Armed long and round; and on his thigh a sword

Hung by a curious baldric, when he frowns

To seal his will with. Better, o’ my conscience,

Was never soldier’s friend.

THESEUS Thou hast well described him.

PIRITHOUS

Yet a great deal short,

Methinks, of him that’s first with Palamon.

THESEUS

Pray speak him, friend.

PIRITHOUS

I guess he is a prince too,

And, if it may be, greater—for his show

Has all the ornament of honour in’t.

He’s somewhat bigger than the knight he spoke of,

But of a face far sweeter. His complexion

Is as a ripe grape, ruddy. He has felt,

Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter

To make this cause his own. In’s face appears

All the fair hopes of what he undertakes,

And when he’s angry, then a settled valour,

Not tainted with extremes, runs through his body

And guides his arm to brave things. Fear he cannot—

He shows no such soft temper. His head’s yellow,

Hard-haired and curled, thick twined: like ivy tods,

Not to undo with thunder. In his face

The livery of the warlike maid appears,

Pure red and white—for yet no beard has blessed

him—

And in his rolling eyes sits victory,

As if she ever meant to court his valour.

His nose stands high, a character of honour;

His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies.

EMILIA

Must these men die too?

PIRITHOUS

When he speaks, his tongue

Sounds like a trumpet. All his lineaments

Are as a man would wish ’em—strong and clean.

He wears a well-steeled axe, the staff of gold.

His age, some five-and-twenty.

MESSENGER

There’s another—

A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming

As great as any. Fairer promises

In such a body yet I never looked on.

PIRITHOUS

O, he that’s freckle-faced?

MESSENGER

The same, my lord.

Are they not sweet ones?

PIRITHOUS

Yes, they are well.

MESSENGER

Methinks,

Being so few and well disposed, they show

Great and fine art in nature. He’s white-haired—

Not wanton white, but such a manly colour

Next to an auburn, tough and nimble set,

Which shows an active soul. His arms are brawny,

Lined with strong sinews—to the shoulder piece

Gently they swell, like women new-conceived,

Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting

Under the weight of arms; stout-hearted, still,

But when he stirs, a tiger. He’s grey-eyed,

Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharp

To spy advantages, and where he finds ’em,

He’s swift to make ’em his. He does no wrongs,

Nor takes none. He’s round-faced, and when he smiles

He shows a lover; when he frowns, a soldier.

About his head he wears the winner’s oak,

And in it stuck the favour of his lady.

His age, some six-and-thirty. In his hand

He bears a charging staff embossed with silver.

THESEUS

Are they all thus?

PIRITHOUS

They are all the sons of honour.

THESEUS

Now as I have a soul, I long to see ’em.

(To Hippolyta) Lady, you shall see men fight now.

HIPPOLYTA

I Wish it,

But not the cause, my lord. They would show

Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms—

’Tis pity love should be so tyrannous.

(To Emilia) O my soft-hearted sister, what think you?

Weep not till they weep blood. Wench, it must be.

THESEUS (to Emilia)

You have steeled ’em with your beauty.

(To Pirithous)

Honoured friend, To you I give the field: pray order it

Fitting the persons that must use it.

PIRITHOUS

Yes, sir.

THESEUS

Come, I’ll go visit ’em—I cannot stay,

Their fame has fired me so. Till they appear,

Good friend, be royal.

PIRITHOUS There shall want no bravery.

EMILIA ⌈aside⌉

Poor wench, go weep—for whosoever wins

Loses a noble cousin for thy sins.

Exeunt

4.3 Enter the Jailer, the Wooer, and the Doctor

DOCTOR Her distraction is more at some time of the moon than at other some, is it not?

JAILER She is continually in a harmless distemper: sleeps little; altogether without appetite, save often drinking; dreaming of another world, and a better; and what broken piece of matter soe’er she’s about, the name ’Palamon’ lards it, that she farces every business

Enter the Jailer’s Daughter

withal, fits it to every question. Look where she comes—you shall perceive her behaviour.

They stand apart

JAILER’S DAUGHTER I have forgot it quite—the burden on’t was ‘Down-a, down-a’, and penned by no worse man than Giraldo, Emilia’s schoolmaster. He’s as fantastical, too, as ever he may go upon’s legs—for in the next world will Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Aeneas.

DOCTOR What stuff’s here? Poor soul.

JAILER E’en thus all day long.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER Now for this charm that I told you of—you must bring a piece of silver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your chance to come where the blessed spirits are—there’s a sight now! We maids that have our livers perished, cracked to pieces with love, we shall come there and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with Proserpine. Then will I make Palamon a nosegay, then let him mark me, then—

DOCTOR How prettily she’s amiss! Note her a little further.

JAILER’S DAUGHTER Faith, I’ll tell you: sometime we go to barley-break, we of the blessed. Alas, ’tis a sore life they have i’th’ other place—such burning, frying, boiling, hissing, howling, chattering, cursing—O they have shrewd measure—take heed! If one be mad or hang or drown themselves, thither they go, Jupiter bless us, and there shall we be put in a cauldron of lead and usurers’ grease, amongst a whole million of cutpurses, and there boil like a gammon of bacon that will never be enough.