William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Goe too’t unsentenc’d: Therefore, most modest Queene,

He of the two Pretenders, that best loves me

And has the truest title in’t, Let him

Take off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant

The fyle and qualitie I hold, I may

Continue in thy Band.

[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends

a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]

See what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes

Out from the bowells of her holy Altar

With sacred act advances! But one Rose:

If well inspird, this Battaile shal confound

Both these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre

Must grow alone unpluck’d.

[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals\

from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]

The flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,

Thou here dischargest me; I shall be gather’d:

I thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;

Vnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she’s pleas’d,

Her Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]

Scaena 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.) [Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]

DOCTOR.

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

WOOER.

O very much; The maids that kept her company

Have halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;

Within this halfe houre she came smiling to me,

And asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:

I told her presently, and kist her twice.

DOCTOR.

Twas well done; twentie times had bin far better,

For there the cure lies mainely.

WOOER.

Then she told me

She would watch with me to night, for well she knew

What houre my fit would take me.

DOCTOR.

Let her doe 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 confirme her that way.

DOCTOR.

That’s all one, if yee make a noyse;

If she intreate againe, doe any thing,—

Lye with her, if she aske you.

IAILOR.

Hoa, there, Doctor!

DOCTOR.

Yes, in the waie of cure.

IAILOR.

But first, by your leave,

I’th way of honestie.

DOCTOR.

That’s but a nicenesse,

Nev’r cast your child away for honestie;

Cure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,

She has the path before her.

IAILOR.

Thanke yee, Doctor.

DOCTOR.

Pray, bring her in,

And let’s see how shee is.

IAILOR.

I will, and tell her

Her Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,

Me thinkes you are i’th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]

DOCTOR.

Goe, goe:

You Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?

And we should give her physicke till we finde that—

WOOER.

Why, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?

DOCTOR.

How old is she?

WOOER.

She’s eighteene.

DOCTOR.

She may be,

But that’s all one; tis nothing to our purpose.

What ere her Father saies, if you perceave

Her moode inclining that way that I spoke of,

Videlicet, the way of flesh—you have me?

WOOER.

Yet, very well, Sir.

DOCTOR.

Please her appetite,

And doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,

The mellencholly humour that infects her.

WOOER.

I am of your minde, Doctor.

[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]

DOCTOR.

You’l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.

IAILOR.

Come, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,

And has done this long houre, to visite you.

DAUGHTER.

I thanke him for his gentle patience;

He’s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.

Did you nev’r see the horse he gave me?

IAILOR.

Yes.

DAUGHTER.

How doe you like him?

IAILOR.

He’s a very faire one.

DAUGHTER.

You never saw him dance?

IAILOR.

No.

DAUGHTER.

I have often.

He daunces very finely, very comely,

And for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him,

He turnes ye like a Top.

IAILOR.

That’s fine, indeede.

DAUGHTER.

Hee’l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre,

And that will founder the best hobby-horse

(If I have any skill) in all the parish,

And gallops to the turne of LIGHT A’ LOVE:

What thinke you of this horse?

IAILOR.

Having these vertues,

I thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.

DAUGHTER.

Alas, that’s nothing.

IAILOR.

Can he write and reade too?

DAUGHTER.

A very faire hand, and casts himselfe th’accounts

Of all his hay and provender: That Hostler

Must rise betime that cozens him. You know

The Chestnut Mare the Duke has?

IAILOR.

Very well.

DAUGHTER.

She is horribly in love with him, poore beast,

But he is like his master, coy and scornefull.

IAILOR.

What dowry has she?

DAUGHTER.

Some two hundred Bottles,

And twenty strike of Oates; but hee’l ne’re have her;

He lispes in’s neighing, able to entice

A Millars Mare: Hee’l be the death of her.

DOCTOR.

What stuffe she utters!

IAILOR.

Make curtsie; here your love comes.

WOOER.

Pretty soule,

How doe ye? that’s a fine maide, ther’s a curtsie!

DAUGHTER.

Yours to command ith way of honestie.

How far is’t now to’th end o’th world, my Masters?

DOCTOR.

Why, a daies Iorney, wench.

DAUGHTER.

Will you goe with me?

WOOER.

What shall we doe there, wench?

DAUGHTER.

Why, play at stoole ball:

What is there else to doe?

WOOER.

I am content,

If we shall keepe our wedding there.

DAUGHTER.

Tis true:

For there, I will assure you, we shall finde

Some blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture

To marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish;

Besides, my father must be hang’d to morrow

And that would be a blot i’th businesse.

Are not you Palamon?

WOOER.

Doe not you know me?

DAUGHTER.

Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing

But this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.

WOOER.

That’s all one; I will have you.

DAUGHTER.

Will you surely?

WOOER.

Yes, by this faire hand, will I.

DAUGHTER.

Wee’l to bed, then.

WOOER.

Ev’n when you will. [Kisses her.]

DAUGHTER.

O Sir, you would faine be nibling.

WOOER.

Why doe you rub my kisse off?

DAUGHTER.

Tis a sweet one,

And will perfume me finely against the wedding.

Is not this your Cosen Arcite?

DOCTOR.

Yes, sweet heart,

And I am glad my Cosen Palamon

Has made so faire a choice.

DAUGHTER.

Doe you thinke hee’l have me?

DOCTOR.

Yes, without doubt.

DAUGHTER.

Doe you thinke so too?

IAILOR.

Yes.

DAUGHTER.

We shall have many children:—Lord, how y’ar growne!

My Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,

Now he’s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,

He was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,

But ile kisse him up againe.

[Emter a Messenger.]

MESSENGER.

What doe you here? you’l loose the noblest sight

That ev’r was seene.

IAILOR.

Are they i’th Field?

MESSENGER.

They are.

You beare a charge there too.

IAILOR.

Ile away straight.

I must ev’n leave you here.

DOCTOR.

Nay, wee’l goe with you;

I will not loose the Fight.