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

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3.4 Enter the Jailer’s Daughter

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

I am very cold, and all the stars are out too,

The little stars and all, that look like agtets—

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 cockle-shell, and sail

By east and north-east 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.

(She sings)

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.

Exit

3.5 Enter Gerald (a schoolmaster), five Countrymen, one of whom is dressed as a Babion, five Wenches, and Timothy, a taborer. All are attired as morris dancers

SCHOOLMASTER Fie, fie,

What tediosity and disinsanity

Is here among yet Have my rudiments

Been laboured so long with ye, milked unto ye,

And, by a figure, even the very plum-broth

And marrow of my understanding laid upon ye?

And do you still cry ‘where?’ and ‘how?’ and

‘wherefore?’

You most coarse frieze capacities, ye jean judgements,

Have I said, ‘thus let be’, and ‘there let be’,

And ‘then let be’, and no man understand me?

Proh deum, medius fidius-ye are all dunces.

Forwhy, here stand I. Here the Duke comes. There are

you,

Close in the thicket. The Duke appears. I meet him,

And unto him I utter learnèd things

And many figures. He hears, and nods, and hums,

And then cries, ‘Rare!’, and I go forward. At length

I fling my cap up—mark there—then do you,

As once did Meleager and the boar,

Break comely out before him, like true lovers,

Cast yourselves in a body decently,

And sweetly, by a figure, trace and turn, boys.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN

And sweetly we will do it, master Gerald.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN

Draw up the company. Where’s the taborer?

THIRD COUNTRYMAN

Why, Timothy!

TABORER Here, my mad boys, have at ye!

SCHOOLMASTER

But I say, where’s these women?

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN Here’s Friz and Madeline.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN

And little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbara.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN

And freckled Nell, that never failed her master.

SCHOOLMASTER

Where be your ribbons, maids? Swim with your bodies

And carry it sweetly and deliverly,

And now and then a favour and a frisk.

NELL

Let us alone, sir.

SCHOOLMASTER

Where’s the rest o’th’ music?

THIRD COUNTRYMAN

Dispersed as you commanded.

SCHOOLMASTER

Couple, then,

And see what’s wanting. Where’s the babion?

(To the Babion) My friend, carry your tail without

offence

Or scandal to the ladies; and be sure

You tumble with audacity and manhood,

And when you bark, do it with judgement.

BABION Yes, sir.

SCHOOLMASTER

Quousque tandem? Here is a woman wanting!

FOURTH COUNTRYMAN

We may go whistle—all the fat’s i’th’ fire.

SCHOOLMASTER We have,

As learned authors utter, washed a tile;

We have been fatuus, and laboured vainly.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN

This is that scornful piece, that scurvy hilding

That gave her promise faithfully she would be here—

Cicely, the seamstress’ daughter.

The next gloves that I give her shall be dogskin.

Nay, an she fail me once—you can tell, Areas,

She swore by wine and bread she would not break.

SCHOOLMASTER An eel and woman,

A learned poet says, unless by th’ tail

And with thy teeth thou hold, will either fail—

In manners this was false position.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN

A fire-ill take her! Does she flinch now?

THIRD COUNTRYMAN What

Shall we determine, sir?

SCHOOLMASTER

Nothing;

Our business is become a nullity,

Yea, and a woeful and a piteous nullity.

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 the Jailer’s Daughter

JAILER’S 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—

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.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN

There’s a dainty madwoman, master,

Comes i’th’ nick, as mad as a March hare.

If we can get her dance, we are made again.

I warrant her, she’ll do the rarest gambols.

FIRST COUNTRYMAN

A madwoman? We are made, boys.

SCHOOLMASTER (to the Jailer’s Daughter)

And are you mad, good woman?

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

I would be sorry else.

Give me your hand.

SCHOOLMASTER

Why?

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

I can tell your fortune.

⌈She examines 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?

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

Or a conjurer—

Raise me a devil now and let him play

Qui passa o’th’ bells and bones.

SCHOOLMASTER

Go, take her,

And fluently persuade her to a peace.

Et opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira, nec ignis—

Strike up, and lead her in.

SECOND COUNTRYMAN

Come, lass, let’s trip it.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER I’ll lead.

THIRD COUNTRYMAN Do, do.

SCHOOLMASTER

Persuasively and cunningly—

Wind horns within

away, boys,

I hear the horns. Give me some meditation,

And mark your cue.

Exeunt all but Gerald the Schoolmaster Pallas inspire me.

Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite, and train

THESEUS This way the stag took.

SCHOOLMASTER Stay and edify.

THESEUS What have we here?

PIRITHOUS

Some country sport, upon my life, sir.

THESEUS (to the Schoolmaster)

Well, sir, go forward—we will edify.

Ladies, sit down—we’ll stay it.

They sit: ⌈theseus⌉ in a chair, the others on stools

SCHOOLMASTER

Thou doughty Duke, all hail! All hail, sweet ladies.

THESEUS This is a cold beginning.

SCHOOLMASTER

If you but favour, our country pastime made is.

We are a few of those collected here,

That ruder tongues distinguish ‘villager’;

And to say verity, and not to fable,

We are a merry rout, or else a rabble,

Or company, or, by a figure, chorus,

That fore thy dignity will dance a morris.

And I, that am the rectifier of all,

By title pedagogus, that let fall

The birch upon the breeches of the small ones,

And humble with a ferula the tall ones,

Do here present this machine, or this frame;

And dainty Duke, whose doughty dismal fame

From Dis to Daedalus, from post to pillar,

Is blown abroad, help me, thy poor well-willer,

And with thy twinkling eyes, look right and straight

Upon this mighty ‘Moor’—of mickle weight—

‘Ice’ now comes in, which, being glued together,

Makes ‘morris’, and the cause that we came hither.

The body of our sport, of no small study,

I first appear, though rude, and raw, and muddy,

To speak, before thy noble grace, this tenor

At whose great feet I offer up my penner.

The next, the Lord of May and Lady bright;

The Chambermaid and Servingman, by night

That seek out silent hanging; then mine Host

And his fat Spouse, that welcomes, to their cost,

The galled traveller, and with a beck’ning

Informs the tapster to inflame the reck‘ning;

Then the beest-eating Clown; and next, the Fool;

The babion with long tail and eke long tool,

Cum multis aliis that make a dance—

Say ‘ay’, and all shall presently advance.

THESEUS

Ay, ay, by any means, dear dominie.

PIRITHOUS Produce.

SCHOOLMASTER (knocks for the dance)

Intrate filii, come forth and foot it.

⌈He flings up his cap.⌉ Music.

⌈The Schoolmaster ushers in

May Lord,

Servingman,

A Country Clown,

or Shepherd,

An Host,

A He-babion,

May Lady.

Chambermaid.

Country Wench.

Hostess.

She-babion.

A He-fool, The Jailer’s Daughter as

She-fool.

All these persons apparelled to the life, the men issuing out of one door and the wenches from theother. They dance a morris⌉

Ladies, if we have been merry,

And have pleased ye with a derry,

And a derry, and a down,

Say the schoolmaster’s no clown.

Duke, if we have pleased thee too,

And have done as good boys should do,

Give us but a tree or twain

For a maypole, and again,

Ere another year run out,

We’ll make thee laugh, and all this rout.

THESEUS

Take twenty, dominie. (To Hippolyta) How does my sweetheart?

HIPPOLYTA

Never so pleased, sir.

EMILIA

’Twas an excellent dance,

And for a preface, I never heard a better.

THESEUS

Schoolmaster, I thank you. One see ’em all rewarded.

PIRITHOUS

And here’s something to paint your pole withal.

He gives them money

THESEUS Now to our sports again.

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.

Exeunt Theseus and train. Wind horns within

Come, we are all made. Dii deaeque omnes,

Ye have danced rarely, wenches.

Exeunt

3.6 Enter Palamon from the bush

PALAMON

About this hour my cousin gave his faith

To visit me again, and with him bring

Two swords and two good armours; 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 crest-fall’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 out-dure 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 two armours and two 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 honour, and my duty.

PALAMON

Would you were so in all, sir—I could wish ye

As kind a kinsman, as you force me find

A beneficial foe, that my embraces

Might thank ye, 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 honourable.

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 every 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 one armour

This I’ll take.

ARCITE (indicating the remaining armour)

That’s mine, then.

I’ll arm you first.

PALAMON

Do.

Arcite arms Palamon

Pray thee tell me, cousin,

Where gott’st thou this good armour?

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.

Palamon arms Arcite

Methinks this armour’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 valour. 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 laboured 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 valour. 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 dishonour.

ARCITE

Now I am perfect.

PALAMON

Stand off, then.

ARCITE

Take my sword; I hold it better.

PALAMON

I thank ye. 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 honour 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 honour,

I wish his weary soul that falls may win it.

Fight bravely, cousin. Give me thy noble hand.

ARCITE

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 honour’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 honour of our ends.

Have at thy life!

PALAMON

Look to thine own well, Arcite!

They fight again.

Horns. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous, and train. ⌈Theseus⌉ separates Palamon and Arcite

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.

PIRITHOUS

O heaven,

What more than man is this!

THESEUS

I have sworn.

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 ye 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 labours 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.

THESEUS

I grant your wish; for to say true, your cousin

Has ten times more offended, for I gave him

More mercy than you found, sir, your offences

Being no more than his. None here speak for ’em,

For ere the sun set both shall sleep for ever.

HIPPOLYTA (to Emilia)

Alas, the pity! Now or never, sister,

Speak, not to be denied. That face of yours

Will bear the curses else of after ages

For these lost cousins.

EMILIA

In my face, dear sister,

I find no anger to ’em, nor no ruin.

The misadventure of their own eyes kill ’em.

Yet that I will be woman and have pity,

⌈She kneels⌉

My knees shall grow to th’ ground, but I’ll get mercy.

Help me, dear sister—in a deed so virtuous

The powers of all women will be with us.

Hippolyta kneels

Most royal brother—

HIPPOLYTA

Sir, by our tie of marriage—

EMILIA

By your own spotless honour—

HIPPOLYTA

By that faith,

That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me—

EMILIA

By that you would have pity in another,

By your own virtues infinite—

HIPPOLYTA

By valour,

By all the chaste nights I have ever pleased you—

THESEUS

These are strange conjurings.

PIRITHOUS

Nay, then, I’ll in too.

⌈He kneels⌉

By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers,

By all you love most: wars, and this sweet lady—

EMILIA

By that you would have trembled to deny

A blushing maid—

HIPPOLYTA

By your own eyes, by strength—

In which you swore I went beyond all women,

Almost all men—and yet I yielded, Theseus—

PIRITHOUS

To crown all this, by your most noble soul,

Which cannot want due mercy, I beg first—

HIPPOLYTA

Next hear my prayers—

EMILIA

Last let me entreat, sir—

PIRITHOUS

For mercy.

HIPPOLYTA Mercy.

EMILIA

Mercy on these princes.

THESEUS

Ye make my faith reel. Say I felt

Compassion to ’em both, how would you place it?

⌈They rise⌉

EMILIA

Upon their lives—but with their banishments.

THESEUS

You are a right woman, sister: you have pity,

But want the understanding where to use it.

If you desire their lives, invent a way

Safer than banishment. Can these two live,

And have the agony of love about ‘em,

And not kill one another? Every day

They’d fight about you, hourly bring your honour

In public question with their swords. Be wise, then,

And here forget ’em. It concerns your credit

And my oath equally. I have said—they die.

Better they fall by th’ law than one another.

Bow not my honour.

EMILIA

O my noble brother,

That oath was rashly made, and in your anger.

Your reason will not hold it. If such vows

Stand for express will, all the world must perish.

Beside, I have another oath ’gainst yours,

Of more authority, I am sure more love—

Not made in passion, neither, but good heed.

THESEUS

What is it, sister?

PIRITHOUS (to Emilia) Urge it home, brave lady.

EMILIA

That you would ne’er deny me anything

Fit for my modest suit and your free granting.

I tie you to your word now; if ye fail in’t,

Think how you maim your honour—

For now I am set a-begging, sir. I am deaf

To all but your compassion—how their lives

Might breed the ruin of my name, opinion.

Shall anything that loves me perish for me?

That were a cruel wisdom: do men prune

The straight young boughs that blush with thousand

blossoms

Because they may be rotten? O, Duke Theseus,

The goodly mothers that have groaned for these,

And all the longing maids that ever loved,

If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty,

And in their funeral songs for these two cousins

Despise my cruelty and cry woe worth me,

Till I am nothing but the scorn of women.

For heaven’s sake, save their lives and banish ’em.

THESEUS

On what conditions?

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 ye 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.

PIRITHOUS

These are men!

ARCITE

No, never, Duke. ’Tis worse to me than begging,

To take my life so basely. Though I think

I never shall enjoy her, yet I’ll preserve

The honour of affection and die for her,

Make death a devil.

THESEUS

What may be done? For now I feel compassion.

PIRITHOUS

Let it not fall again, sir.

THESEUS

Say, Emilia, If one of them were dead—as one must—are you

Content to take the other to your husband?

They cannot both enjoy you. They are princes

As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble

As ever fame yet spoke of. Look upon ’em,

And if you can love, end this difference.

I give consent. (To Palamon and Arcite) Are you

content too, princes?

PALAMON and ARCITE

With all our souls.

THESEUS

He that she refuses

Must die, then.

PALAMON and ARCITE

Any death thou canst invent, Duke.

PALAMON

If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,

And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.

ARCITE

If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,

And soldiers sing my epitaph.

THESEUS (to Emilia)

Make choice, then.

EMILIA

I cannot, sir. They are both too excellent.

For me, a hair shall never fall of these men.

HIPPOLYTA ⌈to Theseus⌉

What will become of ’em?

THESEUS

Thus I ordain it, And by mine honour once again it stands,

Or both shall die. (To Palamon and Arcite) 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 ye?

PALAMON

Yes. Here, cousin Arcite,

I am friends again till that hour.

ARCITE

I embrace ye.

THESEUS (to Emilia)

Are you content, sister?

EMILIA

Yes, I must, sir,

Else both miscarry.

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.

THESEUS

Come, I’ll give ye

Now usage like to princes and to friends.

When ye return, who wins I’ll settle here,

Who loses, yet I’ll weep upon his bier.

Exeunt. ⌈ln the act-time the bush is removed⌉