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She lov'd a black-haird man.
ARCITE.
She did so; well, Sir.
PALAMON.
And I have heard some call him Arcite, and--
ARCITE.
Out with't, faith.
PALAMON.
She met him in an Arbour: What did she there, Cuz? play o'th virginals?
ARCITE.
Something she did, Sir.
PALAMON.
Made her groane a moneth for't, or 2. or 3. or 10.
ARCITE.
The Marshals Sister Had her share too, as I remember, Cosen, Else there be tales abroade; you'l pledge her?
PALAMON.
Yes.
ARCITE.
A pretty broune wench t'is. There was a time When yong men went a hunting, and a wood, And a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:--heigh ho!
PALAMON.
For Emily, upon my life! Foole, Away with this straind mirth; I say againe, That sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen, Dar'st thou breake first?
ARCITE.
You are wide.
PALAMON.
By heaven and earth, ther's nothing in thee honest.
ARCITE.
Then Ile leave you: you are a Beast now.
PALAMON.
As thou makst me, Traytour.
ARCITE.
Ther's all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes: Ile come againe some two howres hence, and bring That that shall quiet all,
PALAMON.
A Sword and Armour?
ARCITE.
Feare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell.
Get off your Trinkets; you shall want nought.
PALAMON.
Sir, ha--
ARCITE.
Ile heare no more. [Exit.]
PALAMON.
If he keepe touch, he dies for't. [Exit.]
Scaena 4. (Another part of the forest.)
[Enter Iaylors daughter.]
DAUGHTER.
I am very cold, and all the Stars are out too, The little Stars, and all, that looke like aglets: The Sun has seene my Folly. Palamon!
Alas no; hees in heaven. Where am I now?
Yonder's the sea, and ther's a Ship; how't tumbles!
And ther's a Rocke lies watching under water; Now, now, it beates upon it; now, now, now, Ther's a leak sprung, a sound one, how they cry!
Spoon her before the winde, you'l loose all els: Vp with a course or two, and take about, Boyes.
Good night, good night, y'ar gone.--I am very hungry.
Would I could finde a fine Frog; he would tell me Newes from all parts o'th world, then would I make A Carecke of a c.o.c.kle sh.e.l.l, and sayle By east and North East to the King of Pigmes, For he tels fortunes rarely. Now my Father, Twenty to one, is trust up in a trice To morrow morning; Ile say never a word.
