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

JAILER. [Enter Jailer and Wooer.]
I may depart with little while I live; something I
may cast to you, not much. Alas, the prison I keep,
though it be for great ones, yet they seldom come;
before one salmon you shall take a number of minnows.
I am given out to be better lined than it can
appear to me report is a true speaker. I would I
were really that I am delivered to be. Marry, what
I have, be it what it will, I will assure upon my
daughter at the day of my death.

WOOER. Sir, I demand no more than your own offer,
and I will estate your daughter in what I have
promised.

JAILER. Well, we will talk more of this when the solemnity
is past. But have you a full promise of her?
When that shall be seen, I tender my consent.

[Enter the Jailer's Daughter, carrying rushes.]

WOOER. I have sir. Here she comes.

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.

WOOER. I never saw 'em.

FIRST FRIEND. 'Twill be known.

[Enter Wooer.]

WOOER. Alas, sir, where's your daughter?

JAILER. Why do you ask?

WOOER. O, sir, when did you see her?

JAILER. This morning.

WOOER. Was she well? Was she in health?
Sir, when did she sleep?

JAILER. I do not think she was very well--for now
You make me mind her; but this very day
I asked her questions, and she answered 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?

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

JAILER. Well, sir?

WOOER. No, sir, not well.

SECOND FRIEND. Not well?

WOOER. 'Tis too true; she is mad.

FIRST FRIEND. It cannot be.

WOOER. Believe you'll find it so.

JAILER. 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.

WOOER. 'Tis likely.

JAILER. But why all this haste, sir?

WOOER. 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 perceived not
Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds
Had so encompassed it. I laid me down
And listened to the words she sung, for then,
Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,
I saw it was your daughter.

JAILER. Pray go on, sir.

WOOER. She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her
Repeat this often: "Palamon is gone,
Is gone to th' wood to gather mulberries;
I'll find him out tomorrow."

FIRST FRIEND. Pretty soul!

WOOER. "His shackles will betray him; he'll be taken,
And what shall I do then? I'll bring a bevy,
A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do,
With chaplets on their heads of daffadillies,
With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses,
And all we'll dance an antic 'fore the Duke,
And beg his pardon." Then she talked of you, sir--
That you must lose your head tomorrow 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 sat; her careless tresses,
A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand freshwater flowers of several colors,
That methought she appeared like the fair nymph
That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropped down from heaven. Rings she made
Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
The prettiest posies: "Thus our true love's tied,"
"This you may lose, not me," and many a one;
And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed,
And with the same breath smiled and kissed her hand.

SECOND FRIEND. Alas, what pity it is!

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.

JAILER. I was once, sir, in great hope she had fixed her
liking on this gentleman, my friend.

WOOER. I did think so, too, and would account I had a
great penn'orth on 't to give half my state that both
she and I, at this present, stood unfeignedly on the
same terms.

DOCTOR. [Enter Doctor, Jailer, and Wooer in
the habit of Palamon.]

Has this advice I told you done any good upon her?

WOOER. O, very much. The maids that kept her company
Have half-persuaded her that I am Palamon;
Within this half-hour she came smiling to me,
And asked me what I would eat, and when I would kiss her.
I told her "Presently," and kissed her twice.

DOCTOR. 'Twas well done; twenty times had been far better,
For there the cure lies mainly.

WOOER. Then she told me
She would watch with me tonight, for well she knew
What hour my fit would take me.

DOCTOR. Let her do so,
And when your fit comes, fit her home,
And presently.

WOOER. She would have me sing.

DOCTOR. You did so?

WOOER. No.

DOCTOR. 'Twas very ill done, then.
You should observe her ev'ry way.

WOOER. Alas,
I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way.

DOCTOR. Go, go.
You fathers are fine fools. Her honesty?
And we should give her physic till we find that!

WOOER. Why, do you think she is not honest, sir?

DOCTOR. How old is she?

WOOER. She's eighteen.

DOCTOR. She may be.
But that's all one; 'tis nothing to our purpose.
Whate'er her father says, if you perceive
Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of,
Videlicet, the way of flesh--you have me?

WOOER. Yes, very well, sir.

DOCTOR. Please her appetite,
And do it home; it cures her, ipso facto,
The melancholy humor that infects her.

WOOER. I am of your mind, doctor.

JAILER. Make curtsy; here your love comes.

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

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?

DOCTOR. I'll warrant you, within these three or four days
I'll make her right again.

[Jailer and Messenger exit.]

[To Wooer.]
You must not from her,
But still preserve her in this way.

WOOER. I will.

DOCTOR. Let's get her in.

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.

DOCTOR. [to Wooer]
Take her offer.

WOOER. Yes, marry, will we.

DAUGHTER. But you shall not hurt me.

WOOER. I will not, sweet.