Of our dead kings that we may chapel them;

And of thy boundless goodness take some note

That for our crowned heads we have no roof,

Save this, which is the lion’s and the bear’s,

And vault to everything.

THESEUS

Pray you, kneel not: I was transported with your speech, and suffered

Your knees to wrong themselves. I have heard the

fortunes

Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting

As wakes my vengeance and revenge for ’em.

King Capaneus was your lord: the day

That he should marry you—at such a season

As now it is with me—I met your groom

By Mars’s altar. You were that time fair,

Not Juno’s mantle fairer than your tresses,

Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreath

Was then nor threshed nor blasted; fortune at you 6

Dimpled her cheek with smiles; Hercules our

kinsman—

Then weaker than your eyes—laid by his club.

He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide

And swore his sinews thawed. O grief and time,

Fearful consumers, you will all devour.

FIRST QUEEN ⌈kneeling still⌉

O, I hope some god, Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood,

Whereto he’ll infuse power and press you forth

Our undertaker.

THESEUS

O no knees, none, widow:

⌈The First Queen rises⌉

Unto the helmeted Bellona use them

And pray for me, your soldier. Troubled I am.

He turns away

SECOND QUEEN ⌈kneeling still⌉

Honoured Hippolyta, Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain

The scythe-tusked boar, that with thy arm, as strong

As it is white, wast near to make the male

To thy sex captive, but that this, thy lord—

Born to uphold creation in that honour

First nature styled it in—shrunk thee into

The bound thou wast o‘erflowing, at once subduing

Thy force and thy affection; soldieress,

That equally canst poise sternness with pity,

Whom now I know hast much more power on him

Than ever he had on thee, who ow’st his strength,

And his love too, who is a servant for

The tenor of thy speech; dear glass of ladies,

Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch,

Under the shadow of his sword may cool us.

Require him he advance it o‘er our heads.

Speak’t in a woman’s key, like such a woman

As any of us three. Weep ere you fail.

Lend us a knee:

But touch the ground for us no longer time

Than a dove’s motion when the head’s plucked off.

Tell him, if he i’th’ blood-sized field lay swoll’n,

Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon,

What you would do.

HIPPOLYTA

Poor lady, say no more.

I had as lief trace this good action with you

As that whereto I am going, and never yet

Went I so willing way. My lord is taken

Heart-deep with your distress. Let him consider.

I’ll speak anon.

⌈The Second Queen rises⌉

THIRD QUEEN (kneeling ⌈still⌉ to Emilia)

O, my petition was

Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied

Melts into drops; so sorrow, wanting form,

Is pressed with deeper matter.

EMILIA

Pray stand up:

Your grief is written in your cheek.

THIRD QUEEN

O woe,

You cannot read it there; there, through my tears,

Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream,

You may behold ’em.

⌈The Third Queen rises⌉

Lady, lady, alack—

He that will all the treasure know o’th’ earth

Must know the centre too; he that will fish

For my least minnow, let him lead his line

To catch one at my heart. O, pardon me:

Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits,

Makes me a fool.

EMILIA

Pray you, say nothing, pray you.

Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in’t,

Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were

The ground-piece of some painter, I would buy you

T’instruct me ’gainst a capital grief, indeed

Such heart-pierced demonstration; but, alas,

Being a natural sister of our sex,

Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me

That it shall make a counter-reflect ’gainst

My brother’s heart, and warm it to some pity,

Though it were made of stone. Pray have good

comfort.

THESEUS

Forward to th’ temple. Leave not out a jot

O’th’ sacred ceremony.

FIRST QUEEN

O, this celebration

Will longer last and be more costly than

Your suppliants’ war. Remember that your fame

Knolls in the ear o’th’ world: what you do quickly

Is not done rashly; your first thought is more

Than others’ laboured meditance; your premeditating

More than their actions. But, O Jove, your actions,

Soon as they move, as ospreys do the fish,

Subdue before they touch. Think, dear Duke, think

What beds our slain kings have.

SECOND QUEEN

What griefs our beds,

That our dear lords have none.

THIRD QUEEN

None fit for th’ dead.

Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance,

Weary of this world’s light, have to themselves