_Theseus._ Why, good la|dies, This is a service whereto I am go|ing, Greater than any war: it more imports | me Than all the actions that I have foregone, Or futurely can cope. [Sidenote: Shakspere metaphor, force.] _1 Queen._ The more proclaim|ing Our suit shall be neglected. When her arms, Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall By warranting moonlight _corslet_ thee,--oh, when Her twinning cherries shall their sweetness fall Upon thy tasteful lips,--what wilt thou think Of rotten kings or blubberd queens? what care, For what thou feel'st not; what thou feel'st, being a|ble To make Mars spurn his drum?--Oh, if thou couch But one night with her, every hour in't will Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and Thou shall remember nothing more than what That banquet bids thee to. . . . . . _Theseus._ Pray stand up: I am entreating of myself to do That which you kneel to have me. Perithous! Lead on the bride! Get you, and pray the gods For success and return; omit not any thing In the pretended celebration. Queens! Follow your soldier.... ... [32:1](_To Hippolita._) Since that our theme is haste, I stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip: Sweet, keep it as my token!... [Sidenote: Shakspere metaphor.] _1 Queen._ Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o' the world. _2 Queen._ And earn'st a deity equal with Mars. [Sidenote: Shakspere.] _3 Queen._ If not above him; for Thou, being but mortal, mak'st affections bend To godlike honours; _they themselves, some say, Groan under such a mas|tery_.| _Theseus._ As we are men, Thus should we do: being sensually subdued, We lose our human title. Good cheer, la|dies! Now turn we towards your comforts. (_Exeunt._) [Sidenote: Act I. scene ii.]