Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,

But in their hue;

Maiden' pinks, of odour faint,

Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;

Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger,
With her bells dim;

Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Larks'-heels2 trim;

All dear Nature's children sweet,

Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,

Blessing their sense!

Not an angel of the air,

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[Strewing flowers.

Bird melodious, or bird fair,

Be absent hence!

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor

The boding raven, nor chough hoar,

Nor chattering pie,

May on our bride-house perch or sing,

Or with them any discord bring,

But from it fly !3

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1 Fresh; also used for strewing on the grave of a maiden, or faithful

wife.

2 Small Indian cress, or nasturtium.

8 Dowden, Nicholson, Hargrove, and Furnivall think Shakespeare did not write this song; Littledale is in doubt.

Enter three Queens, in black, with veils stained, and with imperial crowns. The First Queen falls down at the foot of THESEYS; the Second falls down at the foot of HipPOLYTA; the Third before EMILIA.

1st Queen. For pity's sake and true gentility's, Hear and respect me!

2d Queen.

For your mother's sake,

And as you wish yourself may thrive with fair ones,

Hear and respect me !

3d Queen. Now for the love of him whom Jove hath

mark'd

The honour of your bed, and for the sake

Of clear virginity, be advocate

For us, and our distresses! This good deed
Shall raze1 you out o' the book of trespasses
All you are set down there.

Theseus. Sad lady, rise.

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Hippolyta.

Emilia.

Stand up.

No knees to me!

What woman I may stead,2 that is distress'd

Does bind me to her.

Theseus. What's your request? Deliver you for all.

1st Queen. We are three queens, whose sovereigns fell

before

The wrath of cruel Creon; who endure

The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites,

And pecks of crows, in the foul fields of Thebes.

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He will not suffer us to burn their bones,
To urn their ashes, nor to take the offence
Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye

1 Erase for you.

2 Help.

Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds

With stench of our slain lords. O, pity, duke!
Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear'd sword,

That does good turns to the world; give us the bones
Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them!
And, of thy boundless goodness, take some note
That for our crowned heads we have no roof
Save this, which is the lion's and the bear's,
And vault to everything!

Theseus.

Pray you, kneel not;

I was transported with your speech, and suffer'd

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Your knees to wrong themselves. I have heard the fortunes Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting

As wakes my vengeance and revenge for 'em.

King Capanëus1 was your lord: the day
That he should marry you, at such a season
As now it is with me, I met your groom
By Mars's altar; you were that time fair,
Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses,

Nor in more bounty spread her; your wheaten wreath
Was then nor thresh'd nor blasted; Fortune at you
Dimpled her cheek with smiles; Hercules our kinsman -
Then weaker than your eyes laid by his club;

He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide,
And swore his sinews thaw'd. O grief and time,
Fearful consumers, you will all devour!

1st Queen. O, I hope some god,

Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood,
Whereto he'll infuse power, and press you forth
Our undertaker!

Theseus.

O, no knees, none, widow!

1 One of the seven heroes who marched from Argos against Thebes.

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70

The scythe-tusk'd boar; that, with thy arm as strong

As it is white, wast near to make the male

To thy sex captive, but that this thy lord -
Born to uphold creation in that honour
First nature styl'd it in — shrunk thee into
The bound thou wast o'erflowing, at once subduing
Thy force and thy affection; soldieress,,

That equally canst poise sternness with pity;
Who, now, I know, hast much more power on him
Than e'er he had on thee; who ow'st his strength
And his love too, who is a servant2 for
The tenour of thy speech; dear glass of ladies,
Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch,
Under the shadow of his sword may cool us ;
Require him he advance it o'er our heads.
Speak't in a woman's key, like such a woman
As any of us three; weep ere you fail;
Lend us a knee;

But touch the ground for us no longer time
Than a dove's motion when the head's pluck'd off;
Tell him, if he i' the blood-siz'd3 field lay swoln,
Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon,
What you would do!

Hippolyta.

Poor lady, say no more;

I had as lief trace this good action with you

1 The Roman goddess of war.

2 Obedient lover.

8 Made sticky with blood.

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As that whereto I'm going, and ne'er yet
Went I so willing way. My lord is taken
Heart-deep with your distress: let him consider;
I'll speak anon.

3d Queen.

O, my petition was

[Kneels to EMILIA.

Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied,'
Melts into drops; so sorrow, wanting form,

Is press'd with deeper matter.

Emilia.

Pray stand up;

O, woe!

Your grief is written in your cheek.

3d Queen.

You cannot read it there; there, through my tears,
Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream,

You may behold 'em! Lady, lady, alack,

He that will all the treasure know o' the earth,
Must know the centre too; he that will fish
For my least minnow, let him lead his line
To catch one at my heart. O, pardon me!
Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits,
Makes me a fool.

Emilia.

Pray you, say nothing, pray you ;
Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in't
Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were

The ground-piece of some painter, I would buy you,
T' instruct me 'gainst a capital grief indeed,
Such heart-pierc'd demonstration ! — but, alas,
Being a natural sister of our sex,

Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me,

That it shall make a counter-reflect 'gainst

My brother's heart, and warm it to some pity

Though it were made of stone ; pray have good comfort!

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