As thou art valiant: for thy cousin’s soul,
Whose twelve strong labours crown his memory,
Let’s die together, at one instant, duke;
Only a little let him fall before me,
That I may tell my soul he shall not have her.
I grant your wish; for, to say true, your cousin
Has ten times more offended, for I gave him
More mercy than you found, sir, your offences
Being no more then his.—None here speak for ’em;
For, ere the sun set, both shall sleep for ever.
Alas, the pity!—Now or never, sister,
Speak, not to be denied: that face of yours
Will bear the curses else of after ages
For these lost cousins.
In my face, dear sister,
I find no anger to ’em, nor no ruin;
The misadventure of their own eyes kill ’em:
Yet that I will be woman and have pity,
My knees shall grow to the ground but I’ll get mercy.
Help me, dear sister: in a deed so virtuous
The powers of all women will be with us.—
Most royal brother—They kneel.
By that faith,
That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me—
By that you would have pity in another,
By your own virtues infinite—
By valour,
By all the chaste nights I have ever pleas’d you—
Nay, then, I’ll in too:—Kneels.
By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers,
By all you love most, wars, and this sweet lady—
By that you would have trembled to deny
A blushing maid—
By your own eyes, by strength,
In which you swore I went beyond all women,
Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus—
To crown all this, by your most noble soul,
Which cannot want due mercy, I beg first.
Ye make my faith reel: say I felt
Compassion to ’em both, how would you place it?
You’re a right woman, sister; you have pity,
But want the understanding where to use it.
If you desire their lives, invent a way
Safer than banishment: can these two live,
And have the agony of love about ’em,
And not kill one another? every day
They’d fight about you; hourly bring your honour
In public question with their swords. Be wise, then,
And here forget ’em; it concerns your credit
And my oath equally; I’ve said they die:
Better they fall by the law than one another.
Bow not my honour.
O my noble brother,
That oath was rashly made, and in your anger;
Your reason will not hold it: if such vows
Stand for express will, all the world must perish.
Beside, I have another oath ’gainst yours,
Of more authority, I’m sure more love;
Not made in passion neither, but good heed.
That you would ne’er deny me anything
Fit for my modest suit and your free granting:
I tie you to your word now; if ye fall in’t,
Think how you maim your honour—
For now I’m set a-begging, sir, I’m deaf
To all but your compassion—how their lives
Might breed the ruin of my name, opinion!
Shall anything that loves me perish for me?
That were a cruel wisedom: do men proyne
The straight young boughs that blush with thousand blossoms,
Because they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus,
The goodly mothers that have groan’d for these,
And all the longing maids that ever lov’d,
If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty,
And in their funeral songs for these two cousins
Despise my cruelty, and cry woe-worth me,
Till I am nothing but the scorn of women.
For heaven’s sake save their lives, and banish ’em.
Swear ’em never more
To make me their contention or to know me,
To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be,
Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers
To one another.
I’ll be cut to pieces
Before I take this oath: forget I love her?
O all ye gods, dispise me, then. Thy banishment
I not mislike, so we may fairly carry
Our swords and cause along; else, never trifle,
But take our lives, duke: I must love, and will;
And for that love must and dare kill this cousin,
On any piece the earth has.
Will you, Arcite,
Take these conditions?
No, never, duke; ’tis worse to me than begging,
To take my life so basely. Though I think
I never shall enjoy her, yet I’ll preserve
The honour of affection, and die for her,
Make death a devil.
Say, Emilia,
If one of them were dead, as one must, are you
Content to take the other to your husband?
They cannot both enjoy you: they are princes
As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble
As ever fame yet spoke of: look upon ’em,
And, if you can love, end this difference;
I give consent.—Are you content too, princes?
Arcite
He that she refuses
Must die, then.
Arcite
If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,
And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.
If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,
And soldiers sing my epitaph.
I cannot, sir; they’re both too excellent:
For me, a hair shall never fall of these men.
Thus I ordaine it;
And, by mine honour, once again it stands,
Or both shall die.—You shall both to your country;
And each, within this month, accompanied
With three fair knights, appear again in this place,
In which I’ll plant a pyramid; and whether,
Before us that are here, can force his cousin
By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar,
He shall enjoy her; th’ other lose his head,
And all his friends; nor shall he grudge to fall,
Nor think he dies with interest in this lady.
Will this content ye?
Yes.—Here, cousin Arcite,
I’m friends again till that hour.
Yes; I must, sir;
Else both miscarry.
Come, shake hands
