DAUGHTER. There is at least two hundred now with child by him— There must be four; yet I keep close for all this, Close as a cockle; and all these must be boys He has the trick on ’t; and at ten years old They must be all gelt for musicians And sing the wars of Theseus. SECOND FRIEND. This is strange. DAUGHTER. As ever you heard, but say nothing. FIRST FRIEND. No. DAUGHTER. They come from all parts of the dukedom to him. I’ll warrant ye, he had not so few last night As twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle ’t up In two hours, if his hand be in. JAILER. She’s lost Past all cure. BROTHER. Heaven forbid, man! DAUGHTER. Come hither, you are a wise man. FIRST FRIEND. [_Aside._] Does she know him? SECOND FRIEND. [_Aside._] No, would she did. DAUGHTER. You are master of a ship? JAILER. Yes. DAUGHTER. Where’s your compass? JAILER. Here. DAUGHTER. Set it to th’ north. And now direct your course to th’ wood, where Palamon Lies longing for me. For the tackling, Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly. ALL. Owgh, owgh, owgh! ’Tis up, the wind’s fair! Top the bowline; out with the mainsail; Where’s your whistle, master? BROTHER. Let’s get her in. JAILER. Up to the top, boy. BROTHER. Where’s the pilot? FIRST FRIEND. Here. DAUGHTER. What kenn’st thou? SECOND FRIEND. A fair wood. DAUGHTER. Bear for it, master. Tack about! [_Sings_.] _When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c._ [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. A Room in the Palace Enter Emilia alone, with two pictures. EMILIA. Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open And bleed to death for my sake else. I’ll choose, And end their strife. Two such young handsome men Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers, Following the dead cold ashes of their sons, Shall never curse my cruelty. [_Looks at one of the pictures._] Good heaven, What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise Nature, With all her best endowments, all those beauties She sows into the births of noble bodies, Were here a mortal woman, and had in her The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless She would run mad for this man. What an eye, Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness, Has this young prince! Here Love himself sits smiling; Just such another wanton Ganymede Set Jove afire with, and enforced the god Snatch up the goodly boy and set him by him, A shining constellation. What a brow, Of what a spacious majesty, he carries, Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter, Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and Honour, Methinks, from hence, as from a promontory Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings and sing To all the under-world the loves and fights Of gods and such men near ’em. [_Looks at the other picture._]