Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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2.3 Enter Arcite

ARCITE

Banished the kingdom? ’Tis a benefit,

A mercy I must thank ’em for; but banished

The free enjoying of that face I die for—

O, ‘twas a studied punishment, a death

Beyond imagination; such a vengeance

That, were I old and wicked, all my sins

Could never pluck upon me. Palamon,

Thou hast the start now—thou shalt stay and see

Her bright eyes break each morning ’gainst thy

window,

And let in life into thee. Thou shalt feed

Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty

That nature ne’er exceeded, nor ne’er shall.

Good gods! What happiness has Palamon!

Twenty to one he’ll come to speak to her,

And if she be as gentle as she’s fair,

I know she’s his—he has a tongue will tame

Tempests and make the wild rocks wanton.

Come what can come,

The worst is death. I will not leave the kingdom.

I know mine own is but a heap of ruins,

And no redress there. If I go he has her.

I am resolved another shape shall make me,

Or end my fortunes. Either way I am happy—

I’ll see her and be near her, or no more.

Enter four Country People, one of whom carries a garland before them. Arcite stands apart

FIRST COUNTRYMAN

My masters, I’ll be there—that’s certain.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN And I’ll be there.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN And I.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN

Why then, have with ye, boys! ’Tis but a chiding—

Let the plough play today, I’ll tickle’t out

Of the jades’ tails tomorrow.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN I am sure

To have my wife as jealous as a turkey—

But that’s all one. I’ll go through, let her mumble.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN

Clap her aboard tomorrow night and stow her,

And all’s made up again.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN

Ay, do but put A fescue in her fist and you shall see her

Take a new lesson out and be a good wench.

Do we all hold against the maying?

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN

Hold? What should ail us?

THIRD COUNTRYMAN Areas will be there.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN And Sennois, and Rycas, and three better lads ne’er danced under green tree; and ye know what wenches, ha? But will the dainty dominie, the schoolmaster, keep touch, do you think? For he does all, ye know.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN He’ll eat a hornbook ere he fail. Go to, the matter’s too far driven between him and the tanner’s daughter to let slip now, and she must see the Duke, and she must dance too.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Shall we be lusty?

SECOND COUNTRYMAN All the boys in Athens blow wind i’th’ breech on’s! And here I’ll be and there I’ll be, for our town, and here again and there again—ha, boys, hey for the weavers!

FIRST COUNTRYMAN This must be done i’th’ woods.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN O, pardon me.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN By any means, our thing of learning said so; where he himself will edify the Duke most parlously in our behalfs—he’s excellent i’th’ woods, bring him to th’ plains, his learning makes no cry.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN We’ll see the sports, then every man to’s tackle—and, sweet companions, let’s rehearse, by any means, before the ladies see us, and do sweetly, and God knows what may come on’t.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Content—the sports once ended, we’ll perform. Away boys, and hold.

ARCITE (coming forward) By your leaves, honest friends, pray you whither go you? 6

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN

Whither? Why, what a question’s that?

ARCITE Yet ’tis a question

To me that know not.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN To the games, my friend.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN

Where were you bred, you know it not?

ARCITE Not far, sir

Are there such games today?

FIRST COUNTRYMAN

Yes, marry, are there, And such as you never saw. The Duke himself

Will be in person there.

ARCITE What pastimes are they?

SECOND COUNTRYMAN

Wrestling and running. (To the others) ’Tis a pretty fellow.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN (to Arcite)

Thou wilt not go along?

ARCITE Not yet, sir.

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN

Well, sir, Take your own time. (To the others) Come, boys.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN

My mind misgives me—This fellow has a vengeance trick o’th’ hip:

Mark how his body’s made for’t.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN

I’ll be hanged though If he dare venture; hang him, plum porridge!

He wrestle? He roast eggs! Come, let’s be gone, lads.

Exeunt the four Countrymen

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? Exit

2.4 Enter the Jailer’s Daughter

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

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 every 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; ere tomorrow he shall love me. Exit

2.5 Short flourish of cornetts and shouts within. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Emilia, Arcite disguised, with a garland, and attendants

THESEUS

You have done worthily. I have not seen

Since Hercules a man of tougher sinews.

Whate’er you are, you run the best and wrestle

That these times can allow.

ARCITE I am proud to please you.

THESEUS

What country bred you?

ARCITE

This—but far off, prince.

THESEUS

Are you a gentleman?

ARCITE

My father said so, And to those gentle uses gave me life.

THESEUS

Are you his heir?

ARCITE

His youngest, sir.

THESEUS

Your father Sure is a happy sire, then. What proves you?

ARCITE

A little of all noble qualities.

I could have kept a hawk and well have hollered

To a deep cry of dogs; I dare not praise

My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me

Would say it was my best piece; last and greatest,

I would be thought a soldier.

THESEUS You are perfect.

PIRITHOIIS

Upon my soul, a proper man.

EMILIA

He is so.

PIRITHOUS (to Hippolyta)

How do you like him, lady?

HIPPOLYTA

I admire him. I have not seen so young a man so noble—

If he say true—of his sort.

EMILIA

Believe His mother was a wondrous handsome woman—

His face methinks goes that way.

HIPPOLYTA

But his body And fiery mind illustrate a brave father.

PIRITHOUS

Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun,

Breaks through his baser garments.

HIPPOLYTA

He’s well got, sure.

THESEUS (to Arcite)

What made you seek this place, sir?

ARCITE

Noble Theseus, To purchase name and do my ablest service

To such a well-found wonder as thy worth,

For only in thy court of all the world

Dwells fair-eyed honour.

PIRITHOUS

All his words are worthy.

THESEUS (to Arcite)

Sir, we are much indebted to your travel,

Nor shall you lose your wish.—Pirithous,

Dispose of this fair gentleman.

PIRITHOUS

Thanks, Theseus. (To Arcite) Whate’er you are, you’re mine, and I shall

give you

To a most noble service, to this lady,

This bright young virgin; pray observe her goodness.

You have honoured her fair birthday with your

virtues,

And as your due you’re hers. Kiss her fair hand, sir.

ARCITE

Sir, you’re a noble giver. (To Emilia) Dearest beauty,

Thus let me seal my vowed faith.

He kisses her hand

When your servant,

Your most unworthy creature, but offends you,

Command him die, he shall.

EMILIA

That were too cruel. If you deserve well, sir, I shall soon see’t.

You’re mine, and somewhat better than your rank I’ll

use you.

PIRITHOUS (to Arcite)

I’ll see you furnished, and, because you say

You are a horseman, I must needs entreat you

This afternoon to ride—but ’tis a rough one.

ARCITE

I like him better, prince—I shall not then

Freeze in my saddle.

THESEUS (to Hippolyta)

Sweet, you must be ready—And you, Emilia, ⌈to Pirithous] and you, friend—and

all,

Tomorrow by the sun, to do observance

To flow’ry May in Dian’s wood. (To Arcite) Wait well,

sir,

Upon your mistress.—Emity, I hope

He shall not go afoot.

EMILIA

That were a shame, sir, While I have horses. (To Arcite) Take your choice, and

what

You want, at any time, let me but know it.

If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you,

You’ll find a loving mistress.

ARCITE

If I do not, Let me find that my father ever hated—

Disgrace and blows.

THESEUS

Go, lead the way—you have won it. It shall be so: you shall receive all dues

Fit for the honour you have won. ’Twere wrong else.

(To Emilia) Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a

servant

That, if I were a woman, would be master.

But you are wise.

EMILIA

I hope too wise for that, sir.

Flourish. Exeunt

2.6 Enter the jailer’s Daughter

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

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 patch 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.

Exit

3.1 A bush in place.⌉ Cornetts in sundry places. Noise and hollering as of people a-Maying. Enter Arcite

ARCITE

The Duke has lost Hippo)yta—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’enamelled 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 blessèd

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 honour

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

Not worth the name of villain. Had I as word

And these house-clogs away—

ARCITE

Dear cousin Palamon—

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. Honour 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 armour.

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

Wind horns within

More than my sword’s edge on’t.

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

Wind horns within

My horse I chide him not. Content and anger

In me have but one face. 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 it till

I may enforce my remedy. Farewell.

Exeunt severally, ⌈Palamon as into the bush⌉

3.2 Enter the Jailer’s Daughter, with a file

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

He has mistook the brake I meant, is gone

After his fancy. ’Tis now wellnigh 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 hollered for him?

I cannot holler. 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 jangling 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.

Exit

3.3 Enter Arcite with a bundle containing meat, wine, and files

ARCITE

I should be near the place. Ho, cousin Patamon!

Enter Palamon ⌈as from the bush⌉

PALAMON

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, sir.

PALAMON

Do.

⌈Arcite drinks⌉

ARCITE Pray sit down, then, and let me entreat you, By all the honesty and honour in you, No mention of this woman—’twilt disturb us. We shall have time enough.

PALAMON

Well, sir, I’ll pledge you.

Palamon 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.

Palamon drinks

ARCITE

Spare it not—

The Duke has more, coz. Eat now.

PALAMON

Yes.

Palamon eats

ARCITE

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. ⌈Drinking⌉ 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 arbour—

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 Yes.

⌈They drink⌉

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 (pointing to the bundle)

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 armour.

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.

Exit

PALAMON

If he keep touch, he dies for’t.

Exit ⌈as into the bush⌉