Scæna 1. Enter Iailor, and his friend.

Iailor.
Heare you no more, was nothing saide of me
Concerning the escape of Palamon?
Good Sir remember.

1. Fr.
Nothing that I heard,
For I came home before the busines
Was fully ended: Yet I might perceive
Ere I departed, a great likelihood
Of both their pardons: For Hipolita,
And faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees
Begd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke
Me thought stood staggering, whether he should follow
His rash o'th, or the sweet compassion
Of those two Ladies; and to second them,
That truely noble Prince Perithous
Halfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope
All shall be well: Neither heard I one question

Of your name, or his scape. Enter 2. Friend.

Iay.
Pray heaven it hold so.

2. Fr:
Be of good comfort man; I bring you newes,
Good newes.

Iay.
They are welcome,

2. Fr.
Palamon has cleerd you,
And got your pardon, and discoverd
How, and by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters,
Whose pardon is procurd too, and the Prisoner
Not to be held ungratefull to her goodnes,
Has given a summe of money to her Marriage,
A large one ile assure you.

Iay.
Ye are a good man
And ever bring good newes.

1. Fr.
How was it ended?

2. Fr.
Why, as it should be; they that nev'r begd
But they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted,
The prisoners have their lives.

1. Fr.
I knew t'would be so.

2. Fr.
But there be new conditions, which you'l heare of
At better time.

Iay.
I hope they are good.

2. Fr.
They are honourable,
How good they'l prove, I know not. Enter Wooer.

1. Fr.
T'will be knowne.

Woo.
Alas Sir, wher's your Daughter?

Iay.
Why doe you aske?

Woo.
O Sir when did you see her?

2. Fr.
How he lookes?

Iay.
This morning.

Woo.
Was she well? was she in health? Sir, when did she sleepe?

1. Fr.
These are strange Questions.

Iay,
I doe not thinke she was very well, for now
You make me minde her, but this very day
I ask'd her questions, and she answered me
So farre from what she was, so childishly.
So sillily, as if she were a foole,

An Inocent, and I was very angry.
But what of her Sir?

Woo.
Nothing but my pitty; but you must know it, and as good by me
As by an other that lesse loves her:

Iay.
Well Sir.

1. Fr.
Not right?

2. Fr.
Not well?

—Wooer,
No Sir not well.

Woo.
Tis too true, she is mad.

1. Fr.
It cannot be.

Woo.
Beleeve you'l finde it so.

Iay.
I halfe suspected
What you told me: the gods comfort her:
Either this was her love to Palamon,
Or feare of my miscarrying on his scape,
Or both.

Woo.
Tis likely.

Iay.
But why all this haste Sir?

Woo.
Ile tell you quickly. As I late was angling
In the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace,
From the far shore, thicke set with reedes, and Sedges,
As patiently I was attending sport,
I heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive
I gave my eare, when I might well perceive
T'was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it
A boy or woman. I then left my angle
To his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not
Who made the sound; the rushes, and the Reeds
Had so encompast it: I laide me downe
And listned to the words she song, for then
Through a small glade cut by the Fisher men,
I saw it was your Daughter.

Iay.
Pray goe on Sir?

Woo.
She sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her
Repeat this often. Palamon is gone,
Is gone to 'th wood to gather Mulberies,
Ile finde him out to morrow.

1. Fr.
Pretty soule.

Woo.
His shackles will betray him, hee'l be taken,

And what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy,
A hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe
With Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies,
With cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses,
And all wee'l daunce an Antique fore the Duke,
And beg his pardon; Then she talk'd of you Sir;
That you must loose 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 betweene
Ever was, Palamon, faire Palamon,
And Palamon, was a tall yong man. The place
Was knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses,
A wreake of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke
Thousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors.
That me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph
That feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made
Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
The prettiest posies: Thus our true love's tide,
This you may loose, not me, and many a one:
And then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh'd,
And with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand.

2. Fr.
Alas what pitty it is?

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 Citty made,
With such a cry, and swiftnes, that beleeve me
Shee left me farre behinde her; three, or foure,
I saw from farre off crosse her, one of 'em
I knew to be your brother, where she staid,
And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her. Enter Brother, Daughter, and others.
And hether came to tell you: Here they are.

Daugh.
May you never more enjoy the light, &c.
Is not this a fine Song?

Bro.
O a very fine one.

Daugh.
I can sing twenty more.

Bro.
I thinke you can,

Daugh.
Yes truely can I, I can sing the Broome,
And Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?

Bro.
Yes,

Daugh.
Wher's my wedding Gowne?

Bro.
Ile bring it to morrow.

Daugh.
Doe, very rarely, I must be abroad else
To call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels
For I must loose my Maydenhead by cocklight
Twill never thrive else.

O faire, oh sweete, &c. Singes.

Bro.
You must ev'n take it patiently.

Iay.
Tis true,

Daugh.
Good'ev'n, good men, pray did you ever heare
Of one yong Palamon?

Iay.
Yes wench we know him.

Daugh.
Is't not a fine yong Gentleman?

Iay.
Tis, Love.

Bro.
By no meane crosse her, she is then distemperd
For worse then now she showes.

1. Fr.
Yes, he's a fine man.

Daugh.
O, is he so? you have a Sister.

1. Fr.
Yes.

Daugh.
But she shall never have him, tell her so,
For a tricke that I know, y'had best looke to her,
For if she see him once, she's gone, she's done,
And undon in an howre. All the young Maydes
Of our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at 'em
And let 'em all alone, Is't not a wise course?

1. Fr.
Yes.

Daugh.
There is at least two hundred now with child by him,
There must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this,
Close as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes,
He has the tricke on't, and at ten yeares old
They must be all gelt for Musitians,
And sing the wars of Theseus.

2. Fr.
This is strange.

Daugh.
As ever you heard, but say nothing.

1. Fr.
No.

Daugh.
They come from all parts of the Dukedome to him,
Ile warrant ye, he had not so few last night
As twenty to dispatch, hee'l tickl't up
In two howres, if his hand be in.

Iay.
She's lost
Past all cure.

Bro.
Heaven forbid man.

Daugh.
Come hither, you are a wise man.

1. Fr.
Do's she know him?

1. Fr.
No, would she did.

Daugh.
You are master of a Ship?

Iay.
Yes.

Daugh.
Wher's your Compasse?

Iay.
Heere.

Daugh.
Set it too'th North.
And now direct your conrse to'th wood, wher Palamon
Lyes longing for me; For the Tackling
Let me alone; Come waygh my hearts, cheerely.

All.
Owgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind's faire, top the
Bowling, out with the maine saile, wher's your
Whistle Master?

Bro.
Lets get her in.

Iay.
Vp to the top Boy.

Bro.
Wher's the Pilot?

1. Fr.
Heere,

Daugh.
What ken'st thou?

2. Fr.
A faire wood.

Daugh.
Beare for it master: take about: Singes.

When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. Exeunt.

Scæna 2. Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.

Emilia.
Yet I may binde those wounds up, that must open
And bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose,
And end their strife: Two such yong hansom men
Shall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers,
Following the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes
Shall never curse my cruelty: Good heaven,

What a sweet face has Arcite? if wise nature
With all her best endowments, all those beuties
She sowes into the birthes of noble bodies,
Were here a mortall woman, and had in her
The coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles,
She would run mad for this man: what an eye?
Of what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes,
Has this yong Prince? Here Love himselfe sits smyling,
Iust such another wanton Ganimead,
Set Love a fire with, and enforcd the god
Snatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him
A shining constellation: What a brow,
Of what a spacious Majesty he carries?
Arch'd like the great eyd Iuno's, but far sweeter,
Smoother then Pelops Shoulder? Fame and honour
Me thinks from hence, as from a Promontory
Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing
To all the under world, the Loves, and Fights
Of gods, and such men neere 'em. Palamon,
Is but his foyle, to him, a meere dull shadow,
Hee's swarth, and meagre, of an eye as heavy
As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,
No stirring in him, no alacrity,
Of all this sprightly sharpenes, not a smile;
Yet these that we count errours may become him:
Narcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:
Oh who can finde the bent of womans fancy?
I am a Foole, my reason is lost in me,
I have no choice, and I have ly'd so lewdly
That women ought to beate me. On my knees
I aske thy pardon: Palamon, thou art alone,
And only beutifull, and these the eyes,
These the bright lamps of beauty, that command
And threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse 'em
What a bold gravity, and yet inviting
Has this browne manly face? O Love, this only
From this howre is Complexion: Lye there Arcite,
Thou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey.

And this the noble Bodie: I am sotted,
Vtterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me:
For if my brother but even now had ask'd me
Whether I lov'd, I had run mad for Arcite,
Now if my Sister; More for Palamon,
Stand both together: Now, come aske me Brother,
Alas, I know not: aske me now sweet Sister,
I may goe looke; What a meere child is Fancie,
That having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse,
Cannot distinguish, but must crie for both. Enter Emil. and Gent:

Emil.
How now Sir?

Gent.
From the Noble Duke your Brother
Madam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come.

Emil.
To end the quarrell?

Gent.
Yes.

Emil.
Would I might end first:
What sinnes have I committed, chast Diana,
That my unspotted youth must now be soyld
With blood of Princes? and my Chastitie
Be made the Altar, where the lives of Lovers,
Two greater, and two better never yet
Made mothers joy, must be the sacrifice
To my unhappy Beautie? Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.

Theseus.
Bring 'em in quickly,
By any meanes, I long to see 'em.
Your two contending Lovers are return'd,
And with them their faire Knights: Now my faire Sister,
You must love one of them.

Emil.
I had rather both,
So neither for my sake should fall untimely Enter Messengers. Curtis.

Thes.
Who saw 'em?

Per.
I a while.

Gent.
And I.

Thes.
From whence come you Sir?

Mess.
From the Knights.

Thes.
Pray speake
You that have seene them, what they are.

Mess.
I will Sir,
And truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits
Then these they have brought, (if we judge by the outside)
I never saw, nor read of: He that stands
In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming
Should be a stout man, by his face a Prince,
(His very lookes so say him) his complexion,
Nearer a browne, than blacke; sterne, and yet noble,
Which shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers:
The circles of his eyes show faire within him,
And as a heated Lyon, so he lookes;
His haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining
Like Ravens wings: his shoulders broad, and strong,
Armd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword
Hung by a curious Bauldricke; when he frownes
To seale his will with, better o' my conscience
Was never Souldiers friend.

Thes.
Thou ha'st well describde him,

Per.
Yet a great deale short
Me thinkes, of him that's first with Palamon.

Thes.
Pray speake him friend.

Per.
I ghesse he is a Prince too,
And if it may be, greater; for his show
Has all the ornament of honour in't:
Hee's somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of,
But of a face far sweeter; His complexion
Is (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt
Without doubt what he fights for, and so apter
To make this cause his owne: In's face appeares
All the faire hopes of what he undertakes,
And when he's angry, then a setled valour
(Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body,
And guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot,
He shewes no such soft temper, his head's yellow,
Hard hayr'd, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tops,
Not to undoe with thunder; In his face

The liverie of the warlike Maide appeares,
Pure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him.
And in his rowling eyes, sits victory,
As if she ever ment to corect his valour:
His Nose stands high, a Character of honour.
His red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies.

Emil.
Must these men die too?

Per.
When he speakes, his tongue
Sounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments
Are as a man would wish 'em, strong, and cleane,
He weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold,
His age some five and twenty.

Mess.
Ther's another,
A little man, but of a tough soule, seeming
As great as any: fairer promises
In such a Body, yet I never look'd on.

Per.
O, he that's freckle fac'd?

Mess.
The same my Lord,
Are they not sweet ones?

Per.
Yes they are well.

Mess.
Me thinkes,
Being so few, and well disposd, they show
Great, and fine art in nature, he's white hair'd,
Not wanton white, but such a manly colour
Next to an aborne, tough, and nimble set,
Which showes an active soule; his armes are brawny
Linde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece,
Gently they swell, like women new conceav'd,
Which speakes him prone to labour, never fainting
Vnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still,
But when he stirs, a Tiger; he's gray eyd,
Which yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe
To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em,
He's swift to make 'em his: He do's no wrongs,
Nor takes none; he's round fac'd, and when he smiles
He showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier:
About his head he weares the winners oke,
And in it stucke the favour of his Lady:

His age, some six and thirtie. In his hand
He beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver.

Thes.
Are they all thus?

Per.
They are all the sonnes of honour.

Thes.
Now as I have a soule I long to see 'em,
Lady you shall see men fight now.

Hip.
I wish it,
But not the cause my Lord; They would show
Bravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes;
Tis pitty Love should be so tyrannous:
O my soft harted Sister, what thinke you?
Weepe not, till they weepe blood; Wench it must be.

Thes.
You have steel'd 'em with your Beautie: honord Friend,
To you I give the Feild; pray order it,
Fitting the persons that must use it.

Per.
Yes Sir.

Thes.
Come, Ile goe visit 'em: I cannot stay.
Their fame has fir'd me so; Till they appeare,
Good Friend be royall.

Per.
There shall want no bravery.

Emilia.
Poore wench goe weepe, for whosoever wins,
Looses a noble Cosen, for thy sins. Exeunt.

Scæna 3. Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.

Doct.
Her distraction is more at some time of the Moone,
Then at other some, is it not?

Iay.
She is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes
Little, altogether without appetite, save often drinking,
Dreaming of another world, and a better; and what
Broken peece of matter so'ere she's about, the name
Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev'ry busines Enter Daughter.
Withall, fyts it to every question; Looke where
Shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour.

Daugh.
I have forgot it quite; The burden o'nt, was downe
A downe a, and pend by no worse man, then
Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he's as
Fantasticall too, as ever he may goe upon's legs,
For in the next world will Dido see Palamon, and

Then will she be out of love with Eneas.

Doct.
What stuff's here? pore soule.

Ioy.
Ev'n thus all day long.

Daugh.
Now for this Charme, that I told you of, you must
Bring a peece of silver on the tip of your tongue,
Or no ferry: then if it be your chance to come where
The blessed spirits, as the'rs a sight now; we maids
That have our Lyvers, perish'd, crakt to peeces with
Love, we shall come there, and doe nothing all day long
But picke flowers with Proserpine, then will I make
Palamon a Nosegay, then let him marke me,—then.

Doct.
How prettily she's amisse? note her a little further.

Dau.
Faith ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake,
We of the blessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i'th
Thother place, such burning, frying, boyling, hissing,
Howling, chattring, cursing, oh they have shrowd
Measure, take heede; if one be mad, or hang or
Drowne themselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse
Vs, and there shall we be put in a Caldron of
Lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million of
Cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon
That will never be enough. Exit.

Doct.

How her braine coynes?

Daugh.

Lords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this place, they shall stand in fire up to the Nav'le, and in yce up to 'th hart, and there th' offending part burnes, and the deceaving part freezes; in troth a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for such a Trifle, beleve me one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid on't Ile assure you.

Doct.

How she continues this fancie? Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a most thicke, and profound mellencholly.

Daugh.

To heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together: I were a beast and il'd call it good sport: one cries, o this smoake, another this fire; One cries, o, that ever I did it behind the arras, and then howles; th' other curses a suing fellow and her garden house.