SCENE VI. The same part of the forest as in scene III.

ACT III

SCENE VI. The same part of the forest as in scene III.

[Enter Palamon from the bush.]

PALAMON

About this hour my cousin gave his faith

To visit me again, and with him bring

Two swords and two good armours. If he fail,

He’s neither man nor soldier. When he left me,

I did not think a week could have restored

My lost strength to me, I was grown so low

And crestfall’n with my wants. I thank thee, Arcite,

Thou art yet a fair foe, and I feel myself,

With this refreshing, able once again

To outdure danger. To delay it longer

Would make the world think, when it comes to hearing,

That I lay fatting like a swine to fight

And not a soldier. Therefore, this blest morning

Shall be the last; and that sword he refuses,

If it but hold, I kill him with. ’Tis justice.

So, love and fortune for me!

[Enter Arcite with armours and swords.]

O, good morrow.

ARCITE

Good morrow, noble kinsman.

PALAMON

I have put you

To too much pains, sir.

ARCITE

That too much, fair cousin,

Is but a debt to honour, and my duty.

PALAMON

Would you were so in all, sir; I could wish ye

As kind a kinsman as you force me find

A beneficial foe, that my embraces

Might thank ye, not my blows.

ARCITE

I shall think either,

Well done, a noble recompence.

PALAMON

Then I shall quit you.

ARCITE

Defy me in these fair terms, and you show

More than a mistress to me. No more anger,

As you love anything that’s honourable!

We were not bred to talk, man; when we are armed

And both upon our guards, then let our fury,

Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us;

And then to whom the birthright of this beauty

Truly pertains—without upbraidings, scorns,

Despisings of our persons, and such poutings,

Fitter for girls and schoolboys—will be seen,

And quickly, yours or mine. Will ’t please you arm, sir?

Or, if you feel yourself not fitting yet

And furnished with your old strength, I’ll stay, cousin,

And every day discourse you into health,

As I am spared. Your person I am friends with,

And I could wish I had not said I loved her,

Though I had died; but, loving such a lady,

And justifying my love, I must not fly from ’t.

PALAMON

Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy,

That no man but thy cousin’s fit to kill thee.

I am well and lusty; choose your arms.

ARCITE

Choose you, sir.

PALAMON

Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it

To make me spare thee?

ARCITE

If you think so, cousin,

You are deceived, for as I am a soldier,

I will not spare you.

PALAMON

That’s well said.

ARCITE

You’ll find it.

PALAMON

Then, as I am an honest man and love

With all the justice of affection,

I’ll pay thee soundly.

[He chooses armour.]

This I’ll take.

ARCITE

That’s mine, then.

I’ll arm you first.

PALAMON

Do.

[Arcite begins arming him.]

Pray thee, tell me, cousin, Where got’st thou this good armour?

ARCITE

’Tis the Duke’s,

And, to say true, I stole it. Do I pinch you?

PALAMON

No.

ARCITE

Is’t not too heavy?

PALAMON

I have worn a lighter,

But I shall make it serve.

ARCITE

I’ll buckle ’t close.

PALAMON

By any means.

ARCITE

You care not for a grand guard?

PALAMON

No, no; we’ll use no horses: I perceive

You would fain be at that fight.

ARCITE

I am indifferent.

PALAMON

Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle

Through far enough.

ARCITE

I warrant you.

PALAMON

My casque now.

ARCITE

Will you fight bare-armed?

PALAMON

We shall be the nimbler.

ARCITE

But use your gauntlets though. Those are o’ th’ least;

Prithee take mine, good cousin.

PALAMON

Thank you, Arcite.

How do I look? Am I fall’n much away?

ARCITE

Faith, very little; love has used you kindly.

PALAMON

I’ll warrant thee, I’ll strike home.

ARCITE

Do, and spare not.

I’ll give you cause, sweet cousin.

PALAMON

Now to you, sir.

[He begins to arm Arcite.]

Methinks this armour’s very like that, Arcite, Thou wor’st that day the three kings fell, but lighter.

ARCITE

That was a very good one; and that day,

I well remember, you outdid me, cousin;

I never saw such valour. When you charged

Upon the left wing of the enemy,

I spurred hard to come up, and under me

I had a right good horse.

PALAMON

You had indeed;

A bright bay, I remember.

ARCITE

Yes, but all

Was vainly laboured in me; you outwent me,

Nor could my wishes reach you. Yet a little

I did by imitation.

PALAMON

More by virtue;

You are modest, cousin.

ARCITE

When I saw you charge first,

Me thought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder

Break from the troop.

PALAMON

But still before that flew

The lightning of your valour. Stay a little;

Is not this piece too strait?

ARCITE

No, no, ’tis well.

PALAMON

I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword.

A bruise would be dishonour.

ARCITE

Now I am perfect.

PALAMON

Stand off, then.

ARCITE

Take my sword; I hold it better.

PALAMON

I thank ye, no; keep it; your life lies on it.

Here’s one; if it but hold, I ask no more

For all my hopes. My cause and honour guard me!

ARCITE

And me my love!

[They bow several ways, then advance and stand.]

Is there aught else to say?

PALAMON

This only, and no more. Thou art mine aunt’s son.

And that blood we desire to shed is mutual,

In me thine, and in thee mine. My sword

Is in my hand, and if thou killest me,

The gods and I forgive thee. If there be

A place prepared for those that sleep in honour,

I wish his weary soul that falls may win it.

Fight bravely, cousin; give me thy noble hand.

ARCITE

Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more

Come near thee with such friendship.

PALAMON

I commend thee.

ARCITE

If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,

For none but such dare die in these just trials.

Once more farewell, my cousin.

PALAMON

Farewell, Arcite.

[They fight. Horns within. They stand.]

ARCITE

Lo, cousin, lo, our folly has undone us.

PALAMON

Why?

ARCITE

This is the Duke, a-hunting, as I told you.

If we be found, we are wretched. O, retire,

For honour’s sake and safety, presently

Into your bush again. Sir, we shall find

Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin,

If you be seen, you perish instantly

For breaking prison and I, if you reveal me,

For my contempt. Then all the world will scorn us,

And say we had a noble difference,

But base disposers of it.

PALAMON

No, no, cousin,

I will no more be hidden, nor put off

This great adventure to a second trial;

I know your cunning and I know your cause.

He that faints now, shame take him! Put thyself

Upon thy present guard—

ARCITE

You are not mad?

PALAMON

Or I will make th’advantage of this hour

Mine own, and what to come shall threaten me

I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin,

I love Emilia, and in that I’ll bury

Thee, and all crosses else.

ARCITE

Then, come what can come,

Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well

Die, as discourse, or sleep. Only this fears me,

The law will have the honour of our ends.

Have at thy life!

PALAMON

Look to thine own well, Arcite.

[They fight. Horns within. They stand.]

[Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous and train.]

THESEUS

What ignorant and mad malicious traitors

Are you, that ’gainst the tenor of my laws

Are making battle, thus like knights appointed,

Without my leave, and officers of arms?

By Castor, both shall die.

PALAMON

Hold thy word, Theseus.

We are certainly both traitors, both despisers

Of thee and of thy goodness. I am Palamon,

That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison.

Think well what that deserves. And this is Arcite.

A bolder traitor never trod thy ground,

A falser ne’er seemed friend. This is the man

Was begged and banished; this is he contemns thee

And what thou dar’st do; and in this disguise,

Against thine own edict, follows thy sister,

That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia,

Whose servant—if there be a right in seeing

And first bequeathing of the soul to—justly

I am; and, which is more, dares think her his.

This treachery, like a most trusty lover,

I called him now to answer. If thou be’st

As thou art spoken, great and virtuous,

The true decider of all injuries,

Say “Fight again,” and thou shalt see me, Theseus,

Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy.

Then take my life; I’ll woo thee to ’t.

PIRITHOUS

O heaven,

What more than man is this!

THESEUS

I have sworn.

ARCITE

We seek not

Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. ’Tis to me

A thing as soon to die as thee to say it,

And no more moved. Where this man calls me traitor,

Let me say thus much: if in love be treason,

In service of so excellent a beauty,

As I love most, and in that faith will perish,

As I have brought my life here to confirm it,

As I have served her truest, worthiest,

As I dare kill this cousin that denies it,

So let me be most traitor, and you please me.

For scorning thy edict, Duke, ask that lady

Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me

Stay here to love her; and if she say “traitor,”

I am a villain fit to lie unburied.

PALAMON

Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus,

If unto neither thou show mercy. Stop,

As thou art just, thy noble ear against us;

As thou art valiant, for thy cousin’s soul,

Whose twelve strong labours crown his memory,

Let’s die together at one instant, Duke;

Only a little let him fall before me,

That I may tell my soul he shall not have her.

THESEUS

I grant your wish, for, to say true, your cousin

Has ten times more offended, for I gave him

More mercy than you found, sir, your offences

Being no more than his. None here speak for ’em,

For, ere the sun set, both shall sleep for ever.

HIPPOLYTA

Alas the pity! Now or never, sister,

Speak, not to be denied. That face of yours

Will bear the curses else of after ages

For these lost cousins.

EMILIA

In my face, dear sister,

I find no anger to ’em, nor no ruin;

The misadventure of their own eyes kill ’em.

Yet that I will be woman and have pity,

My knees shall grow to’ th’ ground but I’ll get mercy.

[She kneels.]

Help me, dear sister; in a deed so virtuous The powers of all women will be with us. Most royal brother—

HIPPOLYTA

[Kneels.] Sir, by our tie of marriage—

EMILIA

By your own spotless honour—

HIPPOLYTA

By that faith,

That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me—

EMILIA

By that you would have pity in another,

By your own virtues infinite—

HIPPOLYTA

By valour,

By all the chaste nights I have ever pleased you—

THESEUS

These are strange conjurings.

PIRITHOUS

Nay, then, I’ll in too.

[Kneels.]

By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers, By all you love most: wars and this sweet lady—

EMILIA

By that you would have trembled to deny

A blushing maid—

HIPPOLYTA

By your own eyes, by strength,

In which you swore I went beyond all women,

Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus—

PIRITHOUS

To crown all this, by your most noble soul,

Which cannot want due mercy, I beg first.

HIPPOLYTA

Next, hear my prayers.

EMILIA

Last, let me entreat, sir.

PIRITHOUS

For mercy.

HIPPOLYTA

Mercy.

EMILIA

Mercy on these princes.

THESEUS

Ye make my faith reel. Say I felt

Compassion to’em both, how would you place it?

[Emilia, Hippolyta and Pirithous rise.]

EMILIA

Upon their lives. But with their banishments.

THESEUS

You are a right woman, sister: you have pity,

But want the understanding where to use it.

If you desire their lives, invent a way

Safer than banishment. Can these two live,

And have the agony of love about ’em,

And not kill one another? Every day

They’d fight about you, hourly bring your honour

In public question with their swords. Be wise, then,

And here forget ’em; it concerns your credit

And my oath equally. I have said they die.

Better they fall by th’ law than one another.

Bow not my honour.

EMILIA

O, my noble brother,

That oath was rashly made, and in your anger;

Your reason will not hold it; if such vows

Stand for express will, all the world must perish.

Besides, I have another oath ’gainst yours,

Of more authority, I am sure more love,

Not made in passion neither, but good heed.

THESEUS

What is it, sister?

PIRITHOUS

Urge it home, brave lady.

EMILIA

That you would ne’er deny me anything

Fit for my modest suit and your free granting.

I tie you to your word now; if ye fail in ’t,

Think how you maim your honour—

For now I am set a-begging, sir, I am deaf

To all but your compassion—how their lives

Might breed the ruin of my name. Opinion!

Shall anything that loves me perish for me?

That were a cruel wisdom. Do men prune

The straight young boughs that blush with thousand blossoms

Because they may be rotten? O, Duke Theseus,

The goodly mothers that have groaned for these,

And all the longing maids that ever loved,

If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty,

And in their funeral songs for these two cousins

Despise my cruelty, and cry woe worth me,

Till I am nothing but the scorn of women.

For heaven’s sake, save their lives, and banish ’em.

THESEUS

On what conditions?

EMILIA

Swear ’em never more

To make me their contention, or to know me,

To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be,

Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers

To one another.

PALAMON

I’ll be cut a-pieces

Before I take this oath! Forget I love her?

O, all ye gods, despise me then! Thy banishment

I not mislike, so we may fairly carry

Our swords and cause along; else never trifle,

But take our lives, Duke. I must love, and will

And for that love must and dare kill this cousin

On any piece the earth has.

THESEUS

Will you, Arcite,

Take these conditions?

PALAMON

He’s a villain, then.

PIRITHOUS

These are men!

ARCITE

No, never, Duke. ’Tis worse to me than begging

To take my life so basely. Though I think

I never shall enjoy her, yet I’ll preserve

The honour of affection, and die for her,

Make death a devil.

THESEUS

What may be done? For now I feel compassion.

PIRITHOUS

Let it not fall again, sir.

THESEUS

Say, Emilia,

If one of them were dead, as one must, are you

Content to take th’ other to your husband?

They cannot both enjoy you. They are princes

As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble

As ever fame yet spoke of. Look upon ’em,

And, if you can love, end this difference;

I give consent.—Are you content too, princes?

BOTH

With all our souls.

THESEUS

He that she refuses

Must die, then.

BOTH

Any death thou canst invent, Duke.

PALAMON

If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,

And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.

ARCITE

If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,

And soldiers sing my epitaph.

THESEUS

Make choice, then.

EMILIA

I cannot, sir, they are both too excellent;

For me, a hair shall never fall of these men.

HIPPOLYTA

What will become of ’em?

THESEUS

Thus I ordain it

And, by mine honour, once again, it stands,

Or both shall die. You shall both to your country,

And each within this month, accompanied

With three fair knights, appear again in this place,

In which I’ll plant a pyramid; and whether,

Before us that are here, can force his cousin

By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar,

He shall enjoy her; th’ other lose his head,

And all his friends; nor shall he grudge to fall,

Nor think he dies with interest in this lady.

Will this content ye?

PALAMON

Yes. Here, cousin Arcite,

I am friends again, till that hour.

[He offers his hand.]

ARCITE

I embrace ye.

THESEUS

Are you content, sister?

EMILIA

Yes, I must, sir,

Else both miscarry.

THESEUS

Come, shake hands again, then;

And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel

Sleep till the hour prefixed, and hold your course.

PALAMON

We dare not fail thee, Theseus.

[They shake hands.]

THESEUS

Come, I’ll give ye

Now usage like to princes, and to friends.

When ye return, who wins, I’ll settle here;

Who loses, yet I’ll weep upon his bier.

[Exeunt.]