A cry is heard for delay of the execution; Perithous rushes in, ascends the scaffold, and, raising Palamon from the block, announces the approaching death of Arcite, with nearly the same circumstances as in the poem. While he rode townwards from the lists, on a black steed which had been the gift of Emily, he had been thrown with violence, and now lies on the brink of dissolution. [Sidenote: Description of Arcite's mishap is bad, but Shakspere's.] The speech which describes Arcite's misadven[54:1]ture has been much noticed by the critics, and by some lavishly praised. With deference, I think it decidedly bad, but undeniably the work of Shakspeare. [Sidenote: Over-labourd, involvd, hard, yet Shakspere's, with his words and thoughts.] The whole manner of it is that of some of his long and over-laboured descriptions. It is full of illustration, infelicitous but not weak; in involvement of sentence and hardness of phrase no passage in the play comes so close to him; and there are traceable in one or two instances, not only his words, but the trains of thought in which he indulges elsewhere, especially the description of the horse, which closely resembles some spirited passages in the Venus and Adonis. It is needless to quote any part of this speech. [Sidenote: End of the _Two Noble Kinsmen_.] The after-part of this scene, which ends the play, contains some forcible and lofty reflection, and the language is exceedingly vigorous and weighty. In Chaucer, the feelings of the dying Arcite are expressed at much length, and very touchingly; in the play, they are dispatched shortly, and the attention continued on Palamon, who had been its previous object:-- (_Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chair._) _Palamon._ Oh, miserable end of our alli|ance! The gods are mighty!--Arcite, if thy heart, Thy worthy, manly heart, be yet unbro|ken, Give me thy last words. I am Palamon, One that yet loves thee dying. _Arcite._ Take Emil|ia, And with her all the world's joy. Reach thy hand: Farewell! I've told my last hour. I was false, But never treacherous: Forgive me, cous|in! One kiss from fair Emilia!--'Tis done: Take her.--I die! _Palamon._ Thy brave soul seek Elys|ium! . . . . . [Sidenote: Shakspere.] _Theseus._ _His part is played; and, though it were too short, He did it well._ Your day is lengthened, and The blissful dew of heaven does arrose | you: The powerful Venus well hath graced her al|tar, And given you your love; our master Mars Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gave The grace of the contention: So the de|ities Have shewed due justice.--Bear this hence. _Palamon._ Oh, cous|in! That we should things desire, which do cost | us [55:1]The loss of our desire! that nought could buy Dear love, but loss of dear love!