THESEUS.
You have steel’d ’em with your Beautie.—Honord Friend,
To you I give the Feild; pray, order it
Fitting the persons that must use it.
PERITHOUS.
Yes, Sir.
THESEUS.
Come, Ile goe visit ’em: I cannot stay,
Their fame has fir’d me so; Till they appeare.
Good Friend, be royall.
PERITHOUS.
There shall want no bravery.
EMILIA.
Poore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins,
Looses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.]
Scaena 3. (A room in the prison.)
[Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.]
DOCTOR.
Her distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some, is it not?
IAILOR.
She is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little, altogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another world, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so’ere she’s about, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev’ry busines withall, fyts it to every question.—
[Enter Daughter.]