William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Would say it was my best peece: last, and greatest,

I would be thought a Souldier.

THESEUS.

You are perfect.

PERITHOUS.

Vpon my soule, a proper man.

EMILIA.

He is so.

PERITHOUS.

How doe you like him, Ladie?

HIPPOLITA.

I admire him;

I have not seene so yong a man so noble

(If he say true,) of his sort.

EMILIA.

Beleeve,

His mother was a wondrous handsome woman;

His face, me thinkes, goes that way.

HIPPOLITA.

But his Body

And firie minde illustrate a brave Father.

PERITHOUS.

Marke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun,

Breakes through his baser garments.

HIPPOLITA.

Hee’s well got, sure.

THESEUS.

What made you seeke this place, Sir?

ARCITE.

Noble Theseus,

To purchase name, and doe my ablest service

To such a well-found wonder as thy worth,

For onely in thy Court, of all the world,

Dwells faire-eyd honor.

PERITHOUS.

All his words are worthy.

THESEUS.

Sir, we are much endebted to your travell,

Nor shall you loose your wish: Perithous,

Dispose of this faire Gentleman.

PERITHOUS.

Thankes, Theseus.

What ere you are y’ar mine, and I shall give you

To a most noble service, to this Lady,

This bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse;

You have honourd hir faire birthday with your vertues,

And as your due y’ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir.

ARCITE.

Sir, y’ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie,

Thus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant

(Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you,

Command him die, he shall.

EMILIA.

That were too cruell.

If you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see’t:

Y’ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke

Ile use you.

PERITHOUS.

Ile see you furnish’d, and because you say

You are a horseman, I must needs intreat you

This after noone to ride, but tis a rough one.

ARCITE.

I like him better, Prince, I shall not then

Freeze in my Saddle.

THESEUS.

Sweet, you must be readie,

And you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all,

To morrow by the Sun, to doe observance

To flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir,

Vpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope

He shall not goe a foote.

EMILIA.

That were a shame, Sir,

While I have horses: take your choice, and what

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

If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you

You’l finde a loving Mistris.

ARCITE.

If I doe not,

Let me finde that my Father ever hated,

Disgrace and blowes.

THESEUS.

Go, leade the way; you have won it:

It shall be so; you shall receave all dues

Fit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else.

Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant,

That, if I were a woman, would be Master,

But you are wise. [Florish.]

EMILIA.

I hope too wise for that, Sir. [Exeunt omnes.]

Scaena 6. (Before the prison.)

[Enter Iaylors Daughter alone.]

DAUGHTER.

Let all the Dukes, and all the divells rore,

He is at liberty: I have venturd 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 Brooke, and there he shall keepe close,

Till I provide him Fyles and foode, for yet

His yron bracelets are not off. O Love,

What a stout hearted child thou art! My Father

Durst better have indur’d cold yron, than done it:

I love him beyond love and beyond reason,

Or wit, or safetie: I have made him know it.

I care not, I am desperate; If the law

Finde me, and then condemne me for’t, some wenches,

Some honest harted Maides, 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 doe, Maides will not so easily

Trust men againe: And yet he has not thank’d me

For what I have done: no not so much as kist me,

And that (me thinkes) is not so well; nor scarcely

Could I perswade him to become a Freeman,

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 doe

What he will with me, so he use me kindly;

For use me so he shall, or ile proclaime him,

And to his face, no man. Ile presently

Provide him necessaries, and packe my cloathes up,

And where there is a patch of ground Ile venture,

So hee be with me; By him, like a shadow,

Ile ever dwell; within this houre the whoobub

Will be all ore the prison: I am then

Kissing the man they looke for: farewell, Father;

Get many more such prisoners and such daughters,

And shortly you may keepe your selfe. Now to him!

Actus Tertius.

Scaena 1. (A forest near Athens.)

[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a

Maying.]

[Enter Arcite alone.]

ARCITE.

The Duke has lost Hypolita; each tooke

A severall land. This is a solemne Right

They owe bloomd May, and the Athenians pay it

To’th heart of Ceremony. O Queene Emilia,

Fresher then May, sweeter

Then hir gold Buttons on the bowes, or all

Th’enamelld knackes o’th Meade or garden: yea,

We challenge too the bancke of any Nymph

That makes the streame seeme flowers; thou, o Iewell

O’th wood, o’th world, hast likewise blest a place

With thy sole presence: in thy rumination

That I, poore man, might eftsoones come betweene

And chop on some cold thought! thrice blessed chance,

To drop on such a Mistris, expectation

Most giltlesse on’t! tell me, O Lady Fortune,

(Next after Emely my Soveraigne) how far

I may be prowd. She takes strong note of me,

Hath made me neere her; and this beuteous Morne

(The prim’st of all the yeare) presents me with

A brace of horses: two such Steeds might well

Be by a paire of Kings backt, in a Field

That their crownes titles tride. Alas, alas,

Poore Cosen Palamon, poore prisoner, thou

So little dream’st upon my fortune, that

Thou thinkst thy selfe the happier thing, to be

So neare Emilia; me thou deem’st at Thebs,

And therein wretched, although free. But if

Thou knew’st my Mistris breathd on me, and that

I ear’d her language, livde in her eye, O Coz,

What passion would enclose thee!

[Enter Palamon as out of a Bush, with his Shackles: bends his fist at Arcite.]

PALAMON.

Traytor kinesman,

Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signes

Of prisonment were off me, and this hand

But owner of a Sword: By all othes in one,

I and the iustice of my love would make thee

A confest Traytor. O thou most perfidious

That ever gently lookd; the voydest of honour,

That eu’r bore gentle Token; falsest Cosen

That ever blood made kin, call’st thou hir thine?

Ile prove it in my Shackles, with these hands,

Void of appointment, that thou ly’st, and art

A very theefe in love, a Chaffy Lord,

Nor worth the name of villaine: had I a Sword

And these house clogges away—

ARCITE.

Deere Cosin Palamon—

PALAMON.

Cosoner Arcite, give me language such

As thou hast shewd me feate.

ARCITE.

Not finding in

The circuit of my breast any grosse stuffe

To forme me like your blazon, holds me to

This gentlenesse of answer; tis your passion