William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (583 page)

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Authors: William Shakespeare

Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare

BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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HIPPOLYTA
Poor lady, say no more.
I had as lief trace this good action with you
As that whereto I am going, and never yet
Went I so willing way. My lord is taken
Heart-deep with your distress. Let him consider.
I’ll speak anon.

The Second Queen rises

 
THIRD QUEEN (kneeling ⌈
still
⌉ to Emilia)
O, my petition was
Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied
Melts into drops; so sorrow, wanting form,
Is pressed with deeper matter.
EMILIA
Pray stand up:
Your grief is written in your cheek.
THIRD QUEEN
O woe,
You cannot read it there; there, through my tears,
Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream,
You may behold ’em.

The
Third Queen
rises

 
Lady, lady, alack—
He that will all the treasure know o’th’ earth
Must know the centre too; he that will fish
For my least minnow, let him lead his line
To catch one at my heart. O, pardon me:
Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits,
Makes me a fool.
EMILIA
Pray you, say nothing, pray you.
Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in’t,
Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were
The ground-piece of some painter, I would buy you
T’instruct me ’gainst a capital grief, indeed
Such heart-pierced demonstration; but, alas,
Being a natural sister of our sex,
Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me
That it shall make a counter-reflect ’gainst
My brother’s heart, and warm it to some pity,
Though it were made of stone. Pray have good
comfort.
THESEUS
Forward to th’ temple. Leave not out a jot
O’th’ sacred ceremony.
FIRST QUEEN
O, this celebration
Will longer last and be more costly than
Your suppliants’ war. Remember that your fame
Knolls in the ear o’th’ world: what you do quickly
Is not done rashly; your first thought is more
Than others’ laboured meditance; your premeditating
More than their actions. But, O Jove, your actions,
Soon as they move, as ospreys do the fish,
Subdue before they touch. Think, dear Duke, think
What beds our slain kings have.
SECOND QUEEN
What griefs our beds,
That our dear lords have none.
THIRD QUEEN
None fit for th’ dead.
Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance,
Weary of this world’s light, have to themselves
Been death’s most horrid agents, human grace
Affords them dust and shadow.
FIRST QUEEN
But our lords
Lie blist’ring fore the visitating sun,
And were good kings, when living.
THESEUS
It is true,
And I will give you comfort to give your dead lords
graves,
The which to do must make some work with Creon.
FIRST QUEEN
And that work presents itself to th’ doing.
Now ’twill take form, the heats are gone tomorrow.
Then, bootless toil must recompense itself
With its own sweat; now he’s secure,
Not dreams we stand before your puissance
Rinsing our holy begging in our eyes
To make petition clear.
SECOND QUEEN
Now you may take him,
Drunk with his victory.
THIRD QUEEN
And his army full
Of bread and sloth.
THESEUS
Artesius, that best knowest How to draw out, fit to this enterprise
The prim’st for this proceeding and the number
To carry such a business: forth and levy
Our worthiest instruments, whilst we dispatch
This grand act of our life, this daring deed
Of fate in wedlock.
FIRST QUEEN (to the other two Queens)
Dowagers, take hands;
Let us be widows to our woes; delay
Commends us to a famishing hope.
ALL THREE QUEENS
Farewell.
SECOND QUEEN
We come unseasonably, but when could grief
Cull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fitt’st time
For best solicitation?
THESEUS
Why, good ladies,
This is a service whereto I am going
Greater than any war—it more imports me
Than all the actions that I have foregone,
Or futurely can cope.
FIRST QUEEN
The more proclaiming
Our suit shall be neglected when her arms,
Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall
By warranting moonlight corslet thee! O when
Her twinning cherries shall their sweetness fall
Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think
Of rotten kings or blubbered queens? What care
For what thou feel’st not, what thou feel’st being able
To make Mars spurn his drum? O, if thou couch
But one night with her, every hour in’t will
Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and
Thou shalt remember nothing more than what
That banquet bids thee to.
HIPPOLYTA (to Theseus)
Though much unlike
You should be so transported, as much sorry
I should be such a suitor—yet I think
Did I not by th’abstaining of my joy,
Which breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit
That craves a present medicine, I should pluck
All ladies’ scandal on me. ⌈
Kneels
⌉ Therefore, sir,
As I shall here make trial of my prayers,
Either presuming them to have some force,
Or sentencing for aye their vigour dumb,
Prorogue this business we are going about, and hang
Your shield afore your heart—about that neck
Which is my fee, and which I freely lend
To do these poor queens service.
ALL THREE QUEENS (to Emilia)
O, help now,
Our cause cries for your knee.
EMILIA (
kneels
to Theseus)
If you grant not
My sister her petition in that force
With that celerity and nature which
She makes it in, from henceforth I’ll not dare
To ask you anything, nor be so hardy
Ever to take a husband.
THESEUS
Pray stand up.

They rise

 
I am entreating of myself to do
That which you kneel to have me.—Pirithous,
Lead on the bride: get you and pray the gods
For success and return; omit not anything
In the pretended celebration.—Queens,
Follow your soldier. (To Artesius) As before, hence you,
And at the banks of Aulis meet us with
The forces you can raise, where we shall find
The moiety of a number for a business
More bigger looked.
Exit Artesius
(
To Hippolyta
) Since that our theme is haste,
I stamp this kiss upon thy current lip—
Sweet, keep it as my token. (To the wedding party) Set
you forward,
For I will see you gone.
(To Emilia) Farewell, my beauteous sister.—Pirithous,
Keep the feast full: bate not an hour on’t.
PIRITHOUS
Sir,
I’ll follow you at heels. The feast’s solemnity
Shall want till your return.
THESEUS
Cousin, I charge you
Budge not from Athens. We shall be returning
Ere you can end this feast, of which, I pray you,
Make no abatement.—Once more, farewell all.
Exeunt Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous, and train towards the temple
FIRST QUEEN
Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o’th’ world.
SECOND QUEEN
And earn’st a deity equal with Mars—
THIRD QUEEN
If not above him, for Thou being but mortal mak’st affections bend
To godlike honours; they themselves, some say,
Groan under such a mast’ry.
THESEUS
As we are men,
Thus should we do; being sensually subdued
We lose our human title. Good cheer, ladies.
Now turn we towards your comforts.

Flourish
.⌉
Exeunt
1.2
Enter Palamon and
Arcite
 
ARCITE
Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood,
And our prime cousin, yet unhardened in
The crimes of nature, let us leave the city,
Thebes, and the temptings in’t, before we further
Sully our gloss of youth.
And here to keep in abstinence we shame
As in incontinence; for not to swim
I’th’ aid o’th’ current were almost to sink—
At least to frustrate striving; and to follow
The common stream ’twould bring us to an eddy
Where we should turn or drown; if labour through,
Our gain but life and weakness.
PALAMON
Your advice
Is cried up with example. What strange ruins
Since first we went to school may we perceive
Walking in Thebes? Scars and bare weeds
The gain o’th’ martialist who did propound
To his bold ends honour and golden ingots,
Which though he won, he had not; and now flirted
By peace for whom he fought. Who then shall offer
To Mars’s so-scorned altar? I do bleed
When such I meet, and wish great Juno would
Resume her ancient fit of jealousy
To get the soldier work, that peace might purge
For her repletion and retain anew
Her charitable heart, now hard and harsher
Than strife or war could be.
ARCITE
Are you not out?
Meet you no ruin but the soldier in
The cranks and turns of Thebes? You did begin
As if you met decays of many kinds.
Perceive you none that do arouse your pity
But th’unconsidered soldier?
PALAMON
Yes, I pity
Decays where’er I find them, but such most
That, sweating in an honourable toil,
Are paid with ice to cool ’em.
ARCITE
’Tis not this
I did begin to speak of. This is virtue,
Of no respect in Thebes. I spake of Thebes,
How dangerous, if we will keep our honours,
It is for our residing where every evil
Hath a good colour, where every seeming good’s
A certain evil, where not to be ev’n jump
As they are here were to be strangers, and
Such things to be, mere monsters.
PALAMON
’Tis in our power,
Unless we fear that apes can tutor’s, to
Be masters of our manners. What need I
Affect another’s gait, which is not catching
Where there is faith? Or to be fond upon
Another’s way of speech, when by mine own
I may be reasonably conceived—saved, too—
Speaking it truly? Why am I bound
By any generous bond to follow him
Follows his tailor, haply so long until
The followed make pursuit? Or let me know
Why mine own barber is unblest—with him
My poor chin, too—for ’tis not scissored just
To such a favourite’s glass? What canon is there
That does command my rapier from my hip
To dangle’t in my hand? Or to go tiptoe
Before the street be foul? Either I am
The fore-horse in the team or I am none
That draw i’th’ sequent trace. These poor slight
sores
Need not a plantain. That which rips my bosom
Almost to th’ heart’s—
ARCITE
Our uncle Creon.
PALAMON
He,
A most unbounded tyrant, whose successes
Makes heaven unfeared and villainy assured
Beyond its power there’s nothing; almost puts
Faith in a fever, and deifies alone
Voluble chance; who only attributes
The faculties of other instruments
To his own nerves and act; commands men’s service,
And what they win in’t, boot and glory; one
That fears not to do harm, good dares not. Let
The blood of mine that’s sib to him be sucked
From me with leeches. Let them break and fall
Off me with that corruption.
ARCITE
Clear-spirited cousin,
Let’s leave his court that we may nothing share
Of his loud infamy: for our milk
Will relish of the pasture, and we must
Be vile or disobedient; not his kinsmen
In blood unless in quality.
PALAMON
Nothing truer.
I think the echoes of his shames have deafed
The ears of heav’nly justice. Widows’ cries
Descend again into their throats and have not
Enter Valerius
 
Due audience of the gods—Valerius.
VALERIUS
The King calls for you; yet be leaden-footed
Till his great rage be off him. Phoebus, when
He broke his whipstock and exclaimed against
The horses of the sun, but whispered to
The loudness of his fury.

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