Confident, quick-talking, clinical — he rattles off diagnoses and remedies with the breezy authority of a man who has seen everything before. Watch for how his certainty about medical matters makes him completely blind to ethical ones.
Her distraction is more at some time of the moon, than at other some,
is it not?
Her confused state of mind comes and goes more at certain times of the lunar cycle than at other times, does it not?
Her confusion gets worse at certain times of the month, right? Like with the moon phases?
her confusion cycles with the moon worse at certain times
She is continually in a harmless distemper, sleeps little, altogether
without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another world, and a
better; and what broken piece of matter soe’er she’s about, the name
Palamon lards it, that she farces every business withal, fits it to
every question.
She's constantly in a harmless state of mental illness, sleeps very little, has no appetite at all except that she drinks constantly, and dreams of another world and a better one. Whatever broken piece of anything she's dealing with, the name Palamon fills it up, and she stuffs it into every activity, fits it into every conversation.
She's always kind of sick mentally, barely sleeps, doesn't eat anything - just drinks a lot and daydreams about a better world. No matter what she's doing or talking about, she just throws Palamon's name in everywhere. Everything becomes about him.
always confused, kind of sick barely sleeps doesn't eat, just drinks dreams of another world every word becomes about palamon stuffs his name into everything
Look where she comes; you shall perceive her behaviour.
Look, there she comes; you'll see her behavior now.
Here she comes; watch her act.
there she is watch her
I have forgot it quite. The burden on ’t was “Down-a, down-a,” and
penned by no worse man than Geraldo, Emilia’s schoolmaster. He’s as
fantastical, too, as ever he may go upon’s legs, for in the next world
will Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Æneas.
I've completely forgotten it. The main part of the song went 'Down-a, down-a,' and it was written by no less than Geraldo, Emilia's schoolmaster. He's as eccentric as anyone could be, because in the afterlife Dido will see Palamon, and then she'll stop being in love with Aeneas.
I totally forgot the whole thing. But the main part went 'Down-a, down-a,' and Geraldo - you know, Emilia's teacher - wrote it. That guy's as crazy as they come. His whole thing is that in the next life, Dido's gonna see Palamon instead and dump Aeneas.
forgot the whole song the chorus was 'down-a down-a' geraldo wrote it emilia's teacher, total eccentric he says dido will see palamon next life she'll forget aeneas then
What stuff’s here? Poor soul!
What nonsense is this? Poor girl!
What is she talking about? Poor thing!
what is she saying poor girl
Even thus all day long.
This goes on all day long.
She's like this all the time.
all day every day
The Doctor's treatment plan has attracted serious critical attention, because it involves using the Wooer to deceive a mentally ill woman into intimacy under a false identity. The Doctor is clear about this: 'It is a falsehood she is in, which is with falsehoods to be combated.' The Jailer objects — 'by your leave, in the way of honesty' — and the Doctor dismisses him: 'Ne'er cast your child away for honesty.' The Jailer then thanks him anyway. What's interesting is that the play doesn't condemn the Doctor or hold him up for satire. His plan works, more or less. The Daughter is brought back from her worst extremity. But the play is equally clear that the cure doesn't give her what she actually lost — the love of Palamon — and that the Wooer's impersonation is a profound deception of a vulnerable woman. Shakespeare and Fletcher leave this discomfort sitting in the room without resolving it.
Now for this charm that I told you of: you must bring a piece of silver
on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry. Then if it be your chance to
come where the blessed spirits are, there’s a sight now! We maids that
have our livers perished, cracked to pieces with love, we shall come
there, and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with Proserpine.
Then will I make Palamon a nosegay; then let him mark me—then.
Now, about this magic spell I mentioned: you must place a piece of silver on the tip of your tongue, or the ferryman won't take you. Then if you happen to arrive where the blessed spirits are, what a sight that will be! We young women whose hearts have been destroyed and shattered by love, we'll arrive there and do nothing but pick flowers with Proserpine all day long. Then I'll make Palamon a flower bouquet; then he'll notice me—then.
So here's the magic trick I told you about. You gotta put a silver coin on your tongue or the ferryman won't take you across. And if you get to where the blessed spirits are, oh man, what a place! All us girls whose hearts got crushed by love - we'll be there just picking flowers with Proserpine forever. And I'll make Palamon a bouquet, and then he'll finally see me.
silver coin on your tongue or the ferryman won't take you if you get to the blessed place we broken-hearted girls pick flowers i'll make palamon a bouquet he'll finally notice me then
How prettily she’s amiss! Note her a little further.
How prettily she's confused and wrong! Watch her a little more to understand it better.
Isn't it kind of beautiful how she's all messed up? Keep listening to her.
pretty the way she's wrong keep watching her
Faith, I’ll tell you, sometime we go to barley-break, we of the
blessed. Alas, ’tis a sore life they have i’ th’ other place—such
burning, frying, boiling, hissing, howling, chattering, cursing—O, they
have shrewd measure; take heed! If one be mad, or hang or drown
themselves, thither they go; Jupiter bless us! And there shall we be
put in a cauldron of lead and usurers’ grease, amongst a whole million
of cutpurses, and there boil like a gammon of bacon that will never be
enough.
Honestly, I'll tell you, sometimes we blessed spirits play a game called barley-break. But oh, those in the other place have a terrible life—all that burning, frying, boiling, hissing, howling, chattering, cursing—they're treated harshly; be careful! If someone goes mad or hangs or drowns themselves, they go there. May the gods protect us! And we'll be put in a cauldron of melted lead and moneylenders' fat, among a whole million of thieves, and boil there like a side of bacon that will never be fully cooked.
I'm telling you, the blessed spirits play this game sometimes. But the people in the other place? Man, they've got it bad. All this burning, frying, boiling, screaming, howling, swearing - they get treated rough. Watch out! If you go crazy or kill yourself, that's where you end up. God help us! And we'll be stuck in a pot of melted lead and greasy fat, packed in with millions of thieves, boiling away like bacon that never gets done.
blessed spirits play games but the damned? terrible life burning, frying, boiling, screaming, howling, cursing they get destroyed go mad or kill yourself? that's where you end up melted lead, greasy fat, thieves boiling forever like bacon
How her brain coins!
How her mind creates wild fantasies!
Look at her imagination go!
her mind is creating wild things
Lords and courtiers that have got maids with child, they are in this
place. They shall stand in fire up to the navel and in ice up to the
heart, and there th’ offending part burns and the deceiving part
freezes. In troth, a very grievous punishment, as one would think, for
such a trifle. Believe me, one would marry a leprous witch to be rid on
’t, I’ll assure you.
Nobles and court men who got young women pregnant are in this place. They'll stand in fire up to their navels and in ice up to their hearts, with the offending part burning and the deceiving part freezing. Truly, it's a very harsh punishment, as one might think, for such a small thing. Believe me, someone would marry a diseased witch to escape from it, I promise you.
All those rich guys and nobles who got girls pregnant? They're stuck in that place. They'll be standing in fire up to their bellies and in ice up to their hearts - the part that did wrong burns, the part that lied freezes. It's pretty cruel punishment, if you think about it, for a simple mistake. Seriously, someone would marry a diseased witch just to get out of it.
nobles who seduced girls fire up to the navel ice up to the heart the bad part burns, the lying part freezes cruel punishment for one mistake people would marry anything to escape it
How she continues this fancy! ’Tis not an engraffed madness, but a most
thick, and profound melancholy.
How she keeps up this imagination! It's not an implanted insanity, but a very deep and profound depression.
She just keeps going with this fantasy. This isn't madness - it's a really deep, heavy sadness.
she keeps building this fantasy not madness but deep heavy depression
To hear there a proud lady and a proud city wife howl together! I were
a beast an I’d call it good sport. One cries “O this smoke!” th’ other,
“This fire!”; one cries, “O, that ever I did it behind the arras!” and
then howls; th’ other curses a suing fellow and her garden house.
To hear a proud noblewoman and a proud city wife howling together there! I'd be a beast if I called it good entertainment. One screams 'Oh, this smoke!' the other cries 'This fire!'; one cries 'Oh, that I ever did it behind the tapestry!' and then howls; the other curses some troublesome man and her garden house.
Picture a fancy noblewoman and a fancy city wife howling together there! I'd be a monster to think it was funny. One's screaming about the smoke, the other about the fire. One's like 'I can't believe I did it behind the curtain!' and just wails. The other's cursing some guy who sued her and her garden house.
a noblewoman and a city wife screaming together one: the smoke! the other: the fire! one: i did it behind the tapestry! howling the other cursing some guy and her garden house
The Daughter's hell-geography is one of the scene's strangest pleasures. She combines genuine classical mythology (Charon's ferry, the coin for the toll, Proserpine, Dido and Aeneas) with folk Christian imagery (cauldrons, lead, boiling) and her own invented sociology of sin (lords who got maids pregnant standing in fire to the navel, the offending part burning while the deceiving heart freezes). This is mad, but it's also inventive and oddly coherent. The punishments fit the crimes in a way the real underworld rarely manages. And her final image — that in the afterlife she will finally make Palamon notice her — captures her obsession at its most naked: even in paradise, what she wants is just to be seen by him. The classical learning and the folk imagination blur into each other exactly as they would in an Elizabethan country girl who has absorbed both.
_I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c._
I will remain true, my stars, my fate
I'll stay loyal to my stars and my destiny
true to my fate and stars
What think you of her, sir?
What do you think of her condition, sir?
What's your take on her, doctor?
what do you think of her
I think she has a perturbed mind, which I cannot minister to.
I believe she has a disturbed mind, which I'm unable to treat.
I think her mind is seriously messed up, and I don't know how to fix it.
her mind is broken i can't treat it
Alas, what then?
Alas, what then?
In other words: alas, what then?
alas what then
Understand you she ever affected any man ere she beheld Palamon?
Did she ever have feelings for any man before she saw Palamon?
Did she ever like anyone before she saw Palamon?
did she like anyone before palamon
I was once, sir, in great hope she had fixed her liking on this
gentleman, my friend.
I was once very hopeful, sir, that she had set her affection on this gentleman, my friend.
I used to think, sir, that she was getting interested in my friend here.
i thought she liked this friend of mine
I did think so too, and would account I had a great penn’orth on’t, to
give half my state, that both she and I at this present stood
unfeignedly on the same terms.
I thought so as well, and I would consider I got good value from it, to give up half my property if both she and I right now stood genuinely on the same loving terms.
Yeah, I thought that too. Honestly, I'd give up half of what I own if things were real between us right now - if she actually felt for me the way I feel for her.
i thought that too i'd give up half my stuff if she actually felt the same if we were really together
That intemperate surfeit of her eye hath distempered the other senses.
They may return and settle again to execute their preordained
faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must
do: confine her to a place where the light may rather seem to steal in
than be permitted. Take upon you, young sir, her friend, the name of
Palamon; say you come to eat with her, and to commune of love. This
will catch her attention, for this her mind beats upon; other objects
that are inserted ’tween her mind and eye become the pranks and
friskins of her madness. Sing to her such green songs of love as she
says Palamon hath sung in prison. Come to her stuck in as sweet flowers
as the season is mistress of, and thereto make an addition of some
other compounded odours which are grateful to the sense. All this shall
become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet and every
good thing. Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still
among intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her
favour. Learn what maids have been her companions and play-feres, and
let them repair to her with Palamon in their mouths, and appear with
tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in,
which is with falsehoods to be combated. This may bring her to eat, to
sleep, and reduce what’s now out of square in her into their former law
and regiment. I have seen it approved, how many times I know not, but
to make the number more I have great hope in this. I will, between the
passages of this project, come in with my appliance. Let us put it in
execution and hasten the success, which, doubt not, will bring forth
comfort.
Her excessive, uncontrolled attraction has damaged her other senses. They might return and settle again to perform their intended functions, but right now they're in a completely wild state. Here's what you need to do: confine her to a place where light seems to enter by accident rather than openly. You, young man and her friend, should take on the role of Palamon. Say you've come to eat with her and talk about love. This will grab her attention because this is what her mind is focused on. Other objects that come between her mind and what she sees become the pranks and tricks of her madness. Sing to her the kind of innocent love songs that she says Palamon sang in prison. Come to her surrounded by the sweetest flowers that the season provides, and add to that some other pleasant mixed fragrances that please the senses. All of this will become Palamon for her, because Palamon can sing and Palamon is sweet and everything good. Express your desire to eat with her, serve her food, drink with her, and always work in your request for her kindness and favor. Find out which young women have been her companions and playmates, and have them visit her talking about Palamon, and show up with tokens as if they're suggesting him for her. She's trapped in a delusion, which must be fought with other delusions. This might bring her to eat, to sleep, and bring what's now disordered in her back to its former right order. I've seen this method work, I don't know how many times, but to add to the number I have great hope in this approach. I will, at points throughout this plan, come by with my medical treatment. Let's put it into action and speed up the success, which, make no mistake, will bring comfort.
Her obsession with Palamon has thrown off her whole mind. It might recover and work right again, but for now she's completely out of control. Here's what to do: Keep her in a dimly lit room. You, since you're her friend, pretend to be Palamon. Tell her you came to eat with her and talk about love. That'll get her attention because it's all she thinks about. Everything else she sees just feeds her madness. Sing her the kind of gentle love songs she says Palamon sang in prison. Come to her covered in the most beautiful flowers you can find this season, and bring some nice perfume too. Make yourself into Palamon in her mind - Palamon can sing, Palamon is perfect and good. Try to get her to eat with you, serve her, drink with her, and sneak in requests for her affection. Find out who her girlfriends are and have them come see her talking about Palamon, bringing little gifts like they're pushing him for her. She's stuck in a false belief, so you fight it with a false belief. This might get her to actually eat and sleep, and fix what's broken in her mind. I've seen this work plenty of times before, and I'm hopeful it'll work here too. I'll check on her during the process with my medicine. Let's start and move fast - this should definitely help.
she's obsessed past the point of reason keep her in dim light you pretend to be palamon tell her you came to eat and talk love sing her gentle songs show up covered in flowers add nice perfume become palamon for her get her to eat with you have her friends come mention palamon bring little gifts fight this false belief with another false belief it should make her eat and sleep again i've seen it work let's try it
The Reckoning
This is a short scene but it hides a significant ethical disturbance beneath its comic surface. The Doctor is confident, clinical, and completely wrong about the ethical dimension of what he's proposing. The Jailer sees the problem — he objects, gets brushed off, and ends up thanking the doctor anyway. The Daughter herself is intermittently brilliant in her madness, her hell-vision weirdly coherent, and then she walks out singing. What stays in the room is a plan that, if it works, involves a deeply vulnerable woman being deceived into intimacy with a man who isn't who she thinks he is. The play doesn't moralize about this — it just shows it happening.
If this happened today…
A psychiatrist sits down with a worried father and the father's friend to assess the father's grown daughter, who has had a breakdown over a man she can't have. The psychiatrist's prescription: have the friend — who the daughter already likes — start pretending to be the man she loves. Text her as him. See her as him. If she wants to sleep with him, do it. 'That's not okay,' says the father. 'Cast your child away for honesty,' says the psychiatrist. The father says 'Thank you, Doctor,' because what else is there to say?