The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Уильям Шекспир

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СКАЧАТЬ SERVANT.

       Still Palamon.

       EMILIA.

       Run and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;

       Vpon my right side still I wore thy picture,

       Palamons on the left: why so, I know not;

       I had no end in’t else, chance would have it so.

       On the sinister side the heart lyes; Palamon

       Had the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and

       Cornets.] This burst of clamour

       Is sure th’end o’th Combat.

       [Enter Servant.]

       SERVANT.

       They saide that Palamon had Arcites body

       Within an inch o’th Pyramid, that the cry

       Was generall ‘a Palamon’: But, anon,

       Th’Assistants made a brave redemption, and

       The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are

       Hand to hand at it.

       EMILIA.

       Were they metamorphisd

       Both into one! oh why? there were no woman

       Worth so composd a Man: their single share,

       Their noblenes peculier to them, gives

       The prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within,

       Arcite, Arcite.]

       To any Lady breathing—More exulting?

       Palamon still?

       SERVANT.

       Nay, now the sound is Arcite.

       EMILIA.

       I pre’thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and cry, ‘Arcite, victory!’] Set both thine eares to’th busines.

       SERVANT.

       The cry is

       ‘Arcite’, and ‘victory’, harke: ‘Arcite, victory!’

       The Combats consummation is proclaim’d

       By the wind Instruments.

       EMILIA.

       Halfe sights saw

       That Arcite was no babe; god’s lyd, his richnes

       And costlines of spirit look’t through him, it could

       No more be hid in him then fire in flax,

       Then humble banckes can goe to law with waters,

       That drift windes force to raging: I did thinke

       Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not

       Why I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,

       When oft our fancies are. They are comming off:

       Alas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]

       [Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and

       attendants, &c.]

       THESEUS.

       Lo, where our Sister is in expectation,

       Yet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,

       The gods by their divine arbitrament

       Have given you this Knight; he is a good one

       As ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;

       Receive you her, you him; be plighted with

       A love that growes, as you decay.

       ARCITE.

       Emily,

       To buy you, I have lost what’s deerest to me,

       Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,

       As I doe rate your value.

       THESEUS.

       O loved Sister,

       He speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere

       Did spur a noble Steed: Surely, the gods

       Would have him die a Batchelour, least his race

       Should shew i’th world too godlike: His behaviour

       So charmed me, that me thought Alcides was

       To him a sow of lead: if I could praise

       Each part of him to’th all I have spoke, your Arcite

       Did not loose by’t; For he that was thus good

       Encountred yet his Better. I have heard

       Two emulous Philomels beate the eare o’th night

       With their contentious throates, now one the higher,

       Anon the other, then againe the first,

       And by and by out breasted, that the sence

       Could not be judge betweene ‘em: So it far’d

       Good space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens did

       Make hardly one the winner. Weare the Girlond

       With joy that you have won: For the subdude,

       Give them our present Iustice, since I know

       Their lives but pinch ‘em; Let it here be done.

       The Sceane’s not for our seeing, goe we hence,

       Right joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize,

       I know you will not loose her.—Hipolita,

       I see one eye of yours conceives a teare

       The which it will deliver. [Florish.]

       EMILIA.

       Is this wynning?

       Oh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?

       But that your wils have saide it must be so,

       And charge me live to comfort this unfriended,

       СКАЧАТЬ