Pal. And I to honor.
These. In this place first you fought: Even very here
I sundred you, acknowledg to the gods
Our thanks that you are living:
His part is play'd, and though it were too short
He did it well: your day is length'ned, and
The blissfull dew of heaven do's arowze you:
The powerfull Venus, well hath grac'd her Altar,
And given you your love: Our Master Mars,
Hast vouch'd his Oracle, and to Arcite, gave
The grace of the Contention: So the Deities
Have shew'd due justice: Bear this hence.
Pal. O Cosen,
That we should things desire, which doe cost us
The loss of our desire; That nought could buy
Dear love, but loss of dear love.
Thes. Never Fortune
Did play a subtler Game: The conquer'd triumphs,
The victor has the Loss: yet in the passage,
The gods have been most equall: Palamon,
Your kinsman hath confest the right o'th' Lady
Did lye in you, for you first saw her, and
Even then proclaim'd your fancie: He restor'd her
As your stolen Jewell, and desir'd your spirit
To send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice
Take from my hand, and they themselves become
The Executioners: Lead your Lady off;
And call your Lovers from the stage of death,
Whom I adopt my Friends. A day or two
Let us look sadly, and give grace unto
The Funerall of Arcite, in whose end
The visages of Bridegroomes we'll put on
And smile with Palamon; For whom an hour,
But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry,
As glad of Arcite: And am now as glad,
As for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,
What things you make of us? For what we lack
We laugh, for what we have, are sorry still,
Are children in some kind. Let us be thankefull
For that which is, and with you leave dispute
That are above our question: Let's goe off,
And bear us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.
EPILOGUE.
I would now aske ye how ye like the Play,
But as it is with School Boys, cannot say,
I 'm cruell fearefull: pray yet stay a while,
And let me look upon ye: No man smile?
Then it goes hard I see; He that has
Lov'd a young hansome wench then, show his face:
'Tis strange if none be here, and if he will
Against his Conscience let him hiss and kill
Our Market: 'Tis in vain, I see to stay ye,
Have at the worst can come, then; Now what say ye?
And yet mistake me not: I am not bold
We have no such cause. If th' tale we have told
(For 'tis no other) any way content ye
(For to that honest purpose it was ment ye)
We have our end; And ye shall have ere long
I dare say many a better, to prolong
Your old loves to us: We, and all our might,
Rest at your service, Gentlemen, good night.
[Florish.