Part 20

ARCITE. We seeke not Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me A thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it, And no more mov’d: where this man calls me Traitor, Let me say thus much: if in love be Treason, In service of so excellent a Beutie, As I love most, and in that faith will perish, As I have brought my life here to confirme it, As I have serv’d her truest, worthiest, As I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it, So let me be most Traitor, and ye please me. For scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady Why she is faire, and why her eyes command me Stay here to love her; and if she say ‘Traytor,’ I am a villaine fit to lye unburied.

PALAMON. Thou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus, If unto neither thou shew mercy; stop (As thou art just) thy noble eare against us. As thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule Whose 12. strong labours crowne his memory, Lets die together, at one instant, Duke, Onely a little let him fall before me, That I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.

THESEUS. I grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen Has ten times more offended; for I gave him More mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses Being no more then his. None here speake for ’em, For, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever.

HIPPOLITA. Alas the pitty! now or never, Sister, Speake, not to be denide; That face of yours Will beare the curses else of after ages For these lost Cosens.

EMILIA. In my face, deare Sister, I finde no anger to ’em, nor no ruyn; The misadventure of their owne eyes kill ’em; Yet that I will be woman, and have pitty, My knees shall grow to’th ground but Ile get mercie. Helpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous The powers of all women will be with us. Most royall Brother—

HIPPOLITA. Sir, by our tye of Marriage—

EMILIA. By your owne spotlesse honour—

HIPPOLITA. By that faith, That faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me.

EMILIA. By that you would have pitty in another, By your owne vertues infinite.

HIPPOLITA. By valour, By all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you.

THESEUS. These are strange Conjurings.

PERITHOUS. Nay, then, Ile in too: By all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers, By all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady.

EMILIA. By that you would have trembled to deny, A blushing Maide.

HIPPOLITA. By your owne eyes: By strength, In which you swore I went beyond all women, Almost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus.

PERITHOUS. To crowne all this: By your most noble soule, Which cannot want due mercie, I beg first.

HIPPOLITA. Next, heare my prayers.

EMILIA. Last, let me intreate, Sir.

PERITHOUS. For mercy.

HIPPOLITA. Mercy.

EMILIA. Mercy on these Princes.

THESEUS. Ye make my faith reele: Say I felt Compassion to’em both, how would you place it?

EMILIA. Vpon their lives: But with their banishments.

THESEUS. You are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty, But want the vnderstanding where to use it. If you desire their lives, invent a way Safer then banishment: Can these two live And have the agony of love about ’em, And not kill one another? Every day They’ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour In publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then, And here forget ’em; it concernes your credit And my oth equally: I have said they die; Better they fall by’th law, then one another. Bow not my honor.

EMILIA. O my noble Brother, That oth was rashly made, and in your anger, Your reason will not hold it; if such vowes Stand for expresse will, all the world must perish. Beside, I have another oth gainst yours, Of more authority, I am sure more love, Not made in passion neither, but good heede.

THESEUS. What is it, Sister?

PERITHOUS. Vrge it home, brave Lady.

EMILIA. That you would nev’r deny me any thing Fit for my modest suit, and your free granting: I tye you to your word now; if ye fall in’t, Thinke how you maime your honour, (For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe To all but your compassion.) How, their lives Might breed the ruine of my name, Opinion! Shall any thing that loves me perish for me? That were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne The straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms, Because they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus, The goodly Mothers that have groand for these, And all the longing Maides that ever lov’d, If your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty, And in their funerall songs for these two Cosens Despise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me, Till I am nothing but the scorne of women; For heavens sake save their lives, and banish ’em.

THESEUS. On what conditions?