The Two Noble Kinsmen

decider
Of dusty and old titles, that heal’st with blood
The earth when it is sick, and cur’st the world
O’ the pluresie of people; I do take
Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name
To my design march boldly.⁠—Let us go. Exeunt. Re-enter Palamon and his Knights. Palamon

Our stars must glister with new fire, or be
To-day extinct; our argument is love,
Which if the goddess of it grant, she gives
Victory too: then blend your spirits with mine,
You, whose free nobleness do make my cause
Your personal hazard: to the goddess Venus
Commend we our proceeding, and implore
Her power unto our party. They advance to the alter of Venus, and fall on their faces; then kneel.
Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power
To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage,
And weep unto a girl; that hast the might
Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars’s drum,
And turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst make
A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him
Before Apollo; that may’st force the king
To be his subject’s vassal, and induce
Stale gravity to dance; the poul’d bach’lor⁠—
Whose youth, like wonton boys through bonfires,
Have skipt thy flame⁠—at seventy thou canst catch,
And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat,
Abuse young lays of love: what godlike power
Hast thou not power upon? to Phoebus thou
Add’st flames, hotter than his; the heavenly fires
Did scorch his mortal son, thine him: the huntress
All moist and cold, some say, began to throw
Her bow away, and sigh: take to thy grace
Me, thy vow’d soldier, who do bear thy yoke
As ’twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier
Than lead itself, stings more than nettles: I
Have never been foul mouth’d against thy law;
Ne’er reveal’d secret, for I knew none⁠—would not,
Had I kenn’d all that were; I never practis’d
Upon man’s wife, nor would the libels read
Of liberal wits; I never at great feasts
Sought to betray a beauty, but have blush’d
At simpering sirs that did; I have been harsh
To large confessors, and have hotly ask’d them,
If they had mothers? I had one, a woman,
And women ’twere they wrong’d: I knew a man
Of eighty winters⁠—this I told them⁠—who
A lass of fourteen brided; ’twas thy power
To put life into dust; the aged cramp
Had screw’d his square foot round,
The gout had knit his fingers into knots,
Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes
Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life
In him seem’d torture; this anatomy
Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I
Believ’d it was his, for she swore it was,
And who would not believe her? Brief, I am
To those that prate, and have done, no companion;
To those that boast, and have not, a defier;
To those that would, and cannot, a rejoicer:
Yea, him I do not love, that tells close offices
The foulest way, nor names concealments in
The boldest language; such a one I am,
And vow that lover never yet made sigh
Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess,
Give me the victory of this question, which
Is true love’s merit, and bless me with a sign
Of thy great pleasure. Here music is heard, and doves are seen to flutter: they fall again upon their faces, then on their knees.
O thou that from eleven to ninety reign’st
In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world,
And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks
For this fair token; which being laid unto
Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance
My body to this business.⁠—Let us rise,
And bow before the goddess: time comes on. They bow, then exeunt.

Still music of records. Enter Emilia in white, her hair about her shoulders, and wearing a wheaten wreath; one in white holding up her train, her hair stuck with flowers; one before her carrying a silver hind, in which is conveyed incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the altar of Diana, her Maids standing aloof, she sets fire to it; then they curtsy and kneel. Emilia

O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen,
Abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative,
Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
As wind-fann’d snow, who to thy female knights
Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush,
Which is their order’s robe; I here, thy priest,
Am humbled ’fore thine altar: O, vouchsafe,
With that thy rare green eye⁠—which never yet
Beheld thing maculate⁠—look on thy virgin;
And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear⁠—
Which nev’r heard scurril term, into whose port
Nev’r entered wanton sound⁠—to my petition,
Season’d with holy fear. This is my last
Of vestal office; I’m bride-habited,
But maiden-hearted: a husband I have ’pointed,
But do not know him; out of two I should
Choose one, and pray for his success; but I
Am guiltless of election: of mine eyes
Were I to lose one⁠—they are equal precious⁠—
I could doom neither; that which perish’d should
Go to’t unsentenc’d: therefore, most modest queen,
He, of the two pretenders, that best loves me
And has the truest title in’t, let him
Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant
The file and quality I hold I may
Continue in thy band. Here the hind vanishes under the altar, and in the place ascends a rose-tree, having one rose upon it.
See what our general of ebbs and flows
Out from the bowels of her holy altar
With sacred act advances; but one rose!
If well inspir’d, this battle shall confound
Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flower,
Must grow alone, unpluck’d. Here is heard a sudden twang of instruments, and the rose falls from the tree, which vanishes under the altar.
The flower is fall’n, the tree descends.⁠—O mistress,
Thou here dischargest me; I shall be gather’d,
I think so; but I know not thine own will:
Unclasp thy mystery.⁠—I hope she’s pleas’d;
Her signs were gracious. They curtsy, and exeunt.

Scene II

Athens. A room in the prison.

	Enter Doctor, Gaoler, and Wooer in the habit of Palamon.
Doctor	Has this advice I told you done any good upon her?
Wooer	O, very much; the maids that kept her company Have half persuaded her that I am Palamon; Within this half-hour she came smiling to me, And ask’d me what I’d eat, and when I’d kiss her: I told her presently, and kiss’d her twice.
Doctor	’Twas well done: