Act 5, Scene 1 — The Two Noble Kinsmen

The argument Before their tournament, Arcite prays to Mars, Palamon prays to Venus, and Emilia prays to Diana — each receiving an omen, each reading it as hopeful, each wrong in the way they imagine.

Flourish. Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta and Attendants.

THESEUS ≋ verse [moment of intensity]

Now let ’em enter and before the gods

Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples

Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars

In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense

To those above us. Let no due be wanting.

They have a noble work in hand, will honour

The very powers that love ’em.

Now let ’em enter and before the gods Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense To those above us. Let no due be wanting. They have a noble work in hand, will honour The very powers that love ’em.

now let ’em enter and before the gods tender their holy prayers. let the temples burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars in hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense to those above us

now let ’em enter

PIRITHOUS [moment of intensity]

Sir, they enter.

In other words: sir, they enter.

sir they enter

Enter Palamon and Arcite and their Knights.

THESEUS ≋ verse [moment of intensity]

You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,

You royal german foes, that this day come

To blow that nearness out that flames between ye,

Lay by your anger for an hour and, dove-like,

Before the holy altars of your helpers,

The all-feared gods, bow down your stubborn bodies.

Your ire is more than mortal; so your help be;

And, as the gods regard ye, fight with justice.

I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye

I part my wishes.

You valiant and strong-hearted enemies, You royal german foes, that this day come To blow that nearness out that flames between ye, Lay by your anger for an hour and, dove-like, Before the holy altars of your helpers, The all-feared gods, bow down your stubborn bodies. Your ire is more than mortal; so your help be; And, as the gods regard ye, fight with justice. I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye I part my wishes.

you valiant and strong-hearted enemies, you royal german foes, that this day come to blow that nearness out that flames between ye, lay by your anger for an hour and, dove-like, before the holy altars of your helpers, the all-feared gods, bow down your stubborn bodies. your ire is more than mortal; so your help be; and, as the gods regard ye, fight with justice. i’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye i've part my wishes.

you valiant and strong-hearted

PIRITHOUS [moment of intensity]

Honour crown the worthiest.

In other words: honour crown the worthiest.

honour crown worthiest

[_Exeunt Theseus and his Train._]

PALAMON ≋ verse [moment of intensity]

The glass is running now that cannot finish

Till one of us expire. Think you but thus,

That were there aught in me which strove to show

Mine enemy in this business, were ’t one eye

Against another, arm oppressed by arm,

I would destroy th’ offender, coz, I would

Though parcel of myself. Then from this gather

How I should tender you.

The glass is running now that cannot finish Till one of us expire. Think you but thus, That wbefore thbefore aught in me which strove to show Mine enemy in this business, wbefore ’t one eye Against another, arm oppressed by arm, I would destroy th’ offender, coz, I would Though parcel of myself. Then from this gather How I should tender you.

the glass is running now that cannot finish till one of us expire. think you but thus, that wbefore thbefore aught in me which strove to show mine enemy in this business, wbefore ’t one eye against another, arm oppressed by arm, i've would destroy th’ offender, coz, i would though parcel of myself. then from this gather how i should tender you.

glass running now that

ARCITE ≋ verse [moment of intensity]

I am in labour

To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred

Out of my memory, and i’ th’ selfsame place

To seat something I would confound. So hoist we

The sails that must these vessels port even where

The heavenly limiter pleases.

I am in labour To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred Out of my memory, and i’ th’ selfsame place To seat something I would confound. So hoist we The sails that must these vessels port even whbefore The heavenly limiter pleases.

i've am in labour to push your name, your ancient love, our kindred out of my memory, and i’ th’ selfsame place to seat something i would confound. so hoist we the sails that must these vessels port even whbefore the heavenly limiter pleases.

i am in labour

PALAMON ≋ verse [moment of intensity]

You speak well.

Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin.

This I shall never do again.

You speak well. Before I turn, let me embrace you, cousin. This I shall never do again.

you speak well. before i've turn, let me embrace you, cousin. this i shall never do again.

you speak well before

ARCITE [moment of intensity]

One farewell.

In other words: one farewell.

one farewell

PALAMON [moment of intensity]

Why, let it be so. Farewell, coz.

In other words: why, let it be so. farewell, coz.

why let it so

ARCITE [moment of intensity]

Farewell, sir.

In other words: farewell, sir.

farewell sir

Why it matters This exchange — 'Farewell, cousin' / 'Farewell, sir' — is where love becomes ceremony. The shift from 'cousin' to 'sir' is the exact moment they stop being kinsmen and become combatants.

↩ Callback to 5-1 The shift from 'cousin' (Palamon's farewell) to 'sir' (Arcite's reply) mirrors the moment in 2-2 when they first saw Emilia and the word 'cousin' began to lose its warmth — this is its formal extinction.

[_Exeunt Palamon and his Knights._]

Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices,

True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you

Expels the seeds of fear and th’ apprehension

Which still is father of it, go with me

Before the god of our profession. There

Require of him the hearts of lions and

The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too,

Yea, the speed also—to go on, I mean;

Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize

Must be dragged out of blood; force and great feat

Must put my garland on, where she sticks,

The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then,

Must be to him that makes the camp a cistern

Brimmed with the blood of men. Give me your aid,

And bend your spirits towards him.

[_They advance to the altar of Mars, fall on their faces before it, and

then kneel._]

Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turned

Green Neptune into purple; whose approach

Comets prewarn, whose havoc in vast field

Unearthed skulls proclaim; whose breath blows down

The teeming Ceres’ foison, who dost pluck

With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds

The masoned turrets, that both mak’st and break’st

The stony girths of cities; me thy pupil,

Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day

With military skill, that to thy laud

I may advance my streamer, and by thee

Be styled the lord o’ th’ day. Give me, great Mars,

Some token of thy pleasure.

[_Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard

clanging of armour, with a short thunder, as the burst of a battle,

whereupon they all rise and bow to the altar._]

O, great corrector of enormous times,

Shaker of o’er-rank states, thou grand decider

Of dusty and old titles, that heal’st with blood

The earth when it is sick, and cur’st the world

O’ th’ pleurisy of people; I do take

Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name

To my design march boldly.—Let us go.

[_Exeunt._]

Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.

PALAMON ≋ verse [moment of intensity]

Our stars must glister with new fire, or be

Today extinct. Our argument is love,

Which, if the goddess of it grant, she gives

Victory too. Then blend your spirits with mine,

You whose free nobleness do make my cause

Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus

Commend we our proceeding, and implore

Her power unto our party.

Our stars must glister with new fire, or be Today extinct. Our argument is love, Which, if the goddess of it grant, she gives Victory too. Then blend your spirits with mine, You whose free nobleness do make my cause Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus Commend we our proceeding, and implore Her power unto our party.

our stars must glister with new fire, or be today extinct. our argument is love, which, if the goddess of it grant, she gives victory too

our stars must glister

🎭 Dramatic irony Palamon prays to Venus and asks for 'the victory of this question, which is true love's merit.' Venus grants him Emilia — but grants Arcite the tournament victory. Palamon doesn't understand yet that winning love and winning the fight are two different things.

[_Here they kneel as formerly._]

Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power

To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage

And weep unto a girl; that hast the might

Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars’s drum

And turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst make

A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him

Before Apollo; that mayst force the king

To be his subject’s vassal, and induce

Stale gravity to dance. The polled bachelor,

Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires,

Have skipped thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch,

And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat,

Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power

Hast thou not power upon? To Phœbus thou

Add’st flames hotter than his; the heavenly fires

Did scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress,

All moist and cold, some say, began to throw

Her bow away and sigh. Take to thy grace

Me, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yoke

As ’twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier

Than lead itself, stings more than nettles.

I have never been foul-mouthed against thy law,

Ne’er revealed secret, for I knew none—would not,

Had I kenned all that were. I never practised

Upon man’s wife, nor would the libels read

Of liberal wits. I never at great feasts

Sought to betray a beauty, but have blushed

At simpering sirs that did. I have been harsh

To large confessors, and have hotly asked them

If they had mothers—I had one, a woman,

And women ’twere they wronged. I knew a man

Of eighty winters, this I told them, who

A lass of fourteen brided; ’twas thy power

To put life into dust. The aged cramp

Had screwed his square foot round;

The gout had knit his fingers into knots,

Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes

Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life

In him seemed torture. This anatomy

Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I

Believed it was his, for she swore it was,

And who would not believe her? Brief, I am

To those that prate and have done, no companion;

To those that boast and have not, a defier;

To those that would and cannot, a rejoicer.

Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices

The foulest way, nor names concealments in

The boldest language. Such a one I am,

And vow that lover never yet made sigh

Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess,

Give me the victory of this question, which

Is true love’s merit, and bless me with a sign

Of thy great pleasure.

[_Here music is heard; doves are seen to flutter. They fall again upon

their faces, then on their knees._]

O thou that from eleven to ninety reign’st

In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world

And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks

For this fair token, which being laid unto

Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance

My body to this business.—Let us rise

And bow before the goddess.

[_They rise and bow._]

Time comes on.

[_Exeunt._]

Still music of recorders. Enter Emilia in white, her hair about her

shoulders, wearing a wheaten wreath. One in white holding up her train,

her hair stuck with flowers. One before her carrying a silver hind, in

which is conveyed incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the

altar of Diana, her maids standing aloof, she sets fire to it; then

they curtsy and kneel.

EMILIA ≋ verse [moment of intensity]

O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen,

Abandoner of revels, mute contemplative,

Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure

As wind-fanned snow, who to thy female knights

Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush,

Which is their order’s robe, I here, thy priest,

Am humbled ’fore thine altar. O, vouchsafe

With that thy rare green eye, which never yet

Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin;

And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear,

Which ne’er heard scurrile term, into whose port

Ne’er entered wanton sound, to my petition,

Seasoned with holy fear. This is my last

Of vestal office. I am bride-habited

But maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed,

But do not know him. Out of two I should

Choose one, and pray for his success, but I

Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes,

Were I to lose one, they are equal precious;

I could doom neither; that which perished should

Go to ’t unsentenced. Therefore, most modest queen,

He of the two pretenders that best loves me

And has the truest title in ’t, let him

Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant

The file and quality I hold I may

Continue in thy band.

O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen, Abandoner of revels, mute contemplative, Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure As wind-fanned snow, who to your female knights Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush, Which is their order’s robe, I hbefore, your priest, Am humbled ’fore yours altar. O, vouchsafe With that your rare green eye, which never yet Beheld thing maculate, look on your virgin; And, sacred silver mistress, lend yours ear, Which ne’er heard scurrile term, into whose port Ne’er entbefored wanton sound, to my petition, Seasoned with holy fear. This is my last Of vestal office. I am bride-habited But maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed, But do not know him. Out of two I should Choose one, and pray for his success, but I Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes, Wbefore I to lose one, they are equal precious; I could doom neither; that which perished should Go to ’t unsentenced. Thbeforefore, most modest queen, He of the two pretenders that best loves me And has the truest title in ’t, let him Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant The file and quality I hold I may Continue in your band.

o sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen, abandoner of revels, mute contemplative, sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure as wind-fanned snow, who to your female knights allow’st no more blood than will make a blush, which is their order’s robe, i've hbefore, your priest, am humbled ’fore yours altar. o, vouchsafe with that your rare green eye, which never yet beheld thing maculate, look on your virgin; and, sacred silver mistress, lend yours ear, which ne’er heard scurrile term, into whose port ne’er entbefored wanton sound, to my petition, seasoned with holy fear

o sacred shadowy cold

"sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen" Diana, goddess of the moon, hunt, and chastity. 'Shadowy' because she is associated with moonlight and the night; 'constant' because the moon is reliable. Her colors are silver and white.

Why it matters Emilia's prayer to Diana is the emotional and thematic center of the whole play. She doesn't pray for a winner — she prays to be released from choosing. The rose omen that follows is deliberately ambiguous: the gods will answer her, but not in the way she asks.

🎭 Dramatic irony Emilia prays to Diana to 'unclasp thy mystery' after the rose falls — reading it as a sign she will be married. She's right. But she's about to be given to Arcite, who will then die immediately after, leaving her to Palamon. Diana did answer her prayer; just not in any way she imagined.

[_Here the hind vanishes under the altar, and in the place ascends a

rose tree, having one rose upon it._]

See what our general of ebbs and flows

Out from the bowels of her holy altar

With sacred act advances: but one rose!

If well inspired, this battle shall confound

Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flower,

Must grow alone, unplucked.

[_Here is heard a sudden twang of instruments, and the rose falls from

the tree._]

The flower is fall’n, the tree descends. O mistress,

Thou here dischargest me. I shall be gathered;

I think so, but I know not thine own will.

Unclasp thy mystery!—I hope she’s pleased;

Her signs were gracious.

[_They curtsy and exeunt._]

The Reckoning

This is the play's formal and spiritual center — three consecutive prayers, three divine responses, and three people each convinced they've received a favorable sign. The scene is structured like a triptych: Arcite's prayer to Mars is about war and strength, Palamon's to Venus is about love's power and his own virtue as a lover, and Emilia's to Diana is about being released from the choice entirely. All three get what they prayed for — and all three will be surprised by how. The gods are not wrong; only the humans are wrong about what the gods mean.

If this happened today…

Three people before a major event each stop to pray, meditate, or consult a therapist. Person A visualizes dominating the competition and walks out fired up. Person B recites his entire relationship history as evidence he deserves the prize, and gets a feeling of calm. Person C asks to be excused from having to choose at all, gets an ambiguous sign — a rose falls — and decides it probably means she'll have to get married after all. All three feel comforted. All three are about to be astonished by what actually happens.

Continue to 5.2 →