SCENE I. Athens. Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana

Flourish. Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta and Attendants.

THESEUS. Now let ’em enter and before the gods Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense To those above us. Let no due be wanting. They have a noble work in hand, will honour The very powers that love ’em.

PIRITHOUS. Sir, they enter.

Enter Palamon and Arcite and their Knights.

THESEUS. You valiant and strong-hearted enemies, You royal german foes, that this day come To blow that nearness out that flames between ye, Lay by your anger for an hour and, dove-like, Before the holy altars of your helpers, The all-feared gods, bow down your stubborn bodies. Your ire is more than mortal; so your help be; And, as the gods regard ye, fight with justice. I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye I part my wishes.

PIRITHOUS. Honour crown the worthiest.

[ Exeunt Theseus and his Train. ]

PALAMON. The glass is running now that cannot finish Till one of us expire. Think you but thus, That were there aught in me which strove to show Mine enemy in this business, were ’t one eye Against another, arm oppressed by arm, I would destroy th’ offender, coz, I would Though parcel of myself. Then from this gather How I should tender you.

ARCITE. I am in labour To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred Out of my memory, and i’ th’ selfsame place To seat something I would confound. So hoist we The sails that must these vessels port even where The heavenly limiter pleases.

PALAMON. You speak well. Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin. This I shall never do again.

ARCITE. One farewell.

PALAMON. Why, let it be so. Farewell, coz.

ARCITE. Farewell, sir.

[ Exeunt Palamon and his Knights. ]

Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices, True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you Expels the seeds of fear and th’ apprehension Which still is father of it, go with me Before the god of our profession. There Require of him the hearts of lions and The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too, Yea, the speed also—to go on, I mean; Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize Must be dragged out of blood; force and great feat Must put my garland on, where she sticks, The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then, Must be to him that makes the camp a cistern Brimmed with the blood of men. Give me your aid, And bend your spirits towards him.

[ They advance to the altar of Mars, fall on their faces before it, and then kneel. ]

Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turned Green Neptune into purple; whose approach Comets prewarn, whose havoc in vast field Unearthed skulls proclaim; whose breath blows down The teeming Ceres’ foison, who dost pluck With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds The masoned turrets, that both mak’st and break’st The stony girths of cities; me thy pupil, Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day With military skill, that to thy laud I may advance my streamer, and by thee Be styled the lord o’ th’ day. Give me, great Mars, Some token of thy pleasure.

[ Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard clanging of armour, with a short thunder, as the burst of a battle, whereupon they all rise and bow to the altar. ]

O, great corrector of enormous times, Shaker of o’er-rank states, thou grand decider Of dusty and old titles, that heal’st with blood The earth when it is sick, and cur’st the world O’ th’ pleurisy of people; I do take Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name To my design march boldly.—Let us go.

[ Exeunt. ]

Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.

PALAMON. Our stars must glister with new fire, or be Today extinct. Our argument is love, Which, if the goddess of it grant, she gives Victory too. Then blend your spirits with mine, You whose free nobleness do make my cause Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus Commend we our proceeding, and implore Her power unto our party.

[ Here they kneel as formerly. ]

Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage And weep unto a girl; that hast the might Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars’s drum And turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst make A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him Before Apollo; that mayst force the king To be his subject’s vassal, and induce Stale gravity to dance. The polled bachelor, Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires, Have skipped thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch, And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat, Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power Hast thou not power upon? To Phœbus thou Add’st flames hotter than his; the heavenly fires Did scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress, All moist and cold, some say, began to throw Her bow away and sigh. Take to thy grace Me, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yoke As ’twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier Than lead itself, stings more than nettles. I have never been foul-mouthed against thy law, Ne’er revealed secret, for I knew none—would not, Had I kenned all that were. I never practised Upon man’s wife, nor would the libels read Of liberal wits. I never at great feasts Sought to betray a beauty, but have blushed At simpering sirs that did. I have been harsh To large confessors, and have hotly asked them If they had mothers—I had one, a woman, And women ’twere they wronged. I knew a man Of eighty winters, this I told them, who A lass of fourteen brided; ’twas thy power To put life into dust. The aged cramp Had screwed his square foot round; The gout had knit his fingers into knots, Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life In him seemed torture. This anatomy Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I Believed it was his, for she swore it was, And who would not believe her? Brief, I am To those that prate and have done, no companion; To those that boast and have not, a defier; To those that would and cannot, a rejoicer. Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices The foulest way, nor names concealments in The boldest language. Such a one I am, And vow that lover never yet made sigh Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess, Give me the victory of this question, which Is true love’s merit, and bless me with a sign Of thy great pleasure.

[ Here music is heard; doves are seen to flutter. They fall again upon their faces, then on their knees. ]

O thou that from eleven to ninety reign’st In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks For this fair token, which being laid unto Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance My body to this business.—Let us rise And bow before the goddess.

[ They rise and bow. ]

Time comes on.

[ Exeunt. ]

Still music of recorders. Enter Emilia in white, her hair about her shoulders, wearing a wheaten wreath. One in white holding up her train, her hair stuck with flowers. One before her carrying a silver hind, in which is conveyed incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the altar of Diana, her maids standing aloof, she sets fire to it; then they curtsy and kneel.

EMILIA. O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen, Abandoner of revels, mute contemplative, Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure As wind-fanned snow, who to thy female knights Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush, Which is their order’s robe, I here, thy priest, Am humbled ’fore thine altar. O, vouchsafe With that thy rare green eye, which never yet Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin; And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear, Which ne’er heard scurrile term, into whose port Ne’er entered wanton sound, to my petition, Seasoned with holy fear. This is my last Of vestal office. I am bride-habited But maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed, But do not know him. Out of two I should Choose one, and pray for his success, but I Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes, Were I to lose one, they are equal precious; I could doom neither; that which perished should Go to ’t unsentenced. Therefore, most modest queen, He of the two pretenders that best loves me And has the truest title in ’t, let him Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant The file and quality I hold I may Continue in thy band.

[ Here the hind vanishes under the altar, and in the place ascends a rose tree, having one rose upon it. ]

See what our general of ebbs and flows Out from the bowels of her holy altar With sacred act advances: but one rose! If well inspired, this battle shall confound Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flower, Must grow alone, unplucked.

[ Here is heard a sudden twang of instruments, and the rose falls from the tree. ]

The flower is fall’n, the tree descends. O mistress, Thou here dischargest me. I shall be gathered; I think so, but I know not thine own will. Unclasp thy mystery!—I hope she’s pleased; Her signs were gracious.

[ They curtsy and exeunt. ]