[51:2]Servant. The cry is
Arcite and victory! Hark, Arcite, vic|tory!
The combat's consummation is proclaimed
By the wind instruments.
Shakspere touch.
Shakspere reflection.
Emilia. Half-sights saw
That Arcite was no babe: god's-lid! his rich|ness
And costliness of spirit looked through |him: | it could
No more be hid in him than fire in flax,
Than humble banks can go to law with wa|ters
That drift winds force to raging. I did think
Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew | not
Why I did think | so.| Our Reasons are net proph|ets
When oft our Fancies are. They're coming off:
Alas, poor Palamon!
Theseus enters with his attendants, conducting Arcite, as conqueror, and presents him to Emilia as her husband. Arcite's situation is a painful one, and is well discriminated: he utters but a single grave sentence.
Theseus. (To Arcite and Emilia.) Give me your hands:
Receive you her, you him: be plighted with
A love that grows as you decay!
Arcite. Emily!
To buy you I have lost what's dearest to | me,
Save what is bought; and yet I purchase cheap|ly,
As I do rate your value.
* * * * *
Shakspere touch.
Theseus. (To Arcite.) Wear the gar|land
With joy that you have won. For the subdued,—
Give them our present justice, since I know
Their lives but pinch them. Let it here be done.
The sight's not for our seeing: go we hence
Right joyful, with some sorrow!—Arm your prize:
I know you will not lose | her.| Hippolita,
I see one eye of yours conceives a tear,
The which it will deliv|er.|
Emilia. Is this, winning?
Oh, all you heavenly powers! where is your mer|cy?
But that your wills have said it must be so,
And charge me live to comfort this unfriend|ed,
This miserable prince, that cuts away
A life more worthy from him than all wom|en,
I should and would die too.