Perfumes to kill the smell o’th prison; after,
When you shall stretch your selfe and say but, ‘Arcite,
I am in plight,’ there shall be at your choyce
Both Sword and Armour.
PALAMON.
Oh you heavens, dares any
So noble beare a guilty busines! none
But onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite
In this kinde is so bold.
ARCITE.
Sweete Palamon.
PALAMON.
I doe embrace you and your offer,—for
Your offer doo’t I onely, Sir; your person,
Without hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.]
More then my Swords edge ont.
ARCITE.
You heare the Hornes;
Enter your Musite least this match between’s
Be crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell.
Ile bring you every needfull thing: I pray you,
Take comfort and be strong.
PALAMON.
Pray hold your promise;
And doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine
You love me not, be rough with me, and powre
This oile out of your language; by this ayre,
I could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach
Not reconcild by reason.
ARCITE.
Plainely spoken,
Yet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.]
My horse, I chide him not; content and anger
In me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call
The scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse
I have an office there.
PALAMON.
Sir, your attendance
Cannot please heaven, and I know your office
Vnjustly is atcheev’d.
ARCITE.
If a good title,
I am perswaded this question sicke between’s
By bleeding must be cur’d. I am a Suitour,
That to your Sword you will bequeath this plea
And talke of it no more.
PALAMON.
But this one word:
You are going now to gaze upon my Mistris,
For note you, mine she is—
ARCITE.
Nay, then.
PALAMON.
Nay, pray you,
You talke of feeding me to breed me strength:
You are going now to looke upon a Sun
That strengthens what it lookes on; there
You have a vantage ore me, but enjoy’t till
I may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.]
Scaena 2. (Another Part of the forest.)
[Enter Iaylors daughter alone.]
DAUGHTER.
He has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone
After his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning;
No matter, would it were perpetuall night,
And darkenes Lord o’th world. Harke, tis a woolfe:
In me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing
I care for nothing, and that’s Palamon.
I wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so
He had this File: what if I hallowd for him?
I cannot hallow: if I whoop’d, what then?
If he not answeard, I should call a wolfe,
And doe him but that service. I have heard
Strange howles this livelong night, why may’t not be
They have made prey of him? he has no weapons,
He cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives
Might call fell things to listen, who have in them
A sence to know a man unarmd, and can
Smell where resistance is. Ile set it downe
He’s torne to peeces; they howld many together
And then they fed on him: So much for that,
Be bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then?
All’s char’d when he is gone. No, no, I lye,
My Father’s to be hang’d for his escape;
My selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much
As to deny my act, but that I would not,
Should I try death by dussons.—I am mop’t,
Food tooke I none these two daies,
Sipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes
Save when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas,
Dissolue my life, Let not my sence unsettle,
Least I should drowne, or stab or hang my selfe.
O state of Nature, faile together in me,
Since thy best props are warpt! So, which way now?
The best way is the next way to a grave:
Each errant step beside is torment. Loe,
The Moone is down, the Cryckets chirpe, the Schreichowle
Calls in the dawne; all offices are done
Save what I faile in: But the point is this,
An end, and that is all. [Exit.]
Scaena 3. (Same as Scene I.) [Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.]
ARCITE.
I should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter
Palamon.]
PALAMON.
Arcite?
ARCITE.
The same: I have brought you foode and files.
Come forth and feare not, here’s no Theseus.
PALAMON.
Nor none so honest, Arcite.
ARCITE.
That’s no matter,
Wee’l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage;
You shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke;
I know you are faint: then ile talke further with you.
PALAMON.
Arcite, thou mightst now poyson me.
ARCITE.
I might,
But I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now
No more of these vaine parlies; let us not,
Having our ancient reputation with us,
Make talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c.