Now let ’em enter and before the gods
Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples
Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars
In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense
To those above us. Let no due be wanting.
They have a noble work in hand, will honour
The very powers that love ’em.
Now let them enter and before the gods offer their holy prayers. Let the temples burn bright with sacred fires, and let the altars send up their growing incense in holy smoke to those above us. Let nothing be missing from the proper ceremony. They have a noble task ahead, and will honor the very gods who love them.
Let them come in now and pray to the gods. Light up the temples with sacred fires, and let the altars send up lots of incense up to heaven. Do everything right. They're doing something important and it'll show respect to the gods who care about them.
let them enter prayers before the gods light up temples with sacred fires incense rises to heaven nothing missing from ceremony this is a noble work
Sir, they enter.
Sir, they enter.
In other words: sir, they enter.
sir they enter
You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,
You royal german foes, that this day come
To blow that nearness out that flames between ye,
Lay by your anger for an hour and, dove-like,
Before the holy altars of your helpers,
The all-feared gods, bow down your stubborn bodies.
Your ire is more than mortal; so your help be;
And, as the gods regard ye, fight with justice.
I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye
I part my wishes.
You brave and courageous enemies, you royal and equally matched rivals, who come here today to blow away the closeness that burns between you, put aside your anger for an hour and, gentle as doves, before the holy altars of your helpers, the feared gods, bow down your stubborn bodies. Your rage is greater than human; may your help from above be as great. And as the gods watch over you, fight with fairness. I'll leave you to your prayers, and I divide my wishes between you both.
You brave, tough enemies, you royal fighters who are here today to settle this fire between you - just put away your anger for one hour. Go gentle as doves to the holy altars of the gods you trust, and bow down those stubborn bodies of yours. Your anger is superhuman, so hopefully your help from the gods will be too. Fight fair, since the gods are watching. I'm gonna leave you to pray, and I'm split between rooting for both of you.
brave enemies, royal rivals here to settle the fire between you lay down your anger for an hour be gentle as doves bow before the holy altars the gods are watching fight with justice i'm split between you both
Honour crown the worthiest.
Let honor crown whoever is most worthy.
May honor go to whoever deserves it most.
honor the worthiest
The glass is running now that cannot finish
Till one of us expire. Think you but thus,
That were there aught in me which strove to show
Mine enemy in this business, were ’t one eye
Against another, arm oppressed by arm,
I would destroy th’ offender, coz, I would
Though parcel of myself. Then from this gather
How I should tender you.
The hourglass is running now and cannot finish until one of us dies. Just think about this: if there was anything in me that showed itself as your enemy in this fight, whether it was one eye against another, one arm against arm, I would destroy that offending part, cousin, I would destroy it even though it's part of myself. So gather from this how I would care for you.
The hourglass is running and it won't stop until one of us is dead. Think about it this way: if there was any part of me that was acting like your enemy in this fight - like one eye against yours, arm against arm - I'd destroy that part of myself, I really would, even though it's mine. So imagine how much I care about you when I'm willing to do that to myself.
the hourglass is running one of us will die if any part of me was your enemy i'd destroy it even though it's part of me that's how much i care
I am in labour
To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred
Out of my memory, and i’ th’ selfsame place
To seat something I would confound. So hoist we
The sails that must these vessels port even where
The heavenly limiter pleases.
I am struggling hard to push your name, your longtime love for me, and our family connection out of my memory, and in that same place to put something I'm trying to confuse or destroy. So let us raise the sails that must carry these ships to wherever the god of boundaries decides.
I'm working really hard to erase your name and all our history together out of my head, and put something else there instead to replace it. We gotta raise the sails on these ships and let them go wherever the gods decide to take them.
struggling to erase you from my memory your name, our past, our family trying to replace it with something else let's raise the sails let the gods take us where they will
You speak well.
Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin.
This I shall never do again.
You speak well. Before I leave, let me hold you, cousin. I will never do this again.
That's well said. Before I go, let me hug you, cousin. I won't be able to do this again.
you speak well let me hold you one last time cousin this is goodbye
The triple-prayer structure of 5-1 is one of the most formally sophisticated things in the play. Each prayer is answered with a theatrical sign: clanging armor for Mars, cooing doves for Venus, and a rose that blooms then falls for Diana. And here is the play's essential theological argument: all three gods keep their word. Mars gives Arcite victory. Venus gives Palamon Emilia. Diana — ambiguously — releases Emilia from choice by having the rose fall, which she reads as meaning she'll be married. The play's resolution in 5-4 shows all three promises kept simultaneously. Arcite won the tournament (Mars). Palamon got Emilia (Venus). And Emilia does end up married without choosing (Diana). The gods are not cruel, not random, not absent. They are literal. The problem is that humans pray in terms that don't match the gods' mechanisms.
One farewell.
One farewell.
In other words: one farewell.
one farewell
Why, let it be so. Farewell, coz.
All right, let it be that way. Goodbye, cousin.
Okay, so be it. Goodbye, cousin.
okay then goodbye cousin
Farewell, sir.
Farewell.
Take care, sir.
goodbye
Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices,
True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you
Expels the seeds of fear and th’ apprehension
Which still is father of it, go with me
Before the god of our profession. There
Require of him the hearts of lions and
The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too,
Yea, the speed also—to go on, I mean;
Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize
Must be dragged out of blood; force and great feat
Must put my garland on, where she sticks,
The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then,
Must be to him that makes the camp a cistern
Brimmed with the blood of men. Give me your aid,
And bend your spirits towards him.
Fellow knights, my relatives, lovers, yes, even my sacrificial offering, True followers of Mars, whose spirit in you destroys fear and anxiety, Which is always the source of fear itself, come with me Before the god of war. There Ask him for the hearts of lions and The breath of tigers, yes, the wild fierce nature too, Yes, the speed also—I mean to keep moving forward; Otherwise we might as well be snails. You know my prize Must be won through blood; strength and great deeds Must place my garland on me, where she sits, The queen of flowers. Our prayer, then, Must be to him who makes the battlefield a basin Overflowing with the blood of men. Give me your support, And direct your spirits toward him.
Knights, family, lovers—yes, all of you are my sacrifices to Mars, True followers of Mars, whose spirit kills fear and worry in you, Which is what always causes fear, come with me Before the god of war. There Ask him for lion hearts and Tiger breath, yeah, all that wild fierce energy, Yeah, the speed too—I mean the speed to move forward; Otherwise we might as well be snails. You know my prize Has to come through blood; I need strength and great achievements To win my garland, where she sits, The most beautiful woman. So we need to pray To the one who turns the battlefield into a basin Full of men's blood. Help me out here, And turn your spirits toward him.
knights come w me to god of war ask for lion hearts tiger breath fierceness n speed my prize through blood please mars
Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turned
Green Neptune into purple; whose approach
Comets prewarn, whose havoc in vast field
Unearthed skulls proclaim; whose breath blows down
The teeming Ceres’ foison, who dost pluck
With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds
The masoned turrets, that both mak’st and break’st
The stony girths of cities; me thy pupil,
Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day
With military skill, that to thy laud
I may advance my streamer, and by thee
Be styled the lord o’ th’ day. Give me, great Mars,
Some token of thy pleasure.
You mighty god, who with your power have turned The green sea to purple; whose arrival Comets announce beforehand, whose destruction in huge battlefields Unearthed skulls proclaim; whose breath blows down The abundant harvest of Ceres, who with mighty hand pulls From blue clouds the stone towers, who both makes and breaks The stone walls of cities; me, your student, Youngest follower of your war drum, teach this day With military knowledge, so that to your honor I may raise my banner, and by you Be called the lord of this day. Give me, great Mars, Some sign of your favor.
You powerful god, who turned the green sea purple with your power; whose arrival comets announce in advance, whose destruction in big battles is shown by unearthed skulls; whose breath blows down the rich harvest, who with your mighty hand pulls stone towers from the clouds, who builds and destroys the stone walls of cities; me, your student, youngest follower of your war drum, teach me military skill this day so that I can raise my flag for your honor and be called the lord of the day by you. Give me, Mars, some sign that you're pleased with me.
mighty mars turn the sea purple comets announce u unearthed skulls show ur power teach me military skill help me win today sign ur pleased
Palamon's prayer to Venus is a strange, fascinating thing — less a supplication than a complete self-audit. He rehearses his sexual morality like a ledger: never gossiped about women, never read scandalous pamphlets, never tried to seduce another man's wife, was disgusted by men who boasted of conquests, told a story about an eighty-year-old man who married a fourteen-year-old and fathered a child. The prayer is meant to prove he deserves Venus's favor, but it ends up revealing a character who thinks about love primarily in terms of propriety and reputation. Compare this to Arcite's prayer to Mars, which is all fire and blood and battlefield. The contrast between the two kinsmen has never been starker: one prays for the right to love, one prays for the right to conquer. Their prayers tell us more about them than any other scene.
O, great corrector of enormous times,
Shaker of o’er-rank states, thou grand decider
Of dusty and old titles, that heal’st with blood
The earth when it is sick, and cur’st the world
O’ th’ pleurisy of people; I do take
Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name
To my design march boldly.—Let us go.
Oh, great corrector of chaotic times, Shaker of overpowering nations, you grand judge Of ancient and old claims, who heal with blood The earth when it is diseased, and cure the world Of its plague of too many people; I receive Your signs as good omens, and in your name I march boldly toward my goal.—Let us go.
Oh great god who fixes chaotic times, Who shakes down overpowering nations, great judge Of old dusty claims, who heal the earth with blood When it's sick, and cure the world Of its disease of too many people; I see Your signs as good luck, and in your name I march boldly toward what I want.—Let's go.
great corrector of chaos shaker of nations healer w blood give me ur signs i'll march boldly let's go
Our stars must glister with new fire, or be
Today extinct. Our argument is love,
Which, if the goddess of it grant, she gives
Victory too. Then blend your spirits with mine,
You whose free nobleness do make my cause
Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus
Commend we our proceeding, and implore
Her power unto our party.
Our stars must shine with new fire, or else be destroyed today. Our cause is love, which, if the goddess of love grants it, also grants us victory. So blend your spirits with mine, you whose generous nobility makes my cause your own personal risk. Let us entrust our action to the goddess Venus and ask for her power to support our side.
Our stars have to shine bright today or die. We're fighting for love, and if the goddess of love helps us, she'll give us victory too. So put your spirit together with mine, you guys who are noble enough to make my fight your own risk. Let's put everything in Venus's hands and ask her to back us up.
our stars shine bright today or die we're fighting for love if venus helps us, victory is ours too blend your spirits with mine this is your fight now venus, help us win
Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power
To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage
And weep unto a girl; that hast the might
Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars’s drum
And turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst make
A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him
Before Apollo; that mayst force the king
To be his subject’s vassal, and induce
Stale gravity to dance. The polled bachelor,
Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires,
Have skipped thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch,
And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat,
Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power
Hast thou not power upon? To Phœbus thou
Add’st flames hotter than his; the heavenly fires
Did scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress,
All moist and cold, some say, began to throw
Her bow away and sigh. Take to thy grace
Me, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yoke
As ’twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier
Than lead itself, stings more than nettles.
I have never been foul-mouthed against thy law,
Ne’er revealed secret, for I knew none—would not,
Had I kenned all that were. I never practised
Upon man’s wife, nor would the libels read
Of liberal wits. I never at great feasts
Sought to betray a beauty, but have blushed
At simpering sirs that did. I have been harsh
To large confessors, and have hotly asked them
If they had mothers—I had one, a woman,
And women ’twere they wronged. I knew a man
Of eighty winters, this I told them, who
A lass of fourteen brided; ’twas thy power
To put life into dust. The aged cramp
Had screwed his square foot round;
The gout had knit his fingers into knots,
Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes
Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life
In him seemed torture. This anatomy
Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I
Believed it was his, for she swore it was,
And who would not believe her? Brief, I am
To those that prate and have done, no companion;
To those that boast and have not, a defier;
To those that would and cannot, a rejoicer.
Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices
The foulest way, nor names concealments in
The boldest language. Such a one I am,
And vow that lover never yet made sigh
Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess,
Give me the victory of this question, which
Is true love’s merit, and bless me with a sign
Of thy great pleasure.
Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, you who have power To call the cruelest tyrant away from his rage And make him weep like a girl; you who have might To silence Mars's war drum with just a glance And turn the trumpet call to whispers; who can make A cripple walk proudly with his crutch, and heal him Before Apollo; who can force a king To serve his own subjects, and make Serious old men dance. That unmarried man Whose youth skipped over your power like boys jumping fires, At seventy you still catch, And make him sing love songs against his will. What power Do you not have? You make the sun god's flames hotter than his own; your heavenly fires Burned his mortal son more than he burned. The cold hunting goddess Threw away her bow and sighed. Take me into your grace, Me, your sworn soldier, who wears your yoke Like a wreath of roses, but it's heavier Than lead, more painful than nettles. I have never Been rude to your laws, never told secrets, for I knew none—and would not, Even if I knew everything. I never went with another man's wife, nor would I read The writings of loose-living men. I never at fancy gatherings Tried to seduce a woman, but I blushed When foolish men did. I was hard on priests And asked them if they had mothers—I had one, a woman, And women are the ones they hurt. I knew an old man Of eighty who married a fourteen-year-old girl; that was your power Making life come from dust. Age had twisted his body; Gout twisted his fingers into knots, torture pulled his eyes almost From their sockets, so being alive was torture for him. This old man Had a boy with his young beautiful wife, and I Believed it was his because she said it was, And who would not believe her? Briefly, I Am not friends with men who talk and then stop; I challenge men who boast but have not; I rejoice with those who want but cannot. I do not like Those who tell foul secrets in the boldest way, Or name hidden things in the most shameless language. Such a person I am, And I vow that no lover ever meant it More truly than I have. Oh then, most soft sweet goddess, Give me victory in this struggle, which Is true love's test, and bless me with a sign Of your great pleasure.
Hail, queen of love and secrets, you who have power To make even the cruelest tyrant stop his rage And cry like a girl; you who can make A glance at Mars's war drums turn them silent And change the battle cry to whispers; you make A cripple walk proudly again and heal him Before even Apollo can; you can force a king To serve his own subjects, and make Serious old men dance. That unmarried guy Whose youth skipped over your power like boys jumping fires, At seventy you still catch him, And make him sing love songs despite himself. What power Do you not have? You make the sun god's flames hotter than his own; your heavenly fire Burned his mortal son, but you burned him even more. Even the cold hunting goddess Threw away her bow and sighed. Take me into your favor, Me, your sworn soldier, who wear your yoke Like a wreath of roses, but it's heavier Than lead, more painful than nettles. I've never Been rude to your laws, never told secrets because I knew none—and wouldn't have, Even if I knew everything. I never went with another man's wife, and I wouldn't read The writings of dirty men. I never tried to seduce A beautiful woman at fancy parties, but I blushed When silly men did. I was hard on priests And asked them if they had mothers—I had one, a woman, And women are the ones they hurt. I knew an old man Of eighty who married a fourteen-year-old girl; that was your power Making life come from dust. Age twisted his body; Gout twisted his fingers, torture pulled his eyes out, So being alive was torture for him. This old guy Had a boy with his young beautiful wife, and I Believed it was his because she said so, And who wouldn't believe her? To be brief, I'm Not friends with guys who talk and then shut up; I challenge guys who brag but have nothing; I'm happy for guys who want something but can't get it. I don't like People who tell secrets in the worst way possible Or say hidden things in the boldest language. I'm like this, And I swear no lover ever meant it more truly than I do. So please, Most soft sweet goddess, give me victory in this fight, Which is about true love, and show me you're pleased.
queen of love make tyrants cry silence war drums make old men dance i never broke ur laws i respect women give me victory show u love me
O thou that from eleven to ninety reign’st
In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world
And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks
For this fair token, which being laid unto
Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance
My body to this business.—Let us rise
And bow before the goddess.
Oh you who rule from age eleven to ninety In mortal hearts, whose hunting ground is this world And we are herds of game for you, I thank you For this beautiful sign, which being placed On my innocent true heart, gives me strength To commit my body to this fight.—Let us rise And bow before the goddess.
Oh you who rule from age eleven to ninety In people's hearts, whose hunting ground is this world And we're your prey, I thank you For this beautiful sign, which when I put it On my innocent heart, gives me courage To commit myself to this fight.—Let's get up And bow to the goddess.
u rule hearts age 11 to 90 this world is ur hunting ground thank u for sign i'm ready to fight let's bow
Emilia's prayer to Diana is remarkable for what it asks: she wants out of the whole system. She doesn't pray for Arcite to win, or for Palamon to win, or even for a sign about which one to choose. She prays to remain Diana's own — a virgin, a huntress, outside the marriage economy entirely. This is a genuinely radical position in a play (and a culture) where women's primary social function was to be exchanged in marriage. Diana's answer — the rose that blooms and falls — is not a refusal of Emilia's prayer. It's a partial honoring of it: Emilia will be married, but she will not be asked to choose. The decision will be taken away from her, which is a strange fulfillment of her desire to be released from choosing. The play doesn't celebrate this as liberation. It simply presents it, and lets the audience decide whether Diana did Emilia a favor.
Time comes on.
The time is arriving.
The time is here.
time
shoulders, wearing a wheaten wreath. One in white holding up her train,
her hair stuck with flowers. One before her carrying a silver hind, in
which is conveyed incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the
altar of Diana, her maids standing aloof, she sets fire to it; then
they curtsy and kneel.
shoulders, wearing a wreath of wheat. One woman in white holding up her dress train, her hair decorated with flowers. One in front of her carrying a silver deer figure, in which incense and sweet scents are placed, and when this is set on Diana's altar, with her attendants standing at a distance, she lights it on fire; then they bow and kneel.
shoulders, with a wreath of wheat on her head. One woman in white holding up her train, flowers in her hair. One in front carrying a silver deer with incense and sweet smells inside, and when it's put on Diana's altar with attendants standing back, she lights it; then everyone bows and kneels.
wheat wreath white dress flowers in hair silver deer w incense light the altar bows n kneels
O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen,
Abandoner of revels, mute contemplative,
Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
As wind-fanned snow, who to thy female knights
Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush,
Which is their order’s robe, I here, thy priest,
Am humbled ’fore thine altar. O, vouchsafe
With that thy rare green eye, which never yet
Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin;
And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear,
Which ne’er heard scurrile term, into whose port
Ne’er entered wanton sound, to my petition,
Seasoned with holy fear. This is my last
Of vestal office. I am bride-habited
But maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed,
But do not know him. Out of two I should
Choose one, and pray for his success, but I
Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes,
Were I to lose one, they are equal precious;
I could doom neither; that which perished should
Go to ’t unsentenced. Therefore, most modest queen,
He of the two pretenders that best loves me
And has the truest title in ’t, let him
Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant
The file and quality I hold I may
Continue in thy band.
Oh sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen - you who have nothing to do with celebrations, you're quiet and thoughtful, sweet and alone, pure white like wind-blown snow - you let your female warriors only show a blush of blood, that's their uniform. I'm your priestess, and I'm kneeling at your altar. Please, with those rare green eyes that have never seen anything impure, look at your young virgin. And you, sacred silver goddess, listen with those ears that have never heard anything crude or shameful - listen to my prayer, my holy, fearful prayer. This is the last time I'm a virgin priestess. I'm dressed like a bride but my heart's still a virgin's. I've been promised to a husband, but I don't even know who he is. I'm supposed to pick between two of them and pray for one to win, but I didn't choose - I have no blame for it. Both my eyes are equally precious to me; I can't choose to lose either one. Whoever dies should die without my judgment against him. So, most proper queen, whoever of these two loves me the most and has the real claim to me - let him take off my crown and marry me. Or if that's not your will, let me stay a virgin in your service forever.
Oh sacred, shadowy, cold, forever-true queen - you who have nothing to do with parties and celebrations, you're silent and thoughtful, sweet and solitary, pure white like wind-blown snow - you let your female fighters only blush, that's their whole uniform. I'm your priestess kneeling at your altar. Please look at your young virgin with those rare, pure green eyes that have never seen anything dirty. And sacred silver goddess, listen with those perfect ears that have never heard anything rude or inappropriate - listen to my prayer soaked in holy fear. This is my last act as a virgin priestess. I'm dressed as a bride but I've still got a virgin's heart. I've been given a husband, but I don't even know him. I'm supposed to pick one of two men and pray for him to win, but I didn't make the choice - it's not my fault. My two eyes are equally precious - I can't bear to judge that one should die. So most modest queen, whichever of these two truly loves me most and has the real right to me - let him take off my crown and be my husband. Or else, let me stay your virgin in your service forever.
sacred cold constant queen you who abandoned celebrations silent, pure white like snow your female warriors only blush i'm your priestess at your altar look at your young virgin listen with your perfect ears i'm dressed as a bride but maiden-hearted given a husband i don't know i can't choose between two men i'm not to blame both my eyes are precious i can't judge either should die let the one who truly loves me take off my crown or let me stay your virgin forever
See what our general of ebbs and flows
Out from the bowels of her holy altar
With sacred act advances: but one rose!
If well inspired, this battle shall confound
Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flower,
Must grow alone, unplucked.
Look what our goddess of tides and seasons From the depths of her holy altar With a sacred action presents: just one rose! If the sign is favorable, this battle will destroy Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flower, Must remain alone, never picked.
Look what our goddess of tides and time Brings out from her holy altar With a sacred action: just one rose! If the sign means what I think, this battle will kill Both these brave knights, and I, a maiden, Must stay alone, never chosen.
goddess brings one rose from the altar battle will destroy both i stay alone unpicked
The flower is fall’n, the tree descends. O mistress,
Thou here dischargest me. I shall be gathered;
I think so, but I know not thine own will.
Unclasp thy mystery!—I hope she’s pleased;
Her signs were gracious.
The flower has fallen, the tree has come down. Oh mistress, You here release me from my vow. I shall be taken; I think so, but I do not know your will. Reveal your mystery!—I hope she is pleased; Her signs were gracious.
The flower has fallen, the tree has come down. Oh goddess, You're releasing me here. I'll be chosen; I think so, but I'm not sure what you want. Show me your mystery!—I hope she's happy; Her signs looked good.
flower fell tree came down goddess releases me i'll be chosen reveal ur will her signs were good
The Reckoning
This is the play's formal and spiritual center — three consecutive prayers, three divine responses, and three people each convinced they've received a favorable sign. The scene is structured like a triptych: Arcite's prayer to Mars is about war and strength, Palamon's to Venus is about love's power and his own virtue as a lover, and Emilia's to Diana is about being released from the choice entirely. All three get what they prayed for — and all three will be surprised by how. The gods are not wrong; only the humans are wrong about what the gods mean.
If this happened today…
Three people before a major event each stop to pray, meditate, or consult a therapist. Person A visualizes dominating the competition and walks out fired up. Person B recites his entire relationship history as evidence he deserves the prize, and gets a feeling of calm. Person C asks to be excused from having to choose at all, gets an ambiguous sign — a rose falls — and decides it probably means she'll have to get married after all. All three feel comforted. All three are about to be astonished by what actually happens.