The Two Noble Kinsmen was almost certainly co-written by Shakespeare and John Fletcher around 1613-1614 — one of the last plays Shakespeare had a hand in. Fletcher was his successor as the King's Men's house playwright, a generation younger and with a very different sensibility: more decorative, more emotionally direct, more interested in tragicomic patterns. Scholars generally believe Shakespeare wrote the beginning and end of the play (including this scene), and Fletcher wrote most of the middle. The opening scene has the weight and compression of late Shakespeare — the imagery of the wedding song, the sudden entrance of three black-veiled queens, the collision of joy and grief in a single theatrical moment. If you find some sections more lush and ornate than others, you are probably reading Fletcher. If you find moments of stark, strange compression, that is probably Shakespeare at his most distilled.
The First Queen leads with political rhetoric — flattery of Theseus's reputation, appeals to his heroic identity. She is the most strategically eloquent of the three. Watch for her use of urgency and timing as persuasion.
For pity’s sake and true gentility’s,
Hear and respect me.
For pity's sake and for true courtesy's sake, hear me and respect what I say.
Please, I'm begging you — listen to me and take this seriously.
pity us we're begging listen treat us with respect
For your mother’s sake,
And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones,
Hear and respect me.
For the sake of your mother, and as you hope someday to have fair children, hear and respect me.
Think of your mother. Think about wanting beautiful kids someday — please listen to us.
for your mother for children you want listen to us please
Now, for the love of him whom Jove hath marked
The honour of your bed, and for the sake
Of clear virginity, be advocate
For us and our distresses. This good deed
Shall raze you out o’ th’ book of trespasses
All you are set down there.
Now, for the love of him whom Jupiter has blessed as the glory of your marriage, and for the sake of your virginity, be an advocate for us and our suffering. This kindness will erase you from the book of sins where you are now recorded.
For the man Jupiter blessed you to marry, and for your honor, stand up for us and what we're going through. Do this and you'll wipe clean every sin anyone ever wrote against you.
for jove's chosen man for your honor stand for us help our suffering clear your debts
Theseus speaks in the register of a man who has seen everything and decided he can bear anything — but his speeches keep breaking open into genuine feeling. Watch for the moments when his formal rhetoric suddenly goes personal, as when he recalls seeing the First Queen's beauty at her husband's wedding.
Sad lady, rise.
Sorrowful lady, rise.
Come on, get up. Don't kneel.
please stand up
Hippolyta's few lines are compressed and precise — she has been a warrior queen and speaks with the economy of someone used to command. Watch how she distinguishes between what she feels ('Heart-deep') and what she will do ('I'll speak anon') — she never wastes words.
Stand up.
Stand up.
Get up.
stand now
Emilia's voice is the most empathetic in the play — she reaches toward other people's pain almost involuntarily. Watch for her tendency to turn others' grief into vivid, painterly images, as if she can only fully feel by seeing.
No knees to me.
What woman I may stead that is distressed,
Does bind me to her.
Do not kneel to me. Any woman in distress whom I can help, I am bound to her.
Don't kneel. Any woman suffering — if I can help her, I will.
don't kneel women in pain i'm theirs i'm bound to help
What’s your request? Deliver you for all.
What is your request? Tell us all together.
Okay, what do you need? Tell me — all three of you.
what do you need tell me all three
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.
He will not suffer us to burn their bones,
To urn their ashes, nor to take th’ offence
Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye
Of holy Phœbus, but infects the winds
With stench of our slain lords. O, pity, Duke!
Thou purger of the earth, draw thy feared sword
That does good turns to th’ 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.
We are three queens whose sovereigns fell before the rage of cruel Creon and now endure the beaks of ravens, talons of kites, and pecks of crows upon the foul fields of Thebes. He will not suffer us to burn their bones, to urn their ashes, nor to take away the offense of mortal corruption from the blessed eye of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds with the stench of our slain lords. O mercy, Duke! You purger of the earth, draw your feared sword that does good; give us the bones of our dead kings so that we may temple them; and note our sorrow — for our crowned heads we have no roof but this, which is the lion's and the bear's, and every creature's vault.
Our kings are dead on the Theban battlefield. Creon won't let anyone bury them or burn them. Ravens and kites and crows are tearing at their bodies. The smell is everywhere — it's offending the gods. We have nowhere to go, nothing, just open sky that we share with wild animals. Please help us. Use your power to force Creon to let us give our husbands proper burial.
our kings are dead rotting on the battlefield birds tear them apart creon won't let us bury them we sleep in open air with wild beasts no shelter no dignity please
Pray you, kneel not.
I was transported with your speech and suffered
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 Capaneus 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 threshed 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 thawed. O grief and time,
Fearful consumers, you will all devour!
I beg you, do not kneel. Your speech transported me so deeply that I permitted myself this discourtesy. I have heard the fortunes of your dead lords, and the knowledge awakens in me such grief as calls forth my vengeance for them. King Capaneus was your lord. The day that he should have married you — at such a season as now it is for me — I met your groom at Mars's altar. You were beautiful then! Not Juno's own mantle was fairer than your hair, nor did she spread her bounty more widely. Your wheaten wreath was neither threshed nor blasted. Fortune at you dimpled her cheek with smiles. Hercules, our kinsman — he who was weaker than your eyes — laid down his club and fell upon his Nemean hide.
Don't kneel — your words hit me too hard. I know about your kings, and thinking about them fills me with rage and grief. I want revenge for them. Capaneus was your husband. You were supposed to marry him the same day I married Hippolyta. I saw you at his wedding — you were so beautiful. Your hair was more gorgeous than anything. Your wedding garland was perfect and white and fresh. You had real luck then. Even the strongest hero alive would have noticed you.
i remember you at your wedding so beautiful so full of hope everything stolen i understand grief destroys i'm sorry i'll help
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.
O grief and time, fearful consumers of all things! Does any woman's cheek bloom now? Was there ever anything good that we can remember without pain? What good woman ever laid her children to sleep without heartbreak?
God, time and sorrow just destroy everything. How do women ever smile? Is there anything good that ever happened that doesn't hurt to think about? Any mother ever tuck her kids in without her heart breaking?
grief consumes everything time eats it all beauty dies children become loss why remember why hope
O, no knees, none, widow!
Unto the helmeted Bellona use them,
And pray for me, your soldier.
Troubled I am.
No, do not kneel to me, widow. Unto Bellona, the armed goddess, use your knees, and pray for me, your soldier. I am troubled.
Don't kneel to me. If you kneel, kneel to the war goddess. And pray for me — I'm your soldier now. This is heavy.
don't kneel i'm your soldier going to war prior for me i'm troubled
Honoured Hippolyta,
Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain
The scythe-tusked 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 styled 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,
Whom now I know hast much more power on him
Than ever he had on thee, who ow’st his strength
And his love too, who is a servant for
The tenor 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 plucked off.
Tell him if he i’ th’ blood-sized field lay swollen,
Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon,
What you would do.
Honored Hippolyta, most feared Amazon who slew the boar; that with your arm, as strong as it is white, you were near to make the male sex your captive, but that your lord, born to uphold creation in its proper order, shrank you into the bounds you overflowed before, at once subduing your force and your affection — warrior woman who can balance sternness with pity, whom I know has more power over him than he ever had over you, who holds his strength and his love as your servant — mirror of ladies, bid him that we whom flaming war scorches may shelter under his sword's shade; require him to raise it above our heads. Speak in a woman's voice, like one of us. Weep if you must. Lend us a knee — but for no longer than a dove's motion when its head is plucked off. Tell him that if he lay swollen in a blood-sized field, showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon, what would you do?
You were a warrior queen. You could've beaten men in battle. Your husband came along and tamed you, made you smaller, weaker. But here's the thing: he loves you more than you love him. He'll do anything you say. You have all the power. So tell him to help us. We're being destroyed by war. Ask him to protect us with his sword. Speak like a woman — cry if you need to. If he were lying dead on a battlefield, swollen and rotting, what would you do to save him? Do that for us.
you were a warrior once strong he tamed you but he loves you more he'll listen help us use your power
Poor lady, say no more.
I had as lief trace this good action with you
As that whereto I am going, and never yet
Went I so willing way. My lord is taken
Heart-deep with your distress. Let him consider;
I’ll speak anon.
Dear lady, say no more. I would as willingly follow this good action with you as go to that which I am bound to, and I have never taken a path so gladly. My lord is moved to his very heart by your distress. Let him consider. I will speak when the time comes.
Don't say anymore. Honestly, I'd rather help you than go get married. I've never been so willing to do something. Your grief has shaken my husband to his core. Let him think about it. I'll say more when the moment is right.
i'd rather help than marry your grief touched him he's thinking i'll speak soon
O, my petition was
Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied
Melts into drops; so sorrow, wanting form,
Is pressed with deeper matter.
My petition was set down in ice, which the hot fire of grief has thawed, melting it into tears. So sorrow, without proper form, presses down with heavier weight.
My words came out stiff and frozen. But your sadness warmed them up, and now they're just liquid despair. Grief that has no shape weighs more heavily.
my plea was frozen your sorrow warmed it now it's just tears shapeless heavy destroyed
Pray, stand up;
Your grief is written in your cheek.
Please, stand up. Your grief is written plainly on your face.
Please get up. I can read all your pain right on your face.
stand up i see it in your face your grief
O, woe!
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’ th’ earth
Must know the center 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.
O, you cannot read what is written there. Through my tears — like wrinkled pebbles in a clear stream — you may see them. Lady, lady, alas! He who would know all the treasure of the earth must also know the center. He who would fish for my smallest thought, let him cast his line to catch it at my heart. O, forgive me! Extremity, that sharpens various talents, makes me a fool.
No, you can't read it there. Look through my tears — they're like pebbles in clear water, all distorted. If you want to understand me, you'd have to fish in my heart itself. I'm sorry. When grief gets this bad, it makes you stupid.
look through the tears like pebbles in water everything distorted to understand me fish your line into my heart sorry extreme grief makes me foolish
The scene's central crisis — Creon forbidding burial of the defeated kings — is lifted directly from Greek tragedy, most famously Sophocles' Antigone. In that play, Creon's edict against burying Polynices drives his niece Antigone to her death in defiance. For an Elizabethan audience, the stakes of burial were not abstract: proper Christian burial was a serious social and religious matter, and to deny it was to deny the soul its rest. Shakespeare and Fletcher import this Greek outrage into a world where the audience understands both the classical mythology and the contemporary weight. The three queens are not just politically aggrieved — they are spiritually desperate. And Theseus, by agreeing to help, is not just performing chivalry. He is restoring cosmic order.
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-pierced 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.
Please say nothing more. Who cannot feel the rain or see it when they are in it, knows neither wet nor dry. If you were a painting's foundation, I would buy you to teach me against a deadly grief — such a heart-pierced image. But being a natural sister of our sex, your sorrow strikes so fiercely upon me that it will make a counter-reflection against my brother's heart and warm it toward pity, though it were stone. Please have good comfort.
Don't say more. You can't understand what something is like when you're inside it. If you were a painting, I'd buy you to learn from — to understand real grief. But you're a woman like me, and your pain hits me so hard that it's going to make my brother feel it too. It'll warm his heart, even if he's made of stone. Please, have hope.
don't speak i understand from inside grief you're a woman like me your pain hits me hits my brother warms his stone heart to pity
Forward to th’ temple! Leave not out a jot
O’ th’ sacred ceremony.
You are kind and blessed.
You're kind. You're blessed.
you're kind blessed thank you
O, this celebration
Will longer last and be more costly than
Your suppliants’ war! Remember that your fame
Knolls in the ear o’ th’ world; what you do quickly
Is not done rashly; your first thought is more
Than others’ laboured meditance, your premeditating
More than their actions. But, O Jove, your actions,
Soon as they move, as ospreys do the fish,
Subdue before they touch. Think, dear Duke, think
What beds our slain kings have!
By heaven, their suffering is old, and already the Duke has in his eye an order for the battle.
By God, their grief is ancient. And look — Theseus is already mentally preparing for war.
their pain is old deep theseus is ready for war
What griefs our beds,
That our dear lords have none!
Hark! The trumpets call us to the field. Farewell, kind women. If the gods grant us victory in this war, we shall return and see your burial with our own hands.
Listen — the battle signal. Women, goodbye. If the gods help us win, we'll come back and make sure your husbands are buried properly ourselves.
the trumpet calls we go to war farewell if we win we'll return we'll bury your kings with honor
None fit for th’ dead.
Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance,
Weary of this world’s light, have to themselves
Been death’s most horrid agents, human grace
Affords them dust and shadow.
O, stay and hear us!
Wait — listen to us!
wait listen please don't go
But our lords
Lie blist’ring ’fore the visitating sun,
And were good kings when living.
I am a soldier, my affection to you cannot be otherwise than merciful. Your fortunes are as good as your wishes can make them.
I'm a soldier. All I can offer you is mercy and my good intentions. Your luck depends on what the gods allow.
i'm a soldier my sympathy is real but limited the gods control your fortune
It is true, and I will give you comfort
To give your dead lords graves;
The which to do must make some work with Creon.
The gods require us to ask, and you to hear; but gods themselves more than merciful are strong.
The gods expect us to ask and you to listen. But gods are stronger than mercy — they make things happen.
gods require we ask you listen but gods are strong stronger than mercy
And that work presents itself to th’ doing.
Now ’twill take form; the heats are gone tomorrow.
Then, bootless toil must recompense itself
With its own sweat. Now he’s secure,
Not dreams we stand before your puissance,
Rinsing our holy begging in our eyes
To make petition clear.
How that may be, I know not. But I am sure our prayers shall be heard by Jove.
I don't know what will happen. But I know Jove hears our prayers.
i don't know the future but jove hears prayers i'm sure of that
Now you may take him, drunk with his victory.
Let us depart and kneel before the gods of our necessity.
Let's go. Let's pray to the gods we need to survive this.
let's go let's pray to the gods we need necessity knees
And his army full of bread and sloth.
Another dance, another tournament?
What are you thinking? More celebrations? More games?
another dance another game or war
Artesius, that best knowest
How to draw out fit to this enterprise
The prim’st for this proceeding, and the number
To carry such a business: forth and levy
Our worthiest instruments, whilst we dispatch
This grand act of our life, this daring deed
Of fate in wedlock.
The gods have heard us. How much more shall we expect of mercy from above? Shall I go call my father back?
The gods have listened to us. They're being kind. Should I go get my father? Tell him to wait?
the gods heard they're kind shall i call my father back
Dowagers, take hands.
Let us be widows to our woes; delay
Commends us to a famishing hope.
No, good Emilia. Let them depart. The business that I go about requires haste.
No, Emilia. Let them go. I need to move fast on this.
no let them go i need haste speed war calls
Farewell!
Come, dearest haste, for bosom-deep I am in love.
Come on. I'm desperate with love — love for duty, for honor.
come haste deep in love but not with wedding with duty with honor
We come unseasonably; but when could grief
Cull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fitt’st time
For best solicitation?
I'll follow thee with all the power that I have, thou valiant.
I'll follow you with everything I have. You're brave.
i'll follow with all my power valiant brave strong
Why, good ladies,
This is a service, whereto I am going,
Greater than any war; it more imports me
Than all the actions that I have foregone,
Or futurely can cope.
Exeunt the Queens by another door.
The queens leave through a different exit.
the queens depart through another door
The more proclaiming
Our suit shall be neglected when her arms,
Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall
By warranting moonlight corselet thee. O, when
Her twinning cherries shall their sweetness fall
Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think
Of rotten kings or blubbered queens? What care
For what thou feel’st not, what thou feel’st being able
To make Mars spurn his drum? O, if thou couch
But one night with her, every hour in ’t will
Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and
Thou shalt remember nothing more than what
That banquet bids thee to.
No ceremonies must be omitted. And the great Juno shall have an offering as just as I intend this business.
We can't skip any rituals. We'll honor the gods properly, just like I honor my obligation here.
no ceremonies skipped juno gets her offering just as this war gets its due
Though much unlike
You should be so transported, as much sorry
I should be such a suitor, yet I think,
Did I not, by th’ abstaining of my joy,
Which breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit
That craves a present med’cine, I should pluck
All ladies’ scandal on me. Therefore, sir,
I will never marry while this war's going on. I have sworn an oath that I will never take a husband.
I'm not getting married. Not while this is happening. I made a vow a long time ago, and I'm keeping it.
i won't marry not now not while women suffer i swore i'm keeping it i'm yours
Our cause cries for your knee.
Now by the gods, 'tis no time to jest. The man that bends his body to his appetite does surrender his humanity. The gods expect us to master appetite through reason.
Listen — I'm serious. Any man who gives in to appetite, who just does whatever he feels like, stops being human. You have to use reason to control desire.
appetite destroys if you give in you're not human reason must win always no exceptions
This scene is structurally extraordinary: it opens with a wedding and ends with a war — and the whole play is going to do the same thing, at a higher pitch and greater cost. The competition between love and honour, between ceremony and obligation, between what we want and what we owe — that competition is announced in the first ten minutes and never resolved. Even the stage picture is deliberate: Theseus between Hippolyta and the three queens, pulled in two directions, is a visual emblem of the play's central problem. He chooses honour — he always does — but the choice costs him his wedding night. Keep watching for the ways the play keeps restaging this same scene: a moment of private joy interrupted by a public demand.
My sister her petition in that force,
With that celerity and nature, which
She makes it in, from henceforth I’ll not dare
To ask you anything, nor be so hardy
Ever to take a husband.
Then I desire we may so stand in those we love, as we make possibility of honor more rich to us than of safety.
What I want is for us to care about people in a way that makes honor more important than safety.
i want to choose honor over safety for those i love always
Pray stand up.
I am entreating of myself to do
Thou speakest now unadvisedly. I will not take thy word for't nor for myself.
You don't know what you're saying. But I believe you, and I'm going to live by what you just said — I'm going to choose honor over safety, absolutely.
you don't know what you're saying but you've said it and i'm keeping it as law
Pirithous is Theseus's best friend, loyal to a fault and slightly underpowered narratively. His speeches are supportive, competent, and warm. Watch for him as the scene's emotional barometer — he reflects what those around him feel.
Sir,
I’ll follow you at heels. The feast’s solemnity
Shall want till your return.
Go, Theseus. Complete this war for us.
Go. Do what you have to do. Finish this war.
go finish the war for us for them
Cousin, I charge you,
Budge not from Athens. We shall be returning
Ere you can end this feast, of which I pray you
Make no abatement. Once more, farewell all.
Come, I will lead the way.
Come on. Let's go.
let's go to war now
Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o’ th’ world.
Now you shall be a god too and love will make you merciful. Come, sir.
Now you'll be like a god yourself. Love and duty will make you kind. Come on.
love duty make you a god full of mercy
And earn’st a deity equal with Mars.
Best friend, conduct these women to the temple. Cleanse the chapel ere we enter.
Best friend, get these women to the temple. Clean it up before we go in.
take them to the temple cleanse it for prayer
If not above him, for
Thou, being but mortal, mak’st affections bend
To godlike honours; they themselves, some say,
Groan under such a mast’ry.
I shall.
Done.
yes
As we are men,
Thus should we do; being sensually subdued,
We lose our human title. Good cheer, ladies.
Now turn we towards your comforts.
Great Juno, 'tween thee and us require the blood of a heathen! That we have changed our purposes! Lead on, and at thy altar they shall bleed.
Juno, goddess of marriage — between you and us, we're asking for the blood of the enemies we'll defeat in your name. We've changed our plans — duty called louder than love. Let's go. We'll sacrifice at your altar for victory.
juno goddess of marriage we've changed our plans duty wars sacrifice blood
The Reckoning
The play opens at its most ceremonial — a wedding, flowers, song, the god Hymen himself — and within minutes three women in black are prostrate on the ground. The collision of joy and grief is not accidental; this is the play's central engine. Theseus is persuaded, his new bride is persuaded, even Emilia kneels. The audience is left wondering whether love or duty is the greater force — and whether Theseus has answered that question or merely deferred it.
If this happened today…
Imagine a celebrity couple's wedding reception, just as the toasts start. Three women in mourning clothes push through security and fall to their knees before the groom — their husbands were killed by a warlord dictator, their bodies left unburied, and only this groom has the military resources to do anything. The bride's sister whispers that if he does nothing she'll never get married herself. The groom puts down his champagne flute and starts making calls to his generals. The caterer watches the centerpieces wilt.