SCENE I. Athens. A room in the prison

JAILER

Hear you no more? Was nothing said of me

Concerning the escape of Palamon?

Good sir, remember.

FIRST FRIEND

Nothing that I heard,

For I came home before the business

Was fully ended. Yet I might perceive,

Ere I departed, a great likelihood

Of both their pardons; for Hippolyta

And fair-eyed Emily, upon their knees,

Begged with such handsome pity that the Duke

Methought stood staggering whether he should follow

His rash oath or the sweet compassion

Of those two ladies. And, to second them,

That truly noble prince, Pirithous,

Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope

All shall be well. Neither heard I one question

Of your name or his ’scape.

JAILER

Pray heaven it hold so.

SECOND FRIEND

Be of good comfort, man; I bring you news,

Good news.

JAILER

They are welcome.

SECOND FRIEND

Palamon has cleared you,

And got your pardon, and discovered how

And by whose means he escaped, which was your daughter’s,

Whose pardon is procured too; and the prisoner,

Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness,

Has given a sum of money to her marriage,

A large one, I’ll assure you.

JAILER

You are a good man

And ever bring good news.

FIRST FRIEND

How was it ended?

SECOND FRIEND

Why, as it should be; they that never begged

But they prevailed had their suits fairly granted;

The prisoners have their lives.

FIRST FRIEND

I knew ’twould be so.

SECOND FRIEND

But there be new conditions, which you’ll hear of

At better time.

JAILER

I hope they are good.

SECOND FRIEND

They are honourable;

How good they’ll prove, I know not.

FIRST FRIEND

’Twill be known.

WOOER

Alas, sir, where’s your daughter?

JAILER

Why do you ask?

WOOER

O, sir, when did you see her?

SECOND FRIEND

How he looks?

JAILER

This morning.

WOOER

Was she well? Was she in health, sir?

When did she sleep?

FIRST FRIEND

These are strange questions.

JAILER

I do not think she was very well, for now

You make me mind her, but this very day

I asked her questions, and she answered me

So far from what she was, so childishly,

So sillily, as if she were a fool,

An innocent, and I was very angry.

But what of her, sir?

WOOER

Nothing but my pity.

But you must know it, and as good by me

As by another that less loves her.

JAILER

Well, sir?

FIRST FRIEND

Not right?

SECOND FRIEND

Not well?

WOOER

No, sir, not well:

’Tis too true, she is mad.

FIRST FRIEND

It cannot be.

WOOER

Believe, you’ll find it so.

JAILER

I half suspected

What you have told me. The gods comfort her!

Either this was her love to Palamon,

Or fear of my miscarrying on his ’scape,

Or both.

WOOER

’Tis likely.

JAILER

But why all this haste, sir?

WOOER

I’ll tell you quickly. As I late was angling

In the great lake that lies behind the palace,

From the far shore, thick set with reeds and sedges,

As patiently I was attending sport,

I heard a voice, a shrill one; and, attentive,

I gave my ear, when I might well perceive

’Twas one that sung, and by the smallness of it

A boy or woman. I then left my angle

To his own skill, came near, but yet perceived not

Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds

Had so encompassed it. I laid me down

And listened to the words she sung, for then,

Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,

I saw it was your daughter.

JAILER

Pray, go on, sir.

WOOER

She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her

Repeat this often: “Palamon is gone,

Is gone to th’ wood to gather mulberries;

I’ll find him out tomorrow.”

FIRST FRIEND

Pretty soul!

WOOER

“His shackles will betray him; he’ll be taken,

And what shall I do then? I’ll bring a bevy,

A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do,

With chaplets on their heads of daffadillies,

With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses,

And all we’ll dance an antic ’fore the Duke,

And beg his pardon.” Then she talked of you, sir;

That you must lose your head tomorrow morning,

And she must gather flowers to bury you,

And see the house made handsome. Then she sung

Nothing but “Willow, willow, willow,” and between

Ever was “Palamon, fair Palamon,”

And “Palamon was a tall young man.” The place

Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses,

A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck

Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colours,

That methought she appeared like the fair nymph

That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris

Newly dropped down from heaven. Rings she made

Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke

The prettiest posies: “Thus our true love’s tied,”

“This you may loose, not me,” and many a one;

And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed,

And with the same breath smiled and kissed her hand.

SECOND FRIEND

Alas, what pity it is!

WOOER

I made in to her.

She saw me, and straight sought the flood. I saved her

And set her safe to land, when presently

She slipped away, and to the city made

With such a cry and swiftness that, believe me,

She left me far behind her. Three or four

I saw from far off cross her—one of ’em

I knew to be your brother—where she stayed

And fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with her

And hither came to tell you.

DAUGHTER

[Sings.]

BROTHER

O, a very fine one.

DAUGHTER

I can sing twenty more.

BROTHER

I think you can.

DAUGHTER

Yes, truly can I. I can sing “The Broom”

and “Bonny Robin.” Are not you a tailor?

BROTHER

Yes.

DAUGHTER

Where’s my wedding gown?

BROTHER

I’ll bring it tomorrow.

DAUGHTER

Do, very rarely, I must be abroad else

To call the maids and pay the minstrels,

For I must lose my maidenhead by cocklight.

’Twill never thrive else.

[Sings.] O fair, O sweet, &c.

BROTHER

[To Jailer.] You must e’en take it patiently.

JAILER

’Tis true.

DAUGHTER

Good ev’n, good men; pray, did you ever hear

Of one young Palamon?

JAILER

Yes, wench, we know him.

DAUGHTER

Is’t not a fine young gentleman?

JAILER

’Tis, love.

BROTHER

By no means cross her; she is then distempered

Far worse than now she shows.

FIRST FRIEND

Yes, he’s a fine man.

DAUGHTER

O, is he so? You have a sister?

FIRST FRIEND

Yes.

DAUGHTER

But she shall never have him, tell her so,

For a trick that I know; you’d best look to her,

For if she see him once, she’s gone, she’s done,

And undone in an hour. All the young maids

Of our town are in love with him, but I laugh at ’em

And let ’em all alone. Is ’t not a wise course?

FIRST FRIEND

Yes.

DAUGHTER

There is at least two hundred now with child by him—

There must be four; yet I keep close for all this,

Close as a cockle; and all these must be boys

He has the trick on ’t; and at ten years old

They must be all gelt for musicians

And sing the wars of Theseus.

SECOND FRIEND

This is strange.

DAUGHTER

As ever you heard, but say nothing.

FIRST FRIEND

No.

DAUGHTER

They come from all parts of the dukedom to him.

I’ll warrant ye, he had not so few last night

As twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle ’t up

In two hours, if his hand be in.

JAILER

She’s lost

Past all cure.

BROTHER

Heaven forbid, man!

DAUGHTER

Come hither, you are a wise man.

FIRST FRIEND

[Aside.] Does she know him?

SECOND FRIEND

[Aside.] No, would she did.

DAUGHTER

You are master of a ship?

JAILER

Yes.

DAUGHTER

Where’s your compass?

JAILER

Here.

DAUGHTER

Set it to th’ north.

And now direct your course to th’ wood, where Palamon

Lies longing for me. For the tackling,

Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly.

ALL

Owgh, owgh, owgh! ’Tis up, the wind’s fair!

Top the bowline; out with the mainsail;

Where’s your whistle, master?

BROTHER

Let’s get her in.

JAILER

Up to the top, boy.

BROTHER

Where’s the pilot?

FIRST FRIEND

Here.

DAUGHTER

What kenn’st thou?

SECOND FRIEND

A fair wood.

DAUGHTER

Bear for it, master. Tack about!

[Sings.]

When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c.

ACT IV

SCENE I. Athens. A room in the prison