Scene
I
Athens. A room in the prison.
Enter Gaoler and First Friend.
Gaoler
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-ey’d Emily upon their knees
Begg’d 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.
Gaoler
Pray heaven, it hold so!
Enter Second Friend.
Second Friend
Be of good comfort, man: I bring you news,
Good news.
Gaoler
They’re welcome.
Second Friend
Palamon has clear’d you,
And got your pardon, and discover’d how
And by whose means he escap’d, which was your daughter’s,
Whose pardon is procur’d 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.
Gaoler
Ye’re a good man,
And ever bring good news.
First Friend
How was it ended?
Second Friend
Why, as it should be; they that never begg’d
But they prevail’d, 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.
Gaoler
I hope they’re good.
Second Friend
They’re honourable:
How good they’ll prove, I know not.
First Friend
’Twill be known.
Enter Wooer.
Wooer
Alas, sir, where’s your daughter?
Gaoler
Why do you ask?
Wooer
O, sir, when did you see her?
Second Friend
How he looks!
Gaoler
This morning.
Wooer
Was she well? was she in health, sir?
When did she sleep?
First Friend
These are strange questions.
Gaoler
I do not think she was very well; for, now
You make me mind her, but this very day
I ask’d her questions, and she answer’d 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.
Gaoler
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.
Gaoler
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.
Gaoler
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 perceiv’d not
Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds
Had so encompass’d it: I laid me down,
And listen’d to the words she sung; for then,
Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,
I saw it was your daughter.
Gaoler
Pray, go on, sir.
Wooer
She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her
Repeat this often, “Palamon is gone,
Is gone to the wood to gather mulberries;
I’ll find him out to-morrow.”
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-ey’d maids that love as I do,
With chaplets on their heads of daffodillies,
With cherry lips, and cheeks of damask roses,
And all we’ll dance an antic ’fore the duke,
And beg his pardon.” Then she talk’d of you, sir;
That you must lose your head to-morrow 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 appear’d like the fair nymph
That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropt 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 sigh’d,
And with the same breath smil’d, and kiss’d her hand.
Second Friend
Alas, what pity ’tis!
Wooer
I made in to her:
She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav’d her,
And set her safe to land: when presently
She slipt 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 stay’d,
And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her,
And hither came to tell you. Here they are.
Enter Gaoler’s Brother, Daughter, and others.
Daughter
Sings.
May you never more enjoy the light, etc.
Is not this a fine song?
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’t to-morrow.
Daughter
Do, very rarely; I must be abroad else,
To call the maids and pay the minstrels;
For I must lose my maidenhead by cock-light;
’Twill never thrive else. Sings.
O fair, O sweet, etc.
Brother
You must even take it patiently.
Gaoler
’Tis true.
Daughter
Good even, good men. Pray, did you ever hear
Of one young Palamon?
Gaoler
Yes, wench, we know him.
Daughter
Is’t not a fine young gentleman?
Gaoler
’Tis love!
Brother
By no mean cross her; she is then distemper’d
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: y’had 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 dukedome 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.
Gaoler
She’s lost,
Past all cure.
Brother
Heaven forbid, man!
Daughter
Come hither; you’re a wise man.
First Friend
Does she know him?
Second Friend
No; would she did!
Daughter
You’re master of a ship?
Gaoler
Yes.
Daughter
Where’s your compass?
Gaoler
Here.
Daughter
Set it to the north;
And now direct your course to the 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 is fair:
Top the bowling; out with the main-sail:
Where’s your whistle, master?
Brother
Let’s get her in.
Gaoler
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 Cynthia with her borrow’d light, etc. Exeunt.