William Shakespeare - Ultimate Collection: Complete Plays & Poetry in One Volume. William Shakespeare
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Far worse then now she showes.
1. FRIEND.
Yes, he’s a fine man.
DAUGHTER.
O, is he so? you have a Sister?
1. FRIEND.
Yes.
DAUGHTER.
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. FRIEND.
Yes.
DAUGHTER.
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. FRIEND.
This is strange.
DAUGHTER.
As ever you heard, but say nothing.
1. FRIEND.
No.
DAUGHTER.
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.
IAILOR.
She’s lost
Past all cure.
BROTHER.
Heaven forbid, man.
DAUGHTER.
Come hither, you are a wise man.
1. FRIEND.
Do’s she know him?
2. FRIEND.
No, would she did.
DAUGHTER.
You are master of a Ship?
IAILOR.
Yes.
DAUGHTER.
Wher’s your Compasse?
IAILOR.
Heere.
DAUGHTER.
Set it too’th North.
And now direct your course 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?
BROTHER.
Lets get her in.
IAILOR.
Vp to the top, Boy.
BROTHER.
Wher’s the Pilot?
1. FRIEND.
Heere.
DAUGHTER.
What ken’st thou?
2. FRIEND.
A faire wood.
DAUGHTER.
Beare for it, master: take about! [Singes.]
When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.]
Scaena 2. (A Room in the Palace.)
[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 Jove 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.