Ther’s many a man alive that hath out liv’dThe love o’th people; yea, i’th selfesame state
Stands many a Father with his childe; some comfort
We have by so considering: we expire
And not without mens pitty. To live still,
Have their good wishes; we prevent
The loathsome misery of age, beguile
The Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attend
For grey approachers; we come towards the gods
Yong and unwapper’d, not halting under Crymes
Many and stale: that sure shall please the gods,
Sooner than such, to give us Nectar with ‘em,
For we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen,
Whose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe,
You have sould ‘em too too cheape.
1. KNIGHT.
What ending could be
Of more content? ore us the victors have
Fortune, whose title is as momentary,
As to us death is certaine: A graine of honour
They not ore’-weigh us.
2. KNIGHT.
Let us bid farewell;
And with our patience anger tottring Fortune,
Who at her certain’st reeles.
3. KNIGHT.
Come; who begins?
PALAMON.
Ev’n he that led you to this Banket shall
Taste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend,
Your gentle daughter gave me freedome once;
You’l see’t done now for ever: pray, how do’es she?
I heard she was not well; her kind of ill
Gave me some sorrow.
IAILOR.
Sir, she’s well restor’d,
And to be marryed shortly.
PALAMON.
By my short life,
I am most glad on’t; Tis the latest thing
I shall be glad of; pre’thee tell her so:
Commend me to her, and to peece her portion,
Tender her this. [Gives purse.]
1. KNIGHT.
Nay lets be offerers all.
2. KNIGHT.
Is it a maide?
PALAMON.
Verily, I thinke so,
A right good creature, more to me deserving
Then I can quight or speake of.
ALL KNIGHTS.
Commend us to her. [They give their purses.]
IAILOR.
The gods requight you all,
And make her thankefull.
PALAMON.
Adiew; and let my life be now as short,
As my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.]
1. KNIGHT.
Leade, couragious Cosin.
2. KNIGHT.
Wee’l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, ‘run, save, hold!’]
[Enter in hast a Messenger.]
MESSENGER.
Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!
[Enter Pirithous in haste.]
PERITHOUS.
Hold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made,
If you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon,
The gods will shew their glory in a life,
That thou art yet to leade.
PALAMON.
Can that be,
When Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare?
PERITHOUS.
Arise, great Sir, and give the tydings eare
That are most dearly sweet and bitter.
PALAMON.
What
Hath wakt us from our dreame?
PERITHOUS.
List then: your Cosen,
Mounted upon a Steed that Emily
Did first bestow on him, a blacke one, owing
Not a hayre worth of white—which some will say
Weakens his price, and many will not buy
His goodnesse with this note: Which superstition
Heere findes allowance—On this horse is Arcite
Trotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins
Did rather tell then trample; for the horse
Would make his length a mile, if’t pleas’d his Rider
To put pride in him: as he thus went counting
The flinty pavement, dancing, as t’wer, to’th Musicke
His owne hoofes made; (for as they say from iron
Came Musickes origen) what envious Flint,
Cold as old Saturne, and like him possest
With fire malevolent, darted a Sparke,
