SCENE VI. The same part of the forest as in scene III.

Enter Palamon from the bush.

PALAMON. About this hour my cousin gave his faith To visit me again, and with him bring Two swords and two good armours. If he fail, He’s neither man nor soldier. When he left me, I did not think a week could have restored My lost strength to me, I was grown so low And crestfall’n with my wants. I thank thee, Arcite, Thou art yet a fair foe, and I feel myself, With this refreshing, able once again To outdure danger. To delay it longer Would make the world think, when it comes to hearing, That I lay fatting like a swine to fight And not a soldier. Therefore, this blest morning Shall be the last; and that sword he refuses, If it but hold, I kill him with. ’Tis justice. So, love and fortune for me!

Enter Arcite with armours and swords.

O, good morrow.

ARCITE. Good morrow, noble kinsman.

PALAMON. I have put you To too much pains, sir.

ARCITE. That too much, fair cousin, Is but a debt to honour, and my duty.

PALAMON. Would you were so in all, sir; I could wish ye As kind a kinsman as you force me find A beneficial foe, that my embraces Might thank ye, not my blows.

ARCITE. I shall think either, Well done, a noble recompence.

PALAMON. Then I shall quit you.

ARCITE. Defy me in these fair terms, and you show More than a mistress to me. No more anger, As you love anything that’s honourable! We were not bred to talk, man; when we are armed And both upon our guards, then let our fury, Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us; And then to whom the birthright of this beauty Truly pertains—without upbraidings, scorns, Despisings of our persons, and such poutings, Fitter for girls and schoolboys—will be seen, And quickly, yours or mine. Will ’t please you arm, sir? Or, if you feel yourself not fitting yet And furnished with your old strength, I’ll stay, cousin, And every day discourse you into health, As I am spared. Your person I am friends with, And I could wish I had not said I loved her, Though I had died; but, loving such a lady, And justifying my love, I must not fly from ’t.

PALAMON. Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy, That no man but thy cousin’s fit to kill thee. I am well and lusty; choose your arms.

ARCITE. Choose you, sir.

PALAMON. Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it To make me spare thee?

ARCITE. If you think so, cousin, You are deceived, for as I am a soldier, I will not spare you.

PALAMON. That’s well said.

ARCITE. You’ll find it.

PALAMON. Then, as I am an honest man and love With all the justice of affection, I’ll pay thee soundly.

[ He chooses armour. ]

This I’ll take.

ARCITE. That’s mine, then. I’ll arm you first.

PALAMON. Do.

[ Arcite begins arming him. ]

Pray thee, tell me, cousin, Where got’st thou this good armour?

ARCITE. ’Tis the Duke’s, And, to say true, I stole it. Do I pinch you?

PALAMON. No.

ARCITE. Is’t not too heavy?

PALAMON. I have worn a lighter, But I shall make it serve.

ARCITE. I’ll buckle ’t close.

PALAMON. By any means.

ARCITE. You care not for a grand guard?

PALAMON. No, no; we’ll use no horses: I perceive You would fain be at that fight.

ARCITE. I am indifferent.

PALAMON. Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle Through far enough.

ARCITE. I warrant you.

PALAMON. My casque now.

ARCITE. Will you fight bare-armed?

PALAMON. We shall be the nimbler.

ARCITE. But use your gauntlets though. Those are o’ th’ least; Prithee take mine, good cousin.

PALAMON. Thank you, Arcite. How do I look? Am I fall’n much away?

ARCITE. Faith, very little; love has used you kindly.

PALAMON. I’ll warrant thee, I’ll strike home.

ARCITE. Do, and spare not. I’ll give you cause, sweet cousin.

PALAMON. Now to you, sir.

[ He begins to arm Arcite . ]

Methinks this armour’s very like that, Arcite, Thou wor’st that day the three kings fell, but lighter.

ARCITE. That was a very good one; and that day, I well remember, you outdid me, cousin; I never saw such valour. When you charged Upon the left wing of the enemy, I spurred hard to come up, and under me I had a right good horse.

PALAMON. You had indeed; A bright bay, I remember.

ARCITE. Yes, but all Was vainly laboured in me; you outwent me, Nor could my wishes reach you. Yet a little I did by imitation.

PALAMON. More by virtue; You are modest, cousin.

ARCITE. When I saw you charge first, Me thought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder Break from the troop.

PALAMON. But still before that flew The lightning of your valour. Stay a little; Is not this piece too strait?

ARCITE. No, no, ’tis well.

PALAMON. I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword. A bruise would be dishonour.

ARCITE. Now I am perfect.

PALAMON. Stand off, then.

ARCITE. Take my sword; I hold it better.

PALAMON. I thank ye, no; keep it; your life lies on it. Here’s one; if it but hold, I ask no more For all my hopes. My cause and honour guard me!

ARCITE. And me my love!

[ They bow several ways, then advance and stand. ]

Is there aught else to say?

PALAMON. This only, and no more. Thou art mine aunt’s son. And that blood we desire to shed is mutual, In me thine, and in thee mine. My sword Is in my hand, and if thou killest me, The gods and I forgive thee. If there be A place prepared for those that sleep in honour, I wish his weary soul that falls may win it. Fight bravely, cousin; give me thy noble hand.

ARCITE. Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more Come near thee with such friendship.

PALAMON. I commend thee.

ARCITE. If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward, For none but such dare die in these just trials. Once more farewell, my cousin.

PALAMON. Farewell, Arcite.

[ They fight. Horns within. They stand .]

ARCITE. Lo, cousin, lo, our folly has undone us.

PALAMON. Why?

ARCITE. This is the Duke, a-hunting, as I told you. If we be found, we are wretched. O, retire, For honour’s sake and safety, presently Into your bush again. Sir, we shall find Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin, If you be seen, you perish instantly For breaking prison and I, if you reveal me, For my contempt. Then all the world will scorn us, And say we had a noble difference, But base disposers of it.

PALAMON. No, no, cousin, I will no more be hidden, nor put off This great adventure to a second trial; I know your cunning and I know your cause. He that faints now, shame take him! Put thyself Upon thy present guard—

ARCITE. You are not mad?

PALAMON. Or I will make th’advantage of this hour Mine own, and what to come shall threaten me I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin, I love Emilia, and in that I’ll bury Thee, and all crosses else.

ARCITE. Then, come what can come, Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well Die, as discourse, or sleep. Only this fears me, The law will have the honour of our ends. Have at thy life!

PALAMON. Look to thine own well, Arcite.

[ They fight. Horns within. They stand. ]

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous and train.

THESEUS. What ignorant and mad malicious traitors Are you, that ’gainst the tenor of my laws Are making battle, thus like knights appointed, Without my leave, and officers of arms? By Castor, both shall die.

PALAMON. Hold thy word, Theseus. We are certainly both traitors, both despisers Of thee and of thy goodness. I am Palamon, That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison. Think well what that deserves. And this is Arcite. A bolder traitor never trod thy ground, A falser ne’er seemed friend. This is the man Was begged and banished; this is he contemns thee And what thou dar’st do; and in this disguise, Against thine own edict, follows thy sister, That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia, Whose servant—if there be a right in seeing And first bequeathing of the soul to—justly I am; and, which is more, dares think her his. This treachery, like a most trusty lover, I called him now to answer. If thou be’st As thou art spoken, great and virtuous, The true decider of all injuries, Say “Fight again,” and thou shalt see me, Theseus, Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy. Then take my life; I’ll woo thee to ’t.

PIRITHOUS. O heaven, What more than man is this!

THESEUS. I have sworn.

ARCITE. We seek not Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. ’Tis to me A thing as soon to die as thee to say it, And no more moved. Where this man calls me traitor, Let me say thus much: if in love be treason, In service of so excellent a beauty, As I love most, and in that faith will perish, As I have brought my life here to confirm it, As I have served her truest, worthiest, As I dare kill this cousin that denies it, So let me be most traitor, and you please me. For scorning thy edict, Duke, ask that lady Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me Stay here to love her; and if she say “traitor,” I am a villain fit to lie unburied.

PALAMON. Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus, If unto neither thou show mercy. Stop, As thou art just, thy noble ear against us; As thou art valiant, for thy cousin’s soul, Whose twelve strong labours crown his memory, Let’s die together at one instant, Duke; Only a little let him fall before me, That I may tell my soul he shall not have her.

THESEUS. I grant your wish, for, to say true, your cousin Has ten times more offended, for I gave him More mercy than you found, sir, your offences Being no more than his. None here speak for ’em, For, ere the sun set, both shall sleep for ever.

HIPPOLYTA. Alas the pity! Now or never, sister, Speak, not to be denied. That face of yours Will bear the curses else of after ages For these lost cousins.

EMILIA. In my face, dear sister, I find no anger to ’em, nor no ruin; The misadventure of their own eyes kill ’em. Yet that I will be woman and have pity, My knees shall grow to’ th’ ground but I’ll get mercy.

[ She kneels. ]

Help me, dear sister; in a deed so virtuous The powers of all women will be with us. Most royal brother—

HIPPOLYTA. [ Kneels. ] Sir, by our tie of marriage—

EMILIA. By your own spotless honour—

HIPPOLYTA. By that faith, That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me—

EMILIA. By that you would have pity in another, By your own virtues infinite—

HIPPOLYTA. By valour, By all the chaste nights I have ever pleased you—

THESEUS. These are strange conjurings.

PIRITHOUS. Nay, then, I’ll in too.

[ Kneels. ]

By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers, By all you love most: wars and this sweet lady—

EMILIA. By that you would have trembled to deny A blushing maid—

HIPPOLYTA. By your own eyes, by strength, In which you swore I went beyond all women, Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus—

PIRITHOUS. To crown all this, by your most noble soul, Which cannot want due mercy, I beg first.

HIPPOLYTA. Next, hear my prayers.

EMILIA. Last, let me entreat, sir.

PIRITHOUS. For mercy.

HIPPOLYTA. Mercy.

EMILIA. Mercy on these princes.

THESEUS. Ye make my faith reel. Say I felt Compassion to’em both, how would you place it?

[ Emilia, Hippolyta and Pirithous rise. ]

EMILIA. Upon their lives. But with their banishments.

THESEUS. You are a right woman, sister: you have pity, But want the understanding where to use it. If you desire their lives, invent a way Safer than banishment. Can these two live, And have the agony of love about ’em, And not kill one another? Every day They’d fight about you, hourly bring your honour In public question with their swords. Be wise, then, And here forget ’em; it concerns your credit And my oath equally. I have said they die. Better they fall by th’ law than one another. Bow not my honour.

EMILIA. O, my noble brother, That oath was rashly made, and in your anger; Your reason will not hold it; if such vows Stand for express will, all the world must perish. Besides, I have another oath ’gainst yours, Of more authority, I am sure more love, Not made in passion neither, but good heed.

THESEUS. What is it, sister?

PIRITHOUS. Urge it home, brave lady.

EMILIA. That you would ne’er deny me anything Fit for my modest suit and your free granting. I tie you to your word now; if ye fail in ’t, Think how you maim your honour— For now I am set a-begging, sir, I am deaf To all but your compassion—how their lives Might breed the ruin of my name. Opinion! Shall anything that loves me perish for me? That were a cruel wisdom. Do men prune The straight young boughs that blush with thousand blossoms Because they may be rotten? O, Duke Theseus, The goodly mothers that have groaned for these, And all the longing maids that ever loved, If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty, And in their funeral songs for these two cousins Despise my cruelty, and cry woe worth me, Till I am nothing but the scorn of women. For heaven’s sake, save their lives, and banish ’em.

THESEUS. On what conditions?

EMILIA. Swear ’em never more To make me their contention, or to know me, To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be, Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers To one another.

PALAMON. I’ll be cut a-pieces Before I take this oath! Forget I love her? O, all ye gods, despise me then! Thy banishment I not mislike, so we may fairly carry Our swords and cause along; else never trifle, But take our lives, Duke. I must love, and will And for that love must and dare kill this cousin On any piece the earth has.

THESEUS. Will you, Arcite, Take these conditions?

PALAMON. He’s a villain, then.

PIRITHOUS. These are men!

ARCITE. No, never, Duke. ’Tis worse to me than begging To take my life so basely. Though I think I never shall enjoy her, yet I’ll preserve The honour of affection, and die for her, Make death a devil.

THESEUS. What may be done? For now I feel compassion.

PIRITHOUS. Let it not fall again, sir.

THESEUS. Say, Emilia, If one of them were dead, as one must, are you Content to take th’ other to your husband? They cannot both enjoy you. They are princes As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble As ever fame yet spoke of. Look upon ’em, And, if you can love, end this difference; I give consent.—Are you content too, princes?

BOTH. With all our souls.

THESEUS. He that she refuses Must die, then.

BOTH. Any death thou canst invent, Duke.

PALAMON. If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour, And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.

ARCITE. If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me, And soldiers sing my epitaph.

THESEUS. Make choice, then.

EMILIA. I cannot, sir, they are both too excellent; For me, a hair shall never fall of these men.

HIPPOLYTA. What will become of ’em?

THESEUS. Thus I ordain it And, by mine honour, once again, it stands, Or both shall die. You shall both to your country, And each within this month, accompanied With three fair knights, appear again in this place, In which I’ll plant a pyramid; and whether, Before us that are here, can force his cousin By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar, He shall enjoy her; th’ other lose his head, And all his friends; nor shall he grudge to fall, Nor think he dies with interest in this lady. Will this content ye?

PALAMON. Yes. Here, cousin Arcite, I am friends again, till that hour.

[ He offers his hand. ]

ARCITE. I embrace ye.

THESEUS. Are you content, sister?

EMILIA. Yes, I must, sir, Else both miscarry.

THESEUS. Come, shake hands again, then; And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel Sleep till the hour prefixed, and hold your course.

PALAMON. We dare not fail thee, Theseus.

[ They shake hands. ]

THESEUS. Come, I’ll give ye Now usage like to princes, and to friends. When ye return, who wins, I’ll settle here; Who loses, yet I’ll weep upon his bier.

[ Exeunt. ]