|
Enter Gaoler and First Friend. |
| Gaoler |
Hear you no more? was nothing said of me
Concerning the escape of Palamon?
Good sir, remember.
|
| First Friend |
Nothing that I heard;
For I came home before the business
Was fully ended: yet I might perceive,
Ere I departed, a great likelihood
Of both their pardons; for Hippolyta
And fair-ey’d Emily upon their knees
Begg’d with such handsome pity, that the duke
Methought stood staggering whether he should follow
His rash oath, or the sweet compassion
Of those two ladies; and to second them,
That truly noble Prince Pirithous,
Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope
All shall be well: neither heard I one question
Of your name or his scape.
|
| Gaoler |
Pray heaven, it hold so! |
|
Enter Second Friend. |
| Second Friend |
Be of good comfort, man: I bring you news,
Good news.
|
| Gaoler |
They’re welcome. |
| Second Friend |
Palamon has clear’d you,
And got your pardon, and discover’d how
And by whose means he escap’d, which was your daughter’s,
Whose pardon is procur’d too; and the prisoner—
Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness—
Has given a sum of money to her marriage,
A large one, I’ll assure you.
|
| Gaoler |
Ye’re a good man,
And ever bring good news.
|
| First Friend |
How was it ended? |
| Second Friend |
Why, as it should be; they that never begg’d
But they prevail’d, had their suits fairly granted:
The prisoners have their lives.
|
| First Friend |
I knew ’twould be so. |
| Second Friend |
But there be new conditions, which you’ll hear of
At better time.
|
| Gaoler |
I hope they’re good. |
| Second Friend |
They’re honourable:
How good they’ll prove, I know not.
|
| First Friend |
’Twill be known. |
|
Enter Wooer. |
| Wooer |
Alas, sir, where’s your daughter? |
| Gaoler |
Why do you ask? |
| Wooer |
O, sir, when did you see her? |
| Second Friend |
How he looks! |
| Gaoler |
This morning. |
| Wooer |
Was she well? was she in health, sir?
When did she sleep?
|
| First Friend |
These are strange questions. |
| Gaoler |
I do not think she was very well; for, now
You make me mind her, but this very day
I ask’d her questions, and she answer’d me
So far from what she was, so childishly,
So sillily, as if she were a fool,
An innocent; and I was very angry.
But what of her, sir?
|
| Wooer |
Nothing but my pity:
But you must know it, and as good by me
As by another that less loves her.
|
| Gaoler |
Well, sir? |
| First Friend |
Not right? |
| Second Friend |
Not well? |
| Wooer |
No, sir; not well:
’Tis too true, she is mad.
|
| First Friend |
It cannot be. |
| Wooer |
Believe, you’ll find it so. |
| Gaoler |
I half suspected
What you have told me; the gods comfort her!
Either this was her love to Palamon,
Or fear of my miscarrying on his scape,
Or both.
|
| Wooer |
’Tis likely. |
| Gaoler |
But why all this haste, sir? |
| Wooer |
I’ll tell you quickly. As I late was angling
In the great lake that lies behind the palace,
From the far shore, thick set with reeds and sedges,
As patiently I was attending sport,
I heard a voice, a shrill one; and attentive
I gave my ear; when I might well perceive
’Twas one that sung, and, by the smallness of it,
A boy or woman. I then left my angle
To his own skill, came near, but yet perceiv’d not
Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds
Had so encompass’d it: I laid me down,
And listen’d to the words she sung; for then,
Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,
I saw it was your daughter.
|
| Gaoler |
Pray, go on, sir. |
| Wooer |
She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her
Repeat this often, “Palamon is gone,
Is gone to the wood to gather mulberries;
I’ll find him out to-morrow.”
|
| First Friend |
Pretty soul! |
| Wooer |
“His shackles will betray him, he’ll be taken;
And what shall I do then? I’ll bring a bevy,
A hundred black-ey’d maids that love as I do,
With chaplets on their heads of daffodillies,
With cherry lips, and cheeks of damask roses,
And all we’ll dance an antic ’fore the duke,
And beg his pardon.” Then she talk’d of you, sir;
That you must lose your head to-morrow morning,
And she must gather flowers to bury you,
And see the house made handsome. Then she sung
Nothing but “Willow, willow, willow;” and between
Ever was, “Palamon, fair Palamon,”
And “Palamon was a tall young man.” The place
Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses
A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colours;
That methought she appear’d like the fair nymph
That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropt down from heaven. Rings she made
Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke
The prettiest posies—“Thus our true love’s tied,”
“This you may loose, not me,” and many a one;
And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh’d,
And with the same breath smil’d, and kiss’d her hand.
|
| Second Friend |
Alas, what pity ’tis! |
| Wooer |
I made in to her:
She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav’d her,
And set her safe to land: when presently
She slipt away, and to the city made,
With such a cry, and swiftness, that, believe me,
She left me far behind her. Three or four
I saw from far off cross her, one of ’em
I knew to be your brother; where she stay’d,
And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her,
And hither came to tell you. Here they are.
|
|
Enter Gaoler’s Brother, Daughter, and others. |
| Daughter |
Sings.
May you never more enjoy the light, etc.
Is not this a fine song?
|
| Brother |
O, a very fine one! |
| Daughter |
I can sing twenty more. |
| Brother |
I think you can. |
| Daughter |
Yes, truly, can I; I can sing “The Broom,”
And “Bonny Robin.” Are not you a tailor?
|
| Brother |
Yes. |
| Daughter |
Where’s my wedding-gown? |
| Brother |
I’ll bring’t to-morrow. |
| Daughter |
Do, very rarely; I must be abroad else,
To call the maids and pay the minstrels;
For I must lose my maidenhead by cock-light;
’Twill never thrive else. Sings.
|
