[Still music of records. Enter EMILIA in white, her hair about her shoulders, a wheaten wreath; one in white holding up her train, her hair stuck with flowers; one before her carrying a silver hind, in which is conveyed incense and sweet odors, which being set upon the altar, her maid standing aloof, she sets fire to it; then they curt'sy and kneel.

Emi. Oh, sacred, shadowy, cold and constant
queen,

Abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative,
Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
As wind-fann'd snow, who to thy female knights
Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush,
Which is their order's robe; I here thy priest
Am humbled 'fore thine altar. Oh, vouchsafe,
With that thy rare green eye, which never yet
Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin!
And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear
(Which ne'er heard scurril term, into whose port
Ne'er enter'd wanton sound) to my petition,
Season'd with holy fear! This is my last
Of vestal office; I'm bride-habited,

But maiden-hearted; a husband I have 'pointed,
But do not know him; out of two I should
Chuse one, and pray for his success, but I
Am guiltless of election of mine eyes;
Were I to lose one, (they are equal precious)
I could doom neither; that which perish'd should
Go to't unsentenc'd: Therefore, most modest
queen,

He, of the two pretenders, that best loves me
And has the truest title in't, let him
Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant
The file and quality I hold I may
Continue in thy band!

[Here the hind vanishes under the altar, and in the place ascends a rose-tree, having one rose upon it.

See what our general of ebbs and flows
Out from the bowels of her holy altar
With sacred act advances! But one rose ?
If well inspired, this battle shall confound
Both these brave knights, and I a virgin flower
Must grow alone unpluck'd.

[Here is heard a sudden twang of instruments, and the rose falls from the tree. The flower is fallen, the tree descends! Oh,

mistress,

Thou here dischargest me; I shall be gather'd, I think so; but I know not thine own will: Unclasp thy mystery! I hope she's pleased; Her signs were gracious.

[They curt'sy, and exeunt. SCENE II.

Enter Doctor, Jailor, and Wooer (in habit of PALAMON.)

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

Wooer. Oh, very much: The maids that kept her company

And when your fit comes, fit her home, and presently!

Wover. She'd have me sing.
Doctor. You did so?
Wooer. No.

Doctor. 'Twas very ill done then;
You should observe her every way.
Wover. Alas,

I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way.
Doctor. That's all one, if you make a noise:
If she entreat again, do any thing;
Lie with her, if she ask you.

Jailor. Hoa there, Doctor!
Doctor. Yes, in the way of cure.
Jailor. But first, by your leave,
I'th' way of honesty.

Doctor. That's but a niceness: Ne'er cast your child away for honesty; Cure her first this way; then, if she will be honest,

She has the path before her.

Jailor. Thank you, Doctor!

Doctor. Pray bring her in, and let's see how she is.

Jailor. I will, and tell her

Doctor. How old is she?
Wooer. She's eighteen.
Doctor. She may be;

But that's all one, 'tis nothing to our purpose:
Whate'er her father says, if you perceive
Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of,
Videlicet, the way of flesh-you have me?

Wooer. Yes, very well, sir.
Doctor. Please her appetite,
And do it home; it cures her, ipso facto,
The melancholy humour that infects her.
Wooer. I am of your mind, Doctor.

Enter Jailor, Daughter, and Maid. Doctor. You'll find it so. She comes; pray humour her!

Jailor. Come; your love Palamon stays for you, child;

And has done this long hour, to visit you. Daugh. I thank him for his gentle patience;

him.

Did you ne'er see the horse he gave me ?

Jailor. Yes.

Daugh. How do you like him?

Jailor. He's a very fair one.

Daugh. You never saw him dance?

Jailor. No.

Daugh. I have often;

He dances very finely, very comely;

And, for a jig, come cut and long tail to him! He turns you like a top.

Jailor. That's fine indeed.

Daugh. He'll dance the morris twenty mile
an hour.

And that will founder the best hobby-horse
(If I have any skill) in all the parish;
And gallops to the tune of Light o' love:
What think you of this horse?

Jailor. Having these virtues,

I think he might be brought to play at tennis. Daugh. Alas, that's nothing.

Jailor. Can he write and read too?

Daugh. A very fair hand; and casts himself th' accounts

Of all his hay and provender; that hostler Must rise betime that cozens him. You know The chesnut mare the duke has?

Wooer. That's all one; I will have you.
Daugh. Will you surely?

Wooer. Yes; by this fair hand, will I.
Daugh. We'll to-bed then.

Wooer. Even when you will.

Daugh. Oh, Sir, you'd fain be nibbling.
Wooer. Why do you rub my kiss off?
Daugh. 'Tis a sweet one,

And will perfume me finely 'gainst the wedding.
Is not this your cousin Arcite?

Doctor. Yes, sweetheart;

And I am glad my cousin Palamon
Has made so fair a choice.

Daugh. Do you think he'll have me?

Doctor. Yes, without doubt.

Daugh. Do you think so too?

Jailor, Yes.

Daugh. We shall have many children.—Lord,
how you're grown!

My Palamon I hope will grow too finely,
Now he's at liberty: Alas, poor chicken,
He was kept down with hard meat, and ill
lodging,

But I will kiss him up again.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. What do you here?

You'll lose the noblest sight that e'er was seen.
Jailor. Are they i'th' field?
Mess. They are:
You bear a charge there too.
Jailor. I'll away straight.

I must even leave you here.

Doctor. Nay, we'll go with you; I will not lose the fight.

Jailor. How did you like her?

Doctor. I'll warrant you within these three or four days

I'll make her right again. You must not from her,

But still preserve her in this way.

Wooer. I will.

Doctor. Let's get her in.

Wooer. Come, sweet, we'll go to dinner; And then we'll play at cards.

Daugh. And shall we kiss too?

Wooer. A hundred times.

Daugh. And twenty?

Wooer. Ay, and twenty.

Daugh. And then we'll sleep together?

Doctor. Take her offer.

Thes. Well, well then, at your pleasure. Those that remain with you could wish their office

To any of their enemies.

Hip. Farewell, sister!

I'm like to know your husband 'fore yourself,
By some small start of time: He whom the gods
Do of the two know best, I pray them he
Be made your lot!

[Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLITA, PERITHOUS, &c.
Emi. Arcite is gently visaged; yet his eye
Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon
In a soft sheath; Mercy, and manly courage,
Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon
Has a most menacing aspect; his brow

Is graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on;
Yet sometimes 'tis not so, but alters to
The quality of his thoughts; long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object; melancholy
Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite's mirth;
But Palamon's sadness is a kind of mirth,
So mingled, as if Mirth did make him sad,
And Sadness, merry; those darker humours that

Stick misbecomingly on others, on him
Live in fair dwelling.

[Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge.
Hark, how yon spurs to spirit do incite
The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me;
And yet may Palamon wound Arcite, to
The spoiling of his figure. Oh, what pity
Enough for such a chance! If I were by,

I might do hurt; for they would glance their

eyes

Toward my seat, and in that motion might
Omit a ward, or forfeit an offence,
Which craved that very time; it is much better
[Cornets. Cry within, A Palamon!

I am not there; oh, better never born
Than minister to such harm!-What is the
chance?

Enter a Servant.

Serv. The cry's a Palamon.

Emi. Then he has won. 'Twas ever likely: He look'd all grace and success, and he is Doubtless the primest of men. I prithee run, And tell me how it goes.

[Shout, and cornets; cry, A Palamon! Serv. Still Palamon.

Emi. Run and enquire. Poor servant, thou hast lost!

Upon my right side still I wore thy picture,
Palamon's on the left: Why so, I know not;
I had no end in't; Chance would have it so.

[Another cry and shout within, and cornets. On the sinister side the heart lies; Palamon Had the best-boding chance. This burst of clamour

Is sure the end o' th' combat.

Enter Servant.

Serv. They said that Palamon had Arcite's body

Within an inch o' th' pyramid, that the cry
Was general a Palamon; but anon,

Th' assistants made a brave redemption, and
The two bold tilters at this instant are
Hand to hand at it.

Emi. Were they metamorphos'd
Both into one-Oh, why? there were no woman
Worth so composed a man! Their single share,
Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives
The prejudice of disparity, value's shortness,

[Cornets. Cry within, Arcite, Arcite! To any lady breathing.-More exulting? Palamon still?

Serv. Nay, now the sound is Arcite. Emi. I prithee lay attention to the cry; [Cornets. A great shout, and cry, Arcite, victory! Set both thine ears to th' business.

And costliness of spirit look'd thro' him! it could

No more be hid in him than fire in flax,
Than humble banks can go to law with waters,
That drift winds force to raging. I did think
Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not
Why I did think so: Our reasons are not pro-
phets,

When oft our fancies are. They're coming off:
Alas, poor Palamon!
[Cornets.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLITA, PERITHOUS, ARCITE as victor, attendunts, &c.

Thes. Lo, where our sister is in expectation, Yet quaking, and unsettled. Fairest Emilia, The gods, by their divine arbitrament,

Have given you this knight: He is a good one
As ever struck at head. Give me your hands!
Receive you her, you him; be plighted with
A love that grows as you decay!

Arc. Emilia,

Did not lose by't; for he that was thus good,
Encounter'd yet his better. I have heard
Two emulous Philomels beat the ear o'th' night
With their contentious throats, now one the
higher,

Anon the other, then again the first,
And by and by out-breasted, that the sense
Could not be judge between 'em: So it fared
Good space between these Kinsmen; till Hea-
vens did

Make hardly one the winner. Wear the garland
With joy that you have won! For the subdued,
Give them our present justice, since I know
Their lives but pinch 'em; let it here be done.
The scene's not for our seeing: Go we hence,
Right joyful, with some sorrow! Arm your prize,
I know you will not lose her. Hippolita,
I see one eye of yours conceives a tear,
The which it will deliver.

Emi. Is this winning?

SCENE IV.

Enter PALAMON and his Knights pinion'd, Jailor, Executioner, and Guard.

Pal. There's many a man alive that hath outliv'd

The love o'th' people; yea, i'th' self-same state Stands many a father with his child: Some comfort

We have by so considering; we expire,
And not without mens' pity; to live still,
Have their good wishes; we prevent
The loathsome misery of age, beguile
The gout and rheum, that in lag hours attend
For grey approachers; we come tow'rds the gods
Young, and unwarp'd, not halting under crimes
Many and stale; that sure shall please the gods
Sooner than such, to give us nectar with 'em,
For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen,
Whose lives (for this poor comfort) are laid down,
You've sold 'em too, too cheap.

1 Knight. What ending could be
of more content? O'er us the victors have
Fortune, whose title is as momentary

As to us death is certain; a grain of honour
They not o'er-weigh us.

2 Knight. Let us bid farewell; And with our patience anger tott'ring Fortune, Who at her certain'st reels.

3 Knight. Come, who begins?

Pal. Even he that led you to this banquet, shall Taste to you all. Ah-ha, my friend, my friend! You'll see't done now for ever. Pray how does Your gentle Daughter gave me freedom once;

she?

I heard she was not well; her kind of ill Gave me some sorrow.

Jailor. Sir, she's well restor❜d, And to be married shortly.

Pal. By my short life,

Pal. Adieu! and let my life be now as short As my leave-taking. [Lies on the block.

1 Knight. Lead, courageous cousin! 2 Knight. We'll follow cheerfully. [4 great noise within, crying, Run, save, hold! Enter in haste a Messenger.

Mess. Hold, hold! oh, hold, hold, hold!

Enter PERITHOUS in haste.

Per. Hold, hoa! it is a cursed haste you made If you have done so quickly.-Noble Palamon, The gods will shew their glory in a life

To put pride in him: As he thus went counting The flinty pavement, dancing as 'twere to th' music

His own hoofs made (for, as they say, from iron
Came music's origin) what envious flint,
Cold as old Saturn, and like him possess'd
With fire malevolent, darted a spark,

Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made,
I comment not; the hot horse, hot as fire,
Took toy at this, and fell to what disorder
His power could give his will, bounds, comes on
end,

Forgets school-doing, being therein train❜d,
And of kind manage; pig-like he whines
At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather
Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means
Of boisterous and rough jadry, to dis-seat
His lord that kept it bravely: When nought
serv'd,

When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor differing plunges

Dis-root his rider whence he grew, but that He kept him 'tween his legs, on his hind hoofs on end he stands,

That Arcite's legs being higher than his head, Seem'd with strange art to hang: His victor's wreath

Even then fell off his head; and presently
Backward the jade comes o'er, and his full poize
Becomes the rider's load. Yet is he living,
But such a vessel 'tis that floats but for
The surge that next approaches: He much de-

sires

To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears! Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLITA, EMILIA, ARCITE in a chair.

Pal. Oh, miserable end of our alliance! The gods are mighty!-Arcite, if thy heart, Thy worthy manly heart, be yet unbroken, Give me thy last words! I am Palamon,

Pal. And I to honour.

Thes. In this place first you fought; even very here

I sunder'd you: Acknowledge to the gods
Our thanks that you are living.

His part is play'd, and, though it were too short,
He did it well: Your day is lengthen'd, and
The blissful dew of Heaven does arrose you;
The powerful Venus well hath grac'd her altar,
And given you your love; our master Mars
Has vouch'd his oracle, and to Arcite gave
The grace of the contention: So the deities
Have shew'd due justice. Bear this hence!
Pal. Oh, cousin,

That we should things desire, which do cost us
The loss of our desire! that nought could buy
Dear love, but loss of dear love!

Thes. Never Fortune

Did play a subtler game: The conquer'd triumphs,
The victor has the loss; yet in the passage
The gods have been most equal. Palamon,
Your Kinsman hath confess'd the right o'the
lady

Did lie in you; for you first saw her, and
Even then proclaim'd your fancy; he restor'd
her,

As your stol'n jewel, and desir'd your spirit
To send him hence forgiven: The gods my jus-

tice

Take from my hand, and they themselves become
The executioners. Lead your lady off;
And call your lovers from the stage of death,
Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two
Let us look sadly, and give grace unto
The funeral of Arcite! in whose end
The visages of bridegrooms we'll put on,
And smile with Palamon; for whom an hour,
But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry,
As glad of Arcite; and am now as glad,
As for him sorry. Oh, you heav'nly charmers,
What things you make of us! For what we lack
We laugh, for what we have are sorry still;
Are children in some kind. Let us be thankfu!
For that which is, and with You leave dispute
That are above our question! Let's go off,
And bear us like the time. [Flourish, Exeunt.

10