The only star to shine.
EMILIA
I am extinct.
There is but envy in that light which shows
The one the other. Darkness, which ever was
The dam of horror, who does stand accursed
Of many mortal millions, may even now,
By casting her black mantle over both,
That neither could find other, get herself
Some part of a good name, and many a murder
Set off whereto she’s guilty.
HIPPOLYTA
You must go.
EMILIA
In faith, I will not.
THESEUS
Why, the knights must kindle
Their valour at your eye. Know, of this war
You are the treasure, and must needs be by
To give the service pay.
EMILIA
Sir, pardon me—
The title of a kingdom may be tried
Out of itself.
THESEUS
Well, well—then at your pleasure.
Those that remain with you could wish their office
To any of their enemies.
HIPPOLYTA
Farewell, sister. I am like to know your husband fore yourself,
By some small start of time. He whom the gods
Do of the two know best, I pray them he
Be made your lot.
Exeunt all but Emilia
⌈Emilia takes out two pictures, one from her right side, and one from her left⌉
EMILIA
Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eye
Is like an engine bent or a sharp weapon
In a soft sheath. Mercy and manly courage
Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon
Has a most menacing aspect. His brow
Is graved and seems to bury what it frowns on,
Yet sometime ’tis not so, but alters to
The quality of his thoughts. Long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object. Melancholy
Becomes him nobly—so does Arcite’s mirth.
But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth,
So mingled as if mirth did make him sad
And sadness merry. Those darker humours that
Stick misbecomingly on others, on them
Live in fair dwelling.
Cornetts. Trumpets sound as to a charge
Hark, how yon spurs to spirit do incite
The princes to their proof. Arcite may win me,
And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to
The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity
Enough for such a chance! If I were by
I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes
Toward my seat, and in that motion might
Omit a ward or forfeit an offence
Which craved that very time. It is much better
Cornetts. A great cry and noise within, crying, ‘A Palamon’
I am not there. O better never born,
Than minister to such harm.
Enter Servant
What is the chance?
SERVANT The cry’s ‘A Palamon’.
EMILIA
Then he has won. ’Twas ever likely—
He looked all grace and success, and he is
Doubtless the prim’st of men. I prithee run
And tell me how it goes.
Shout and cornetts, crying, ‘A Palamon’
SERVANT
Still ‘Palamon’.
EMILIA
Run and enquire.
Exit Servant
⌈She speaks to the picture in her right hand⌉
Poor servant, thou hast lost.
Upon my right side still I wore thy picture,
Palamon’s on the left. Why so, I know not.
I had no end in’t, else chance would have it so.
Another cry and shout within and cornetts
On the sinister side the heart lies—Palamon
Had the best-boding chance. This burst of clamour
Is sure the end o’th’ combat.
Enter Servant
SERVANT
They said that Palamon had Arcite’s body
Within an inch o‘th’ pyramid—that the cry
Was general ‘A Palamon’. But anon
Th’assistants made a brave redemption, and
The two bold titlers at this instant are
Hand to hand at it.
EMILIA
Were they metamorphosed
Both into one! O why? There were no woman
Worth so composed a man: their single share,
Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives
The prejudice of disparity, value’s shortness,
To any lady breathing—
Cornetts. Cry within, ‘Arcite, Arcite’
More exulting?
‘Palamon’ still?
SERVANT
Nay, now the sound is ‘Arcite’.
EMILIA
I prithee, lay attention to the cry.
Cornetts. A great shout and cry, ‘Arcite, victory!’
Set both thine ears to th’ business.
SERVANT
The cry is
‘Arcite’ and ‘Victory’—hark, ‘Arcite, victory!’
The combat’s consummation is proclaimed
By the wind instruments.
EMILIA
Half sights saw
That Arcite was no babe. God’s lid, his richness
And costliness of spirit looked through him—it could
No more be hid in him than fire in flax,
Than humble banks can go to law with waters
That drift winds force to raging. I did think
Good Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew not
Why I did think so. Our reasons are not prophets
When oft our fancies are. They are coming off—
Alas, poor Palamon.
Cornetts. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous,
Arcite as victor, and attendants
THESEUS
Lo, where our sister is in expectation,
Yet quaking and unsettled. Fairest Emily,
The gods by their divine arbitrament