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Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;

       Come not within the measure of my wrath;

       Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,

       Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands

       Take but possession of her with a touch;

       I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.

       THURIO.

       Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;

       I hold him but a fool that will endanger

       His body for a girl that loves him not:

       I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.

       DUKE.

       The more degenerate and base art thou

       To make such means for her as thou hast done,

       And leave her on such slight conditions.

       Now, by the honour of my ancestry,

       I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,

       And think thee worthy of an empress’ love.

       Know then, I here forget all former griefs,

       Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,

       Plead a new state in thy unrivall’d merit,

       To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,

       Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv’d;

       Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv’d her.

       VALENTINE.

       I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy.

       I now beseech you, for your daughter’s sake,

       To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.

       DUKE.

       I grant it for thine own, whate’er it be.

       VALENTINE.

       These banish’d men, that I have kept withal,

       Are men endu’d with worthy qualities:

       Forgive them what they have committed here,

       And let them be recall’d from their exile:

       They are reformed, civil, full of good,

       And fit for great employment, worthy lord.

       DUKE.

       Thou hast prevail’d; I pardon them, and thee;

       Dispose of them as thou know’st their deserts.

       Come, let us go; we will include all jars

       With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.

       VALENTINE.

       And, as we walk along, I dare be bold

       With our discourse to make your Grace to smile.

       What think you of this page, my lord?

       DUKE.

       I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.

       VALENTINE.

       I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy.

       DUKE.

       What mean you by that saying?

       VALENTINE.

       Please you, I’ll tell you as we pass along,

       That you will wonder what hath fortuned.

       Come, Proteus; ‘tis your penance but to hear

       The story of your loves discovered:

       That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;

       One feast, one house, one mutual happiness.

       [Exeunt.]

       THE END

      THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN

       Table of Contents

      Presented at the Blackfriers by the Kings Maiesties servants, with great applause:

      By the memorable Worthies of their time;

       Mr. John Fletcher, Gent., and

       Mr. William Shakspeare, Gent.

       Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson: and are to be sold at the signe of the Crowne in Pauls Churchyard. 1634.

       (The Persons represented in the Play.

       Hymen,

       Theseus,

       Hippolita, Bride to Theseus

       Emelia, Sister to Theseus

       [Emelia’s Woman],

       Nymphs,

       Three Queens,

       Three valiant Knights,

       Palamon, and

       Arcite, The two Noble Kinsmen, in love with fair Emelia

       [Valerius],

       Perithous,

       [A Herald],

       [A Gentleman],

       [A Messenger],

       [A Servant],

       [Wooer],

       [Keeper],

       Jaylor,

       His Daughter, in love with Palamon

       [His brother],

       [A Doctor],

       [4] Countreymen,

       [2 Friends of the Jaylor],

       [3 Knights],

       [Nel, and other]

       Wenches,

       A Taborer,

       Gerrold, A Schoolmaster.)

       PROLOGVE.

       [Florish.]

       New Playes, and Maydenheads, are neare a kin,

       Much follow’d both, for both much mony g’yn,

       If they stand sound, and well: And a good Play

       (Whose modest Sceanes blush on his marriage day,

       And shake to loose his honour) is like hir

       That after holy Tye and first nights stir

       Yet still is Modestie, and still retaines

       More of the maid to sight, than Husbands paines;

       We pray our Play may be so; For I am sure

       It has a noble Breeder, and a pure,

       A learned, and a Poet never went

       More famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent:

       Chaucer (of all admir’d) the Story gives,

       There constant to Eternity it lives.

       If we let fall the Noblenesse of this,

       And the first sound this child heare, be a hisse,

       How will it shake the bones of that good man,

       And make him cry from under ground, ‘O fan

       From me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter

       That blastes my Bayes, and my fam’d workes makes lighter

       Then Robin Hood!’ This is the feare we bring;

       For to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing,

       And too ambitious, to aspire to him,

       Weake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim

       In this deepe water. Do but you hold out

       Your helping hands, and we shall take about,

       And something doe

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