fare?

PIRITHOUS

Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear

That are most rarely sweet and bitter.

PALAMON

What

Hath waked us from our dream?

PIRITHOUS

List, then: your cousin,

Mounted upon a steed that Emily

Did first bestow on him, a black one owing

Not a hair-worth of white—which some will say

Weakens his price and many will not buy

His goodness with this note; which superstition

Here finds allowance—on this horse is Arcite

Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins

Did rather tell than trample; for the horse

Would make his length a mile, if’t pleased his rider

To put pride in him. As he thus went counting

The flinty pavement, dancing, as ‘twere, to th’ music

His own hooves made—for, as they say, from iron

Came music’s origin—what envious flint,

Cold as old Saturn and like him possessed

With fire malevolent, darted a spark,

Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made,

I comment not—the hot horse, hot as fire,

Took toy at this and fell to what disorder

His power could give his will; bounds; comes on end;

Forgets school-doing, being therein trained

And of kind manège; pig-like he whines

At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather

Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means

Of boist’rous and rough jad’ry to disseat

His lord, that kept it bravely. When naught served,

When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor

diff’ring plunges

Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that

He kept him ‘tween his legs, on his hind hooves—

On end he stands—

That Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head,

Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreath

Even then fell off his head; and presently

Backward the jade comes o’er and his full poise

Becomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living;

But such a vessel ’tis that floats but for

The surge that next approaches. He much desires

To have some speech with you—lo, he appears.

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, and Arcite in a chair borne by attendants

PALAMON

O miserable end of our alliance!

The gods are mighty. Arcite, if thy heart,

Thy worthy manly heart, be yet unbroken,

Give me thy last words. I am Palamon,

One that yet loves thee dying.

ARCITE

Take Emilia,

And with her all the world’s joy. Reach thy hand—

Farewell—I have told my last hour. I was false,

Yet never treacherous. Forgive me, cousin—

One kiss from fair Emilia—(they kiss) ’tis done.

Take her; I die.

He dies

PALAMON

Thy brave soul seek Elysium.

EMILIA (to Arcite’s body)

I’ll close thine eyes, Prince. Blessed souls be with thee.

Thou art a right good man, and, while I live,

This day I give to tears.

PALAMON

And I to honour.

THESEUS

In this place first you fought, e’en very here

I sundered you. Acknowledge to the gods

Our thanks that you are living.

His part is played, and, though it were too short,

He did it well. Your day is lengthened and

The blissful dew of heaven does arrouse you.

The powerful Venus well hath graced her altar,

And given you your love; our master, Mars,

Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gave

The grace of the contention. So the deities

Have showed due justice.—Bear this hence.

⌈Exeunt attendants with Arcite’s body⌉

PALAMON cousin,

That we should things desire which do cost us

The loss of our desire! That naught could buy

Dear love, but loss of dear love!

THESEUS

Never fortune

Did play a subtler game—the conquered triumphs,

The victor has the loss. Yet in the passage

The gods have been most equal. Palamon,

Your kinsman hath confessed the right o’th’ lady

Did lie in you, for you first saw her and

Even then proclaimed your fancy. He restored her

As your stol’n jewel, and desired your spirit

To send him hence forgiven. The gods my justice

Take from my hand, and they themselves become

The executioners. Lead your lady off,

And call your lovers from the stage of death,

Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two

Let us look sadly and give grace unto

The funeral of Arcite, in whose end

The visages of bridegrooms we’ll put on

And smile with Palamon, for whom an hour,

But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry

As glad of Arcite, and am now as glad

As for him sorry. O you heavenly charmers,

What things you make of us! For what we lack

We laugh, for what we have, are sorry; still

Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful

For that which is, and with you leave dispute

That are above our question. Let’s go off

And bear us like the time.