The Two Noble Kinsmen Act Four - “Tis pitty Love should be so tyrannous.”

The Two Noble Kinsmen Act Four - “Tis pitty Love should be so tyrannous.”

Act Three of ‘The Two Kinsmen’ starts outside the jail where the Jailor hears from a friend about what happened in the forest and how Palamon and Arcite were not arrested immediately because Hippolyta and Emilia pleaded on their behalf. The Jailor is pleased. A second friend of the Jailor’s enters and reveals the news that Theseus has cleared the Jailor of any wrong doing in Palamon’s escape and that Palamon, in thanks for the Jailor’s daughter helping him with her escape, has left a considerable amount of money for a dowry for her marriage. The Jailor is thankful for this news. This second friend also reveals that Palamon and Arcite have been pardoned but that they will fight for Emilia and the one who loses will die.

The Wooer enters again at this point and asks the Jailor how his daughter is. The Jailor replies that he thinks his daughter is not well. Then the Wooer reveals how he thinks that the Jailor’s daughter has gone mad and he reveals how he saw the Jailor’s daughter down by the river:

“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 list’ned to the words she sung, for then

Through a small glade cut by the fishermen,

I saw it was your daughter…

She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her

Repeat this often, “Palamon is gone,

Is gone to th’ wood to gather mulberries.

I’ll find him out tomorrow…”

“…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 daffadillies,

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 tomorrow 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 colors,

That methought she appear’d like the fair nymph

That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris

Newly dropp’d 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…

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 slipp’d 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.”

Then the Jailor’s Daughter enters with the Jailor’s Brother singing and asking for her wedding gown. She is distracted and talks to the Jailor’s friends about Palamon:

“Good ev’n, good men. Pray did you ever hear

Of one young Palamon?

… Is’t not a fine young gentleman?

…O, is he so? You have a sister?

… But she shall never have him, tell her so,

For a trick that I know. Y’ had best look to her,

For if she see him once, she’s gone—she’s done,

And undone in an hour. All the young maids

Of our town are in love with him, but I laugh at ’em

And let ’em all alone. Is’t not a wise course?

… There is at least two hundred now with child by him—

There must be four. Yet I keep close for all this,

Close as a cockle. And all these must be boys,

He has the trick on’t; and at ten years old

They must be all gelt for musicians,

And sing the wars of Theseus.

… They come from all parts of the dukedom to him.

I’ll warrant ye he had not so few last night

As twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle’t up

In two hours, if his hand be in.

(To her father, the Jailor)

Come hither, you are a wise man.

You are master of a ship?

… Where’s your compass?

… Set it to th’ north.

And now direct your course to th’ wood, where Palamon

Lies longing for me. For the tackling

Let me alone. Come weigh, my hearts, cheerly!”

The Jailor despairs since he knows his daughter is indeed mad and seems past any cure.

Emilia enters alone and looking at her portraits of Palamon and Arcite, she bemoans her predicament:

“Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open

And bleed to death for my sake else. I’ll choose,

And end their strife. Two such young handsome men

Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers,

Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons,

Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,

What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise Nature,

With all her best endowments, all those beauties

She sows into the births of noble bodies,

Were here a mortal woman, and had in her

The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless

She would run mad for this man. What an eye,

Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness,

Has this young prince! Here Love himself sits smiling.

Just such another wanton Ganymede

Set Jove afire with, and enforc’d the god

Snatch up the goodly boy and set him by him,

A shining constellation. What a brow,

Of what a spacious majesty, he carries,

Arch’d like the great-ey’d Juno’s, but far sweeter,

Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and Honor

Methinks from hence, as from a promontory

Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings and sing

To all the under world the loves and fights

Of gods and such men near ’em. Palamon

Is but his foil, to him, a mere dull shadow;

He’s swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy

As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,

No stirring in him, no alacrity,

Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile.

Yet these that we count errors may become him:

Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.

O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?

I am a fool, my reason is lost in me;

I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly

That women ought to beat me. On my knees

I ask thy pardon: Palamon, thou art alone

And only beautiful, and these the eyes,

These the bright lamps of beauty, that command

And threaten Love, and what young maid dare cross ’em?

What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,

Has this brown manly face! O Love, this only

From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite,

Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,

And this the noble body. I am sotted,

Utterly lost. My virgin’s faith has fled me;

For if my brother but even now had ask’d me

Whether I lov’d, I had run mad for Arcite;

Now if my sister—more for Palamon.

Stand both together: now, come ask me, brother—

Alas, I know not! Ask me now, sweet sister—

I may go look! What a mere child is fancy,

That having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,

Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!”

Then Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous and others enter and Emilia is asked whether she has chosen her love or whether the contest will proceed. Emilia says she cannot chose. A messenger enters and describes the various knights who are attached to Palamon and Arcite and have come for the battle. It is revealed that the knights will also lose their lives when their nobleman dies. The predicament looks precarious.

We cross back to the Jailor’s Daughter who is being watched and listened to by the Jailor, her Wooer and a Doctor. They speak in prose and it is clear to them that the Jailor’s Daughter’s madness is growing worse. The Jailor reveals that she showed no symptoms until she met Palamon and that he had before that even thought that she might marry his friend the Wooer. The Doctor comes up with a scheme which involves the Wooer initially coming to her and pretending to be Palamon and the Doctor thinks that this may gently draw her out of her madness:

“That intemp’rate surfeit of her eye hath distemper’d the other senses. They may return and settle again to execute their preordain’d faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must do: confine her to a place where the light may rather seem to steal in than be permitted. Take upon you, young sir her friend, the name of Palamon, say you come to eat with her, and to commune of love. This will catch her attention, for this her mind beats upon; other objects that are inserted ’tween her mind and eye become the pranks and friskins of her madness. Sing to her such green songs of love as she says Palamon hath sung in prison. Come to her, stuck in as sweet flowers as the season is mistress of, and thereto make an addition of some other compounded odors which are grateful to the sense. All this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and ev’ry good thing. Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still among intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her favor. Learn what maids have been her companions and play-feres, and let them repair to her with Palamon in their mouths, and appear with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in, which is with falsehoods to be combated. This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce what’s now out of square in her into their former law and regiment. I have seen it approv’d, how many times I know not, but to make the number more I have great hope in this. I will, between the passages of this project, come in with my appliance. Let us put it in execution; and hasten the success, which doubt not will bring forth comfort.”