Scene
IV
The same; a block prepared.
Enter Palamon and his Knights pinioned, Gaoler, Executioner, etc., and Guard.
Palamon
There’s many a man alive that hath outliv’d
The love o’ the people; yea, i’ the selfsame state
Stands many a father with his child: some comfort
We have by so considering; we expire,
And not without men’s 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 gray approachers; we come towards the gods,
Young and unwapper’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.
First 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’erweigh us.
Second Knight
Let us bid farewell;
And with our patience anger tottering Fortune,
Who, at her certain’st, reels.
Third Knight
Come; who begins?
Palamon
Even he that led you to this banquet shall
Taste to you all.—Ah, ha, my friend, my friend!
Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once;
You’ll see’t done now for ever: pray, how does she?
I heard she was not well; her kind of ill
Gave me some sorrow.
Gaoler
Sir, she’s well restor’d,
And to be married shortly.
Palamon
By my short life,
I am most glad on’t; ’tis the latest thing
I shall be glad of; pr’ythee, tell her so;
Commend me to her, and, to piece her portion,
Tender her this. Gives purse.
First Knight
Nay, let’s be offerers all.
Second Knight
Is it a maid?
Palamon
Verily, I think so;
A right good creature, more to me deserving
That I can ’quite or speak of.
All the Knights
Commend us to her. Giving their purses.
Gaoler
The gods requite you all, and make her thankful!
Palamon
Adieu; and let my life be now as short
As my leave-taking.
First Knight
Lead, couragious cousin.
All the Knights
We’ll follow cheerfully. Palamon lays his head on the block. A great noise, and cry of “Run, save, hold!” within.
Enter Messenger in haste.
Messenger
Hold, hold! O, hold, hold, hold!
Enter Pirithous in haste.
Pirithous
Hold, hoa! it is a cursed haste you made,
If you have done so quickly.—Noble Palamon,
The gods will show their glory in a life
That thou art yet to lead.
Palamon
Can that be, when
Venus I’ve said, is false? How do things fare?
Pirithous
Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear Palamon rises.
That are most dearly sweet and bitter.
Palamon
What
Hath wak’d us from our dream?
Pirithous
List, then. Your cousin
Mounted upon a steed that Emily
Did first bestow on him—a black one, owing
Not a hair-worth of white, which some will say
Weakens his price, and many will not buy
His goodness with this note; which superstition
Here finds allowance—on this horse is Arcite
Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins
Did rather tell than trample; for the horse
Would make his length a mile, if’t pleas’d his rider
To put pride in him: as he thus went counting
The flinty pavement, dancing as ’twere to the 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
Disroot 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 hand: his victor’s wreath
Even then fell off his head; and presently
Backward the jade comes o’er, and his full poise
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 desires
To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears.
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite in a chair.
Palamon
O 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,
One that yet loves thee dying.
Arcite
Take Emilia,
And with her all the world’s joy. Reach thy hand:
Farewell; I’ve told my last hour. I was false,
Yet never treacherous: forgive me, cousin.—
One kiss from fair Emilia. Kisses her.—’Tis done:
Take her. I die.
Palamon
Thy brave soul seek Elysium!
Emilia
I’ll close thine eyes, prince; blessed souls be with thee!
Thou art a right good man; and, while I live,
This day I give to tears.
Palamon
And I to honour.
Theseus
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 arrowze you:
The powerful Venus well hath grac’d her altar,
And given you your love; our master Mars
Hath vouch’d his oracle, and to Arcite gave
The grace of the contention: so the deities
Have show’d due justice.—Bear this hence.
Palamon
O cousin,
That we should things desire, which do cost us
The loss of our desire! that naught could buy
Dear love but loss of dear love!
Theseus
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 kinseman 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 justice
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.—O you heavenly 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 thankful
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.