(Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness) Has given a sum of money to her marriage,

A large one I'll assure you.

GAOLER.

And ever bring good news.

FIRST FRIEND.

Ye're a good man,

How was it ended?

SEC. FRIEND. Why, as it should be: they that never begg'd

But they prevail'd, had their suits fairly granted;

The prisoners have their lives.

FIRST FRIEND.

I knew 'twould be so.

SEC. FRIEND. But there be new conditions, which you '11

WOOER. Alas, Sir, where's your daughter?

When did she sleep?

FIRST FRIEND.

These are strange questions.

GAOLER. I do not think she was very well; for, now

You make me mind her, but this very day

I ask'd her questions, and she answer'd me
So far from what she was, so childishly,

So sillily, as if she were a fool,

An innocent; and I was very angry.

But what of her, Sir?

WOOER.

Nothing but my pity:

But you must know it, and as good by me

As by another that less loves her.

GAOLER.

FIRST FRIEND. Not right?

Well, Sir?

40

ACT IV
Sc. I

I half suspected

WOOER. Believe, you'll find it so.
GAOLER.

What you have told me: the Gods comfort her!

Either this was her love to Palamon,

Or fear of my miscarrying on his scape,

Or both,

WOOER.

GAOLER.

"Tis likely.

But why all this haste, Sir?

WOOER. I'll tell you quickly. As I late was angling
In the great lake that lies behind the palace,

From the far shore, thick set with reeds and sedges,
As patiently I was attending sport,

I heard a voice, a shrill one; and attentive

I gave my ear; when I might well perceive
'Twas one that sung, and, by the smallness of it,
A boy or woman. I then left my angle

To his own skill, came near, but yet perceiv'd not
Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds
Had so encompass'd it: I laid me down,
And listen'd to the words she sung; for then,

Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,

I saw it was your daughter.

GAOLER.

Pray, go on, Sir.

50

60

WOOER. She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her

Repeat this often, Palamon is gone,

Is gone to the wood to gather mulberries;

I'll find him out to-morrow.

FIRST FRIEND.

Pretty Soul!

WOOER. His shackles will betray him, he'll be taken;
And what shall I do then? I'll bring a bevy,
A hundred black-ey'd maids that love as I do,
With chaplets on their heads of daffodillies,
With cherry lips, and cheeks of damask roses,
And all we'll dance an antic 'fore the Duke,
And beg his pardon. Then she talk'd of you,
That you must lose your head to-morrow morning,

Sir;

70

And she must gather flowers to bury you,

And see the house made handsome. Then she sung
Nothing but Willow, willow, willow; and between
Ever was Palamon, fair Palamon,

And Palamon was a tall young man. The place
Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses
A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colours;
That methought she appear'd like the fair nymph
That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropt down from Heaven. Rings she made
Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
The prettiest posies: Thus our true love's tied;
This you may loose, not me; and many a one:
And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh'd,

And with the same breath smil'd, and kiss'd her hand.
SEC. FRIEND. Alas, what pity 'tis !

WOOER.

I made in to her:

80

90

She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav'd her,

And set her safe to land: when presently

She slipt away, and to the City made,

With such a cry, and swiftness, that, believe me,

She left me far behind her. Three or four

I saw from far off cross her, one of 'em

I knew to be your brother; where she stay'd,

And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her,
And hither came to tell you. Here they are.

Enter Gaoler's Brother, Daughter, and others.

100

DAUGH. [sings.] May you never more enjoy the light, etc.
Is not this a fine song?

BROTH.

O, a very fine one!

I think you can.

DAUGH. I can sing twenty more.
BROTH.

DAUGH. Yes, truly, can I; I can sing The Broom

And Bonny Robin. Are not you a tailor? BROTH. Yes.

DAUGH.

BROTH.

Where's my wedding-gown?

I'll bring 't to-morrow.

DAUGH. Do, very yarely;1 I must be abroad else,

1 speedily.

ACT IV
Sc. I

ACT IV

Sc. I

To call the maids and pay the minstrels ;
For I must lose my maidenhead by cock-light;
"Twill never thrive else.

[sings.]

O Fair, O Sweet, etc.

"Tis true.

BROTH. You must even take it patiently.

GAOLER.

DAUGH. Good even, good Men. Pray, did you ever hear

Of one young Palamon?

GAOLER.

Yes, Wench, we know him.

"Tis love!

DAUGH. Is 't not a fine young gentleman?

GAOLER.

BROTH. By no mean cross her; she is then distemper'd

Far worse than now she shews.

FIRST FRIEND.

Yes, he's a fine man.

Yes.

DAUGH. O, is he so? You have a sister?
FIRST FRIEND.
DAUGH. But she shall never have him, tell her so,
For a trick that I know: y' had best look to her,
For, if she see him once, she's gone; she's done,
And undone in an hour. All the young maids

120

Of our town are in love with him: but I laugh at 'em,
And let 'em all alone; is 't not a wise course?

FIRST FRIEND. Yes.

DAUGH. There is at least two hundred now with child

by him

There must be four; yet I keep close for all this,

Close as a cockle; and all these must be boys

(He has the trick on 't); and at ten years old

They must be all gelt for musicians,

And sing the wars of Theseus.

SEC. FRIEND.

This is strange.

No.

DAUGH. As ever you heard; but say nothing.

FIRST FRIEND.

130

DAUGH. They come from all parts of the dukedom to

him;

I'll warrant ye, he had not so few last night

As twenty to dispatch; he'll tickle 't up

In two hours, if his hand be in.

GAOLER.

Past all cure.

She's lost,

BROTH. Heaven forbid, Man!

DAUGH. Come hither; you're a wise man.

FIRST FRIEND.

SEC. FRIEND. No; would she did!

140 ACT IV Sc. I

Does she know him?

And now direct your course to the wood, where Palamon
Lies longing for me; for the tackling

Let me alone: come, weigh, my Hearts, cheerly!
ALL. Owgh, owgh, owgh! 'tis up, the wind is fair:
Top the bolin; out with the main-sail :

Where's your whistle, Master?

[sings.] When Cynthia with her borrow'd light, etc.

[exeunt.

SCENE II. The Same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter EMILIA with two pictures.

EMI. Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open
And bleed to death for my sake else. I'll choose,
And end their strife: two such young
handsome men
Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers,
Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons,
Shall never curse my cruelty. Good Heaven,
What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise Nature,
With all her best endowments, all those beauties
She sows into the births of noble bodies,
Were here a mortal woman, and had in her
The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless

ΤΟ