
Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day
With military skill, that to thy laud
I may advance my streamer, and by thee
Be styled the lord o' th' day. Give me, great Mars,
Some token of thy pleasure.

[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and
there is heard clanging of armor, with a short
thunder, as the burst of a battle, whereupon
they all rise and bow to the altar.]

O, great corrector of enormous times,
Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider
Of dusty and old titles, that heal'st with blood
The Earth when it is sick, and cur'st the world
O' th' pleurisy of people, I do take
Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name
To my design march boldly.--Let us go.

[They exit.]

PALAMON. [Enter Palamon and his Knights,
with the former observance.]
Our stars must glister with new fire, or be
Today extinct. Our argument is love,
Which, if the goddess of it grant, she gives
Victory too. Then blend your spirits with mine,
You whose free nobleness do make my cause
Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus
Commend we our proceeding, and implore
Her power unto our party.
[Here they go to Venus's altar, fall on
their faces before it, and then kneel.]
Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power
To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage
And weep unto a girl; that hast the might
Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars's drum
And turn th' alarm to whispers; that canst make
A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him
Before Apollo; that mayst force the king
To be his subject's vassal, and induce
Stale gravity to dance. The polled bachelor,
Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires,
Have skipped thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch,
And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat,
Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power
Hast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou
Add'st flames hotter than his; the heavenly fires
Did scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress,
All moist and cold, some say, began to throw
Her bow away and sigh. Take to thy grace
Me, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yoke
As 'twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier
Than lead itself, stings more than nettles.
I have never been foul-mouthed against thy law,
Ne'er revealed secret, for I knew none--would not,
Had I kenned all that were. I never practiced
Upon man's wife, nor would the libels read
Of liberal wits. I never at great feasts
Sought to betray a beauty, but have blushed
At simp'ring sirs that did. I have been harsh
To large confessors, and have hotly asked them
If they had mothers--I had one, a woman,
And women 'twere they wronged. I knew a man
Of eighty winters--this I told them--who
A lass of fourteen brided; 'twas thy power
To put life into dust. The aged cramp
Had screwed his square foot round;
The gout had knit his fingers into knots;
Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes
Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life
In him seemed torture. This anatomy
Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I
Believed it was his, for she swore it was,
And who would not believe her? Brief, I am
To those that prate and have done, no companion;
To those that boast and have not, a defier;
To those that would and cannot, a rejoicer.
Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices
The foulest way, nor names concealments in
The boldest language. Such a one I am,
And vow that lover never yet made sigh
Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess,
Give me the victory of this question, which
Is true love's merit, and bless me with a sign
Of thy great pleasure.
[Here music is heard; doves are
seen to flutter. They fall again upon
their faces, then on their knees.]
O thou that from eleven to ninety reign'st
In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world
And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks
For this fair token, which being laid unto
Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance
My body to this business.--Let us rise
And bow before the goddess.

[They rise and bow.]

Time comes on.

[They exit.]

THESEUS. So it is.

[Flourish. They exit.]

PALAMON. [Enter Guard with Palamon and his Knights,
pinioned; Jailer, Executioner and Others,
carrying a block and an ax.]

There's many a man alive that hath outlived
The love o' th' people; yea, i' th' selfsame state
Stands many a father with his child. Some comfort
We have by so considering. We expire,
And not without men's pity. To live still,
Have their good wishes; we prevent
The loathsome misery of age, beguile
The gout and rheum that in lag hours attend
For gray approachers; we come towards the gods
Young and unwappered, not halting under crimes
Many and stale. That sure shall please the gods
Sooner than such, to give us nectar with 'em,
For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen,
Whose lives for this poor comfort are laid down,
You have sold 'em too too cheap.

THIRD KNIGHT. Come, who begins?

PALAMON. E'en he that led you to this banquet shall
Taste to you all. [To Jailer.] Ah ha, my friend, my friend,
Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once;
You'll see 't done now forever. Pray, how does she?
I heard she was not well; her kind of ill
Gave me some sorrow.

JAILER. Sir, she's well restored,
And to be married shortly.

PALAMON. By my short life,
I am most glad on 't. 'Tis the latest thing
I shall be glad of; prithee, tell her so.
Commend me to her, and to piece her portion,
Tender her this.

[He gives his purse to Jailer.]

SECOND KNIGHT. Is it a maid?

PALAMON. Verily, I think so.
A right good creature, more to me deserving
Than I can quit or speak of.

JAILER. The gods requite you all and make her thankful!

PALAMON. Adieu, and let my life be now as short
As my leave-taking.

[Lays his head on the block.]

PIRITHOUS. Hold, ho! It is a cursed haste you made
If you have done so quickly!--Noble Palamon,
The gods will show their glory in a life
That thou art yet to lead.

PALAMON. Can that be,
When Venus, I have said, is false? How do things fare?

PIRITHOUS. Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear
That are most dearly sweet and bitter.

PALAMON. [rising]
What
Hath waked us from our dream?

PIRITHOUS. List then: your cousin,
Mounted upon a steed that Emily
Did first bestow on him--a black one, owing
Not a hair worth of white, which some will say
Weakens his price, and many will not buy
His goodness with this note, which superstition
Here finds allowance--on this horse is Arcite
Trotting the stones of Athens--which the calkins
Did rather tell than trample, for the horse
Would make his length a mile, if 't pleased his rider
To put pride in him. As he thus went counting
The flinty pavement, dancing, as 'twere, to th' music
His own hooves made--for, as they say, from iron
Came music's origin--what envious flint,
Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessed
With fire malevolent, darted a spark,
Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made,
I comment not; the hot horse, hot as fire,
Took toy at this and fell to what disorder
His power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,
Forgets school-doing, being therein trained
And of kind manage. Pig-like he whines
At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather
Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means
Of boist'rous and rough jadery to disseat
His lord that kept it bravely. When naught served,
When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff'ring plunges
Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that
He kept him 'tween his legs, on his hind hoofs
On end he stands
That Arcite's legs, being higher than his head,
Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor's wreath
Even then fell off his head, and presently
Backward the jade comes o'er, and his full poise
Becomes the rider's load. Yet is he living,
But such a vessel 'tis that floats but for
The surge that next approaches. He much desires
To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears.

[Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia,
and Arcite carried in a chair.]

PALAMON. O, miserable end of our alliance!
The gods are mighty, Arcite. If thy heart,
Thy worthy, manly heart, be yet unbroken,
Give me thy last words. I am Palamon,
One that yet loves thee dying.

ARCITE. Take Emilia
And with her all the world's joy. Reach thy hand;
Farewell. I have told my last hour. I was false,
Yet never treacherous. Forgive me, cousin.
One kiss from fair Emilia. [She kisses him.]
'Tis done.
Take her. I die. [He dies.]

PALAMON. Thy brave soul seek Elysium!

EMILIA. I'll close thine eyes, prince. Blessed souls be with thee!
Thou art a right good man, and while I live,
This day I give to tears.

PALAMON. And I to honor.

THESEUS. In this place first you fought; e'en very here
I sundered you. Acknowledge to the gods
Our thanks that you are living.
His part is played, and though it were too short,
He did it well. Your day is lengthened, and
The blissful dew of heaven does arrouse you.
The powerful Venus well hath graced her altar,
And given you your love. Our master, Mars,
Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gave
The grace of the contention. So the deities
Have showed due justice.--Bear this hence.

PALAMON. O cousin,
That we should things desire which do cost us
The loss of our desire, that naught could buy
Dear love but loss of dear love.

[Arcite's body is carried out.]