Out with the mainsail. Where’s your whistle, master?

JAILER’S BROTHER Let’s get her in.

JAILER

Up to the top, boy!

JAILER’S BROTHER

Where’s the pilot?

FIRST FRIEND

Here.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

What kenn’st thou?

SECOND FRIEND

A fair wood.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER

Bear for it, master.

Tack about!

(Sings) ‘When Cynthia with her borrowed light ...’

Exeunt

4.2 ⌈Enter Emilia, with two pictures⌉

EMILIA

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 Arcitel 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

She would run mad for this man. What an eye,

Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness

Has this young prince! Here love himself sits smiling!

Just such another wanton Ganymede

Set Jove afire once, and enforced the god

Snatch up the goodly boy and set him by him,

A shining constellation. What a brow,

Of what a spacious majesty, he carries!

Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter,

Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and honour,

Methinks, from hence, as from a promontory

Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings and sing

To all the under world the loves and fights

Of gods, and such men near ’em. Palamon

Is but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow;

He’s swart and meagre, of an eye as heavy

As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,

No stirring in him, no alacrity,

Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile.

Yet these that we count errors may become him:

Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.

O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?

I am a fool, my reason is lost in me,

I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly

That women ought to beat me. On my knees

I ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art alone

And only beautiful, and these the eyes,

These the bright lamps of beauty, that command

And threaten love—and what young maid dare cross

’em?

What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,

Has this brown manly face? O, love, this only

From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite,

Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,

And this the noble body. I am sotted,

Utterly lost—my virgin’s faith has fled me.

For if my brother, but even now, had asked me

Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite;

Now if my sister, more for Palamon.

Stand both together. Now come ask me, brother—

Alas, I know not; ask me now, sweet sister—

I may go look. What a mere child is fancy,

That having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,

Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!

⌈Enter a Gentlemanl⌉

How now, sir?

GENTLEMAN

From the noble Duke your brother,

Madam, I bring you news. The knights are come.

EMILIA

To end the quarrel?

GENTLEMAN

Yes.

EMILIA

Would I might end first!

What sins have I committed, chaste Diana,

That my unspotted youth must now be soiled

With blood of princes, and my chastity

Be made the altar where the lives of lovers—

Two greater and two better never yet

Made mothers joy—must be the sacrifice

To my unhappy beauty?

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, and attendants

THESEUS

Bring ’em in

Quickly, by any means, I long to see ’em.

Exit one or more

(To Emilia) Your two contending lovers are returned,

And with them their fair knights. Now, my fair sister,

You must love one of them.

EMILIA

I had rather both,

So neither for my sake should fall untimely.

Enter a Messenger

THESEUS

Who saw ’em?

PIRITHOUS

I a while.

GENTLEMAN

And I.

THESEUS (to the Messenger)

From whence come you, sir?

MESSENGER

From the knights.

THESEUS

Pray speak,

You that have seen them, what they are.

MESSENGER

I will, sir,

And truly what I think. Six braver spirits

Than these they have brought, if we judge by the

outside,

I never saw nor read of. He that stands

In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,

Should be a stout man; by his face, a prince.

His very looks so say him: his complexion,

Nearer a brown than black, stern and yet noble,

Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers.

The circles of his eyes show fire within him,

And, as a heated lion, so he looks.

His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining,

Like ravens’ wings. His shoulders, broad and strong;