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

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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4.1 Enter the Jailer and his Friend

JAILER

Hear you no more? Was nothing said of me

Concerning the escape of Palamon?

Good sir, remember.

FRIEND

Nothing that I heard,

For I came home before the business

Was fully ended. Yet I might perceive,

Ere I departed, a great likelihood

Of both their pardons: for Hippolyta

And fair-eyed Emily upon their knees

Begged with such handsome pity that the Duke,

Methought, stood staggering whether he should

follow

His rash oath or the sweet compassion

Of those two ladies; and to second them

That truly noble prince, Pirithous—

Half his own heart—set in too, that I hope

All shall be well. Neither heard I one question

Of your name or his scape.

Enter the Second Friend

JAILER Pray heaven it hold so.

SECOND FRIEND

Be of good comfort, man. I bring you news,

Good news.

JAILER

They are welcome.

SECOND FRIEND

Palamon has cleared you,

And got your pardon, and discovered how

And by whose means he scaped—which was your

daughter’s,

Whose pardon is procured too; and the prisoner,

Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness,

Has given a sum of money to her marriage—

A large one, I’ll assure you.

JAILER

Ye are a good man,

And ever bring good news.

FIRST FRIEND

How was it ended?

SECOND FRIEND

Why, as it should be: they that ne’er begged,

But they prevailed, had their suits fairly granted—

The prisoners have their lives.

FIRST FRIEND

I knew ’twould be so.

SECOND FRIEND

But there be new conditions which you’ll hear of

At better time.

JAILER

I hope they are good.

SECOND FRIEND

They are honourable—

How good they’ll prove I know not.

Enter the Wooer

EIRST ERIEND

’Twill be known.

WOOER

Alas, sir, where’s your daughter?

JAILER

Why do you ask?

WOOER

O, sir, when did you see her?

SECOND FRIEND

How he looks!

JAILER

This morning.

WOOER

Was she well? Was she in health?

Sir, when did she sleep?

FIRST FRIEND

These are strange questions.

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?

FIRST FRIEND Not right?

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 daffodillies,

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 bull-rush rounded; about her stuck

Thousand freshwater flowers of several colours—

That she appeared, methought, 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,

Enter the Jailer’s Brother, the Jailer’s Daughter, and others

And hither came to tell you—here they are.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER (sings)

‘May you never more enjoy the light ...’—

Is not this a fine song?

JAILER’S BROTHER O, a very fine one.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

I can sing twenty more.

JAILER’S BROTHER I think you can.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

Yes, truly can I—I can sing ‘The Broom’

And ‘Bonny Robin’—are not you a tailor?

JAILER’S BROTHER

Yes.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER Where’s my wedding gown?

JAILER’s BROTHER

I’ll bring it tomorrow.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

Do, very rarely—I must be abroad else,

To call the maids and pay the minstrels,

For I must lose my maidenhead by cocklight,

‘Twill never thrive else. (Sings) ‘O fair, O sweet ...’

JAILER’S BROTHER ⌈to the jailer⌉

You must e’en take it patiently.

JAILER

’Tis true.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

Good ev’n, good men. Pray, did you ever hear

Of one young Palamon?

JAILER Yes, wench, we know him.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

Is’t not a fine young gentleman?

JAILER

’Tis, love.

JAILER’S BROTHER

By no mean cross her, she is then distempered

Far worse than now she shows.

FIRST FRIEND (to the Jailer’s Daughter)

Yes, he’s a fine man.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

O, is he so? You have a sister.

FIRST FRIEND Yes.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

But she shall never have him, tell her so,

For a trick that I know. You’d best look to her,

For if she see him once, she’s gone—she’s done

And undone in an hour. All the young maids

Of our town are in love with him, but I laugh at

’em

And let ’em all alone. Is’t not a wise course?

FIRST FRIEND

Yes.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

There is at least two hundred now with child by him,

There must be four; yet I keep close for all this,

Close as a cockle; and all these must be boys—

He has the trick on’t—and at ten years old

They must be all gelt for musicians

And sing the wars of Theseus.

SECOND FRIEND

This is strange.

⌈JAILER’S BROTHER⌉

As ever you heard, but say nothing.

FIRST FRIEND

No.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

They come from all parts of the dukedom to him.

I’ll warrant ye, he had not so few last night

As twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle’t up

In two hours, if his hand be in.

JAILER

She’s lost

Past all cure.

JAILER’S BROTHER Heaven forbid, man!

JAILER’S DAUGHTER (to the Jailer)

Come hither—you are a wise man.

FIRST FRIEND

Does she know him?

SECOND FRIEND

No—would she did.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER You are master of a ship?

JAILER

Yes.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER Where’s your compass?

JAILER

Here.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

Set it to th’ north.

And now direct your course to th’ wood where

Palamon

Lies longing for me. For the tackling,

Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly all.

Uff, uff, uff! ’Tis up. The wind’s fair. Top the bowline.

Out with the mainsail. Where’s your whistle, master?

JAILER’S BROTHER Let’s get her in.

JAILER

Up to the top, boy!

JAILER’S BROTHER

Where’s the pilot?

FIRST FRIEND

Here.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

What kenn’st thou?

SECOND FRIEND

A fair wood.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

Bear for it, master.

Tack about!

(Sings) ‘When Cynthia with her borrowed light ...’

Exeunt

4.2 ⌈Enter Emilia, with two pictures⌉

EMILIA

Yet I may bind those wounds up that must open

And bleed to death for my sake else—I’ll choose,

And end their strife. Two such young handsome men

Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers

Following the dead cold ashes of their sons,

Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,

What a sweet face has Arcitel If wise nature,

With all her best endowments, all those beauties

She sows into the births of noble bodies,

Were here a mortal woman and had in her

The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless

She would run mad for this man. What an eye,

Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness

Has this young prince! Here love himself sits smiling!

Just such another wanton Ganymede

Set Jove afire once, and enforced the god

Snatch up the goodly boy and set him by him,

A shining constellation. What a brow,

Of what a spacious majesty, he carries!

Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter,

Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and honour,

Methinks, from hence, as from a promontory

Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings and sing

To all the under world the loves and fights

Of gods, and such men near ’em. Palamon

Is but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow;

He’s swart and meagre, of an eye as heavy

As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,

No stirring in him, no alacrity,

Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile.

Yet these that we count errors may become him:

Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.

O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?

I am a fool, my reason is lost in me,

I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly

That women ought to beat me. On my knees

I ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art alone

And only beautiful, and these the eyes,

These the bright lamps of beauty, that command

And threaten love—and what young maid dare cross

’em?

What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,

Has this brown manly face? O, love, this only

From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite,

Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,

And this the noble body. I am sotted,

Utterly lost—my virgin’s faith has fled me.

For if my brother, but even now, had asked me

Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite;

Now if my sister, more for Palamon.

Stand both together. Now come ask me, brother—

Alas, I know not; ask me now, sweet sister—

I may go look. What a mere child is fancy,

That having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,

Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!

⌈Enter a Gentlemanl⌉

How now, sir?

GENTLEMAN

From the noble Duke your brother,

Madam, I bring you news. The knights are come.

EMILIA

To end the quarrel?

GENTLEMAN

Yes.

EMILIA

Would I might end first!

What sins have I committed, chaste Diana,

That my unspotted youth must now be soiled

With blood of princes, and my chastity

Be made the altar where the lives of lovers—

Two greater and two better never yet

Made mothers joy—must be the sacrifice

To my unhappy beauty?

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, and attendants

THESEUS

Bring ’em in

Quickly, by any means, I long to see ’em.

Exit one or more

(To Emilia) Your two contending lovers are returned,

And with them their fair knights. Now, my fair sister,

You must love one of them.

EMILIA

I had rather both,

So neither for my sake should fall untimely.

Enter a Messenger

THESEUS

Who saw ’em?

PIRITHOUS

I a while.

GENTLEMAN

And I.

THESEUS (to the Messenger)

From whence come you, sir?

MESSENGER

From the knights.

THESEUS

Pray speak,

You that have seen them, what they are.

MESSENGER

I will, sir,

And truly what I think. Six braver spirits

Than these they have brought, if we judge by the

outside,

I never saw nor read of. He that stands

In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,

Should be a stout man; by his face, a prince.

His very looks so say him: his complexion,

Nearer a brown than black, stern and yet noble,

Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers.

The circles of his eyes show fire within him,

And, as a heated lion, so he looks.

His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining,

Like ravens’ wings. His shoulders, broad and strong;

Armed long and round; and on his thigh a sword

Hung by a curious baldric, when he frowns

To seal his will with. Better, o’ my conscience,

Was never soldier’s friend.

THESEUS Thou hast well described him.

PIRITHOUS

Yet a great deal short,

Methinks, of him that’s first with Palamon.

THESEUS

Pray speak him, friend.

PIRITHOUS

I guess he is a prince too,

And, if it may be, greater—for his show

Has all the ornament of honour in’t.

He’s somewhat bigger than the knight he spoke of,

But of a face far sweeter. His complexion

Is as a ripe grape, ruddy. He has felt,

Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter

To make this cause his own. In’s face appears

All the fair hopes of what he undertakes,

And when he’s angry, then a settled valour,

Not tainted with extremes, runs through his body

And guides his arm to brave things. Fear he cannot—

He shows no such soft temper. His head’s yellow,

Hard-haired and curled, thick twined: like ivy tods,

Not to undo with thunder. In his face

The livery of the warlike maid appears,

Pure red and white—for yet no beard has blessed

him—

And in his rolling eyes sits victory,

As if she ever meant to court his valour.

His nose stands high, a character of honour;

His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies.

EMILIA

Must these men die too?

PIRITHOUS

When he speaks, his tongue

Sounds like a trumpet. All his lineaments

Are as a man would wish ’em—strong and clean.

He wears a well-steeled axe, the staff of gold.

His age, some five-and-twenty.

MESSENGER

There’s another—

A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming

As great as any. Fairer promises

In such a body yet I never looked on.

PIRITHOUS

O, he that’s freckle-faced?

MESSENGER

The same, my lord.

Are they not sweet ones?

PIRITHOUS

Yes, they are well.

MESSENGER

Methinks,

Being so few and well disposed, they show

Great and fine art in nature. He’s white-haired—

Not wanton white, but such a manly colour

Next to an auburn, tough and nimble set,

Which shows an active soul. His arms are brawny,

Lined with strong sinews—to the shoulder piece

Gently they swell, like women new-conceived,

Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting

Under the weight of arms; stout-hearted, still,

But when he stirs, a tiger. He’s grey-eyed,

Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharp

To spy advantages, and where he finds ’em,

He’s swift to make ’em his. He does no wrongs,

Nor takes none. He’s round-faced, and when he smiles

He shows a lover; when he frowns, a soldier.

About his head he wears the winner’s oak,

And in it stuck the favour of his lady.

His age, some six-and-thirty. In his hand

He bears a charging staff embossed with silver.

THESEUS

Are they all thus?

PIRITHOUS

They are all the sons of honour.

THESEUS

Now as I have a soul, I long to see ’em.

(To Hippolyta) Lady, you shall see men fight now.

HIPPOLYTA

I Wish it,

But not the cause, my lord. They would show

Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms—

’Tis pity love should be so tyrannous.

(To Emilia) O my soft-hearted sister, what think you?

Weep not till they weep blood. Wench, it must be.

THESEUS (to Emilia)

You have steeled ’em with your beauty.

(To Pirithous)

Honoured friend, To you I give the field: pray order it

Fitting the persons that must use it.

PIRITHOUS

Yes, sir.

THESEUS

Come, I’ll go visit ’em—I cannot stay,

Their fame has fired me so. Till they appear,

Good friend, be royal.

PIRITHOUS There shall want no bravery.

EMILIA ⌈aside⌉

Poor wench, go weep—for whosoever wins

Loses a noble cousin for thy sins.

Exeunt

4.3 Enter the Jailer, the Wooer, and the Doctor

DOCTOR Her distraction is more at some time of the moon than at other some, is it not?

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

Enter the Jailer’s Daughter

withal, fits it to every question. Look where she comes—you shall perceive her behaviour.

They stand apart

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

DOCTOR What stuff’s here? Poor soul.

JAILER E’en thus all day long.

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

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

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

DOCTOR How her brain coins!

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

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

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

(Sings) ‘I will be true, my stars, my fate . . .’

Exit Daughter

JAILER (to the Doctor) What think you of her, sir?

DOCTOR I think she has a perturbed mind, which I cannot minister to.

JAILER Alas, what then?

DOCTOR Understand you she ever affected any man ere she beheld Palamon?

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. 66

DOCTOR That intemperate surfeit of her eye hath distempered the other senses. They may return and settle again to execute their preordained faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must do: confine her to a place where the light may rather seem to steal in than be permitted; take upon you, young sir her friend, the name of Palamon; say you come to eat with her and to commune of love. This will catch her attention, for this her mind beats upon—other objects that are inserted ’tween her mind and eye become the pranks and friskins of her madness. Sing to her such green songs of love as she says Palamon hath sung in prison; come to her stuck in as sweet flowers as the season is mistress of, and thereto make an addition of some other compounded odours which are grateful to the sense. All this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet and every good thing. Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still among intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her favour. Learn what maids have been her companions and playferes, and let them repair to her, with Palamon in their mouths, and appear with tokens as if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in, which is with falsehoods to be combated. This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce what’s now out of square in her into their former law and regiment. I have seen it approved, how many times I know not, but to make the number more I have great hope in this. I will between the passages of this project come in with my appliance. Let us put it in execution, and hasten the success, which doubt not will bring forth comfort.

Exeunt