Read William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition Online
Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (592 page)
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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Believe, you’ll find it so.
JAILER
I half suspected
What you told me—the gods comfort her!
Either this was her love to Palamon,
Or fear of my miscarrying on his scape,
Or both.
What you 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.
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.’
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 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 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 bull-rush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand freshwater flowers of several colours—
That she appeared, methought, 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 lose, 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.
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 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 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 bull-rush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand freshwater flowers of several colours—
That she appeared, methought, 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 lose, 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,
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,
Enter the Jailer’s Brother, the Jailer’s Daughter, and others
And hither came to tell you—here they are.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER (
sings
)
sings
)
‘May you never more enjoy the light ...’—
Is not this a fine song?
Is not this a fine song?
JAILER’S BROTHER O, a very fine one.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER
I can sing twenty more.
JAILER’S BROTHER I think you can.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER
Yes, truly can I—I can sing ‘The Broom’
And ‘Bonny Robin’—are not you a tailor?
And ‘Bonny Robin’—are not you a tailor?
JAILER’S BROTHER
Yes.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER Where’s my wedding gown?
JAILER’s BROTHER
I’ll bring it tomorrow.
JAILER’S 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 ...’
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 ...’
JAILER’S BROTHER ⌈
to the jailer
⌉
to the jailer
⌉
You must e’en take it patiently.
JAILER
’Tis true.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER
Good ev’n, good men. Pray, did you ever hear
Of one young Palamon?
Of one young Palamon?
JAILER Yes, wench, we know him.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER
Is’t not a fine young gentleman?
JAILER
’Tis, love.
JAILER’S BROTHER
By no mean cross her, she is then distempered
Far worse than now she shows.
Far worse than now she shows.
FIRST FRIEND (
to the Jailer’s Daughter
)
to the Jailer’s Daughter
)
Yes, he’s a fine man.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER
O, is he so? You have a sister.
FIRST FRIEND Yes.
JAILER’S 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?
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.
JAILER’S 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.
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.
⌈JAILER’S BROTHER⌉
As ever you heard, but say nothing.
FIRST FRIEND
No.
JAILER’S 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.
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.
JAILER’S BROTHER Heaven forbid, man!
JAILER’S DAUGHTER (
to the Jailer
)
to the Jailer
)
Come hither—you are a wise man.
FIRST FRIEND
Does she know him?
SECOND FRIEND
No—would she did.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER You are master of a ship?
JAILER
Yes.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER Where’s your compass?
JAILER
Here.
JAILER’S 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.
Uff, uff, uff! ’Tis up. The wind’s fair. Top the bowline.
Out with the mainsail. Where’s your whistle, master?
Palamon
Lies longing for me. For the tackling,
Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly all.
Uff, uff, uff! ’Tis up. The wind’s fair. Top the bowline.
Out with the mainsail. Where’s your whistle, master?
JAILER’S BROTHER Let’s get her in.
JAILER
Up to the top, boy!
JAILER’S BROTHER
Where’s the pilot?
FIRST FRIEND
Here.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER
What kenn’st thou?
SECOND FRIEND
A fair wood.
JAILER’S DAUGHTER
Bear for it, master.
Tack about!
(
Sings
) ‘When Cynthia with her borrowed light ...’
Tack about!
(
Sings
) ‘When Cynthia with her borrowed light ...’
Exeunt
4.2⌈
Enter Emilia, with two pictures
⌉
EMILIA
Yet I may bind those wounds up that must open
And bleed to death for my sake else—I’ll choose,
And end their strife. Two such young handsome men
Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers
Following the dead cold ashes of their sons,
Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,
What a sweet face has Arcitel If wise nature,
With all her best endowments, all those beauties
She sows into the births of noble bodies,
Were here a mortal woman and had in her
The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless
She would run mad for this man. What an eye,
Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness
Has this young prince! Here love himself sits smiling!
Just such another wanton Ganymede
Set Jove afire once, and enforced 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!
Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter,
Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and honour,
Methinks, 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 near ’em. Palamon
Is but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow;
He’s swart 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 sharpness, not a smile.
Yet these that we count errors may become him:
Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.
O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?
I am a fool, my reason is lost in me,
I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly
That women ought to beat me. On my knees
I ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art alone
And only beautiful, and these the eyes,
These the bright lamps of beauty, that command
And threaten love—and what young maid dare cross
’em?
What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,
Has this brown manly face? O, love, this only
From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite,
Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,
And this the noble body. I am sotted,
Utterly lost—my virgin’s faith has fled me.
For if my brother, but even now, had asked me
Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite;
Now if my sister, more for Palamon.
Stand both together. Now come ask me, brother—
Alas, I know not; ask me now, sweet sister—
I may go look. What a mere child is fancy,
That having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,
Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!
And bleed to death for my sake else—I’ll choose,
And end their strife. Two such young handsome men
Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers
Following the dead cold ashes of their sons,
Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,
What a sweet face has Arcitel If wise nature,
With all her best endowments, all those beauties
She sows into the births of noble bodies,
Were here a mortal woman and had in her
The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless
She would run mad for this man. What an eye,
Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness
Has this young prince! Here love himself sits smiling!
Just such another wanton Ganymede
Set Jove afire once, and enforced 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!
Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter,
Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and honour,
Methinks, 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 near ’em. Palamon
Is but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow;
He’s swart 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 sharpness, not a smile.
Yet these that we count errors may become him:
Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.
O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?
I am a fool, my reason is lost in me,
I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly
That women ought to beat me. On my knees
I ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art alone
And only beautiful, and these the eyes,
These the bright lamps of beauty, that command
And threaten love—and what young maid dare cross
’em?
What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,
Has this brown manly face? O, love, this only
From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite,
Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,
And this the noble body. I am sotted,
Utterly lost—my virgin’s faith has fled me.
For if my brother, but even now, had asked me
Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite;
Now if my sister, more for Palamon.
Stand both together. Now come ask me, brother—
Alas, I know not; ask me now, sweet sister—
I may go look. What a mere child is fancy,
That having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,
Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!
⌈
Enter a Gentlemanl
⌉
How now, sir?
GENTLEMAN
From the noble Duke your brother,
Madam, I bring you news. The knights are come.
Madam, I bring you news. The knights are come.
EMILIA
To end the quarrel?
GENTLEMAN
Yes.
EMILIA
Would I might end first!
What sins have I committed, chaste Diana,
That my unspotted youth must now be soiled
With blood of princes, and my chastity
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 beauty?
What sins have I committed, chaste Diana,
That my unspotted youth must now be soiled
With blood of princes, and my chastity
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 beauty?
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, and attendants
THESEUS
Bring ’em in
Quickly, by any means, I long to see ’em.
Quickly, by any means, I long to see ’em.
Exit one or more
(To Emilia) Your two contending lovers are returned,
And with them their fair knights. Now, my fair sister,
You must love one of them.
And with them their fair knights. Now, my fair sister,
You must love one of them.
EMILIA
I had rather both,
So neither for my sake should fall untimely.
So neither for my sake should fall untimely.
Enter a Messenger
THESEUS
Who saw ’em?
PIRITHOUS
I a while.
GENTLEMAN
And I.
THESEUS (
to the Messenger
)
to the Messenger
)
From whence come you, sir?
MESSENGER
From the knights.
THESEUS
Pray speak,
You that have seen them, what they are.
You that have seen them, what they are.
MESSENGER
I will, sir,
And truly what I think. Six braver spirits
Than 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 looks so say him: his complexion,
Nearer a brown than black, stern and yet noble,
Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers.
The circles of his eyes show fire within him,
And, as a heated lion, so he looks.
His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining,
Like ravens’ wings. His shoulders, broad and strong;
Armed long and round; and on his thigh a sword
Hung by a curious baldric, when he frowns
To seal his will with. Better, o’ my conscience,
Was never soldier’s friend.
And truly what I think. Six braver spirits
Than 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 looks so say him: his complexion,
Nearer a brown than black, stern and yet noble,
Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers.
The circles of his eyes show fire within him,
And, as a heated lion, so he looks.
His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining,
Like ravens’ wings. His shoulders, broad and strong;
Armed long and round; and on his thigh a sword
Hung by a curious baldric, when he frowns
To seal his will with. Better, o’ my conscience,
Was never soldier’s friend.
THESEUS Thou hast well described him.
PIRITHOUS
Yet a great deal short,
Methinks, of him that’s first with Palamon.
Methinks, of him that’s first with Palamon.
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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