The Two Noble Kinsmen

Enter three Queens, in black, with veils stained, and wearing imperial crowns. The First Queen falls down at the foot of Theseus; the Second falls down at the foot of Hippolyta; the Third before Emilia.

First Queen

For pity’s sake and true gentility’s, Hear, and respect me!

Second Queen

For your mother’s sake, And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones, Hear, and respect me!

Third Queen

Now, for the love of him whom Jove hath mark’d The honour of your bed, and for the sake Of clear virginity, be advocate For us and our distresses! This good deed Shall raze you out o’ the book of trespasses All you are set down there.

Theseus

Sad lady, rise.

Hippolyta

Stand up.

Emilia

No knees to me: What woman I may stead that is distress’d, Does bind me to her.

Theseus

What’s your request? deliver you for all.

First Queen

We are three queens, whose sovereigns fell before The wrath of cruel Creon; who endure The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites, And pecks of crows, in the foul fields of Thebes: He will not suffer us to burn their bones, To urn their ashes, nor to take th’ offence Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds With stench of our slain lords. O, pity, duke! Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear’d sword That does good turns to the world; give us the bones Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them; And,

Arcite

I believe it; And to that destiny have patiently Laid up my hour to come.

Palamon

O, cousin Arcite, Where is Thebes now? where is our noble country? Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more Must we behold those comforts; never see The hardy youths strive for the games of honour, Hung with the painted favours of their ladies, Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst ’em, And, as an east wind, leave ’em all behind us Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite, Even in the wagging of a wanton leg, Outstripp’d the people’s praises, won the garlands, Ere they have time to wish ’em ours. O, never Shall we two exercise, like twins of honour, Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses Like proud seas under us! Our good swords now⁠— Better the red-ey’d god of war ne’er wore⁠— Ravish’d our sides, like age, must run to rust, And deck the temples of those gods that hate us; These hands shall never draw ’em out like lightning, To blast whole armies, more!

Arcite

No, Palamon, Those hopes are prisoners with us: here we are, And here the graces of our youths must wither, Like a too-timely spring; here age must find us, And, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried; The sweet embraces of a loving wife, Loaden with kisses, arm’d with thousand Cupids, Shall never clasp our necks; no issue know us, No figures of ourselves shall we e’er see, To glad our age, and like young eagles teach ’em Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say “Remember what your fathers were, and conquer!”

Palamon

You shall not love at all.

Arcite

Not love at all! who shall deny me?

Palamon

I, that first saw her; I, that took possession First with mine eye of all those beauties in her Reveal’d to mankind. If thou lovest her, Or entertain’st a hope to blast my wishes, Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow False as thy title to her: friendship, blood, And all the ties between us, I disclaim, If thou once think upon her!

Arcite

Yes, I love her; And if the lives of all my name lay on it, I must do so; I love her with my soul. If that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon! I say again, I love; and, in loving her, maintain I am as worthy and as free a lover, And have as just a title to her beauty, As any Palamon, or any living That is a man’s son.

Why should I love this gentleman? ’tis odds He never will affect me: I am base, My father the mean keeper of his prison, And he a prince: to marry him is hopeless, To be his whore is witless. Out upon’t! What pushes are we wenches driven to, When fifteen once has found us! First, I saw him; I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man; He has as much to please a woman in him⁠— If he please to bestow it so⁠—as ever These eyes yet look’d on: next I pitied him; And so would any young wench, o’ my conscience, That ever dream’d, or vow’d her maidenhead To a young handsome man: then I lov’d him, Extremely lov’d him, infinitely lov’d him; And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too; But in my heart was Palamon, and there, Lord, what a coil he keeps! To hear him Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is! And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken Was never gentleman: when I come in To bring him water in a morning, first He bows his noble body, then salutes me thus, “Fair, gentle maid, good morrow: may thy goodness Get thee a happy husband!” Once he kiss’d me; I lov’d my lips the better ten days after: Would he would do so every day! He grieves much, And me as much to see his misery: What should I do, to make him know I love him? For I would fain enjoy him say I ventur’d To set him free? what says the law, then? Thus much For law, or kindred! I will do it; And this night or to-morrow he shall love me. Exit.

Enter Palamon out of a bush, with his shackles: he bends his fist at Arcite.

Palamon

Traitor kinsman! Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signs Of prisonment were off me, and this hand But owner of a sword. By all oaths in one, I, and the justice of my love, would make thee A confess’d traitor! O thou most perfidious That ever gently look’d! the void’st of honour That e’er bore gentle token! falsest cousin That ever blood made kin! call’st thou her thine? I’ll prove it in my shackles, with these hands Void of appointment, that thou liest, and art A very thief in love, a chaffy lord, Nor worth the name of villain! Had I a sword, And these house-clogs away⁠—

Arcite

Dear cousin Palamon⁠—

Palamon

Cozener Arcite, give me language such As thou hast show’d me feat!

Arcite

Not finding in The circuit of my breast any gross stuff To form me like your blazon, holds me to This gentleness of answer: ’tis your passion That thus mistakes; the which, to you being enemy, Cannot to me be kind. Honour and honesty I cherish and depend on, howsoe’er You skip them in me; and with them, fair coz, I’ll maintain my proceedings. Pray, be pleas’d To show in generous terms your griefs, since that Your question’s with your equal, who professes To clear his own way with the mind and sword Of a true gentleman.