There’s many a man alive that hath outlived
The love o’ th’ people; yea, i’ th’ selfsame state
Stands many a father with his child. Some comfort
We have by so considering. We expire,
And not without men’s pity; to live still,
Have their good wishes; we prevent
The loathsome misery of age, beguile
The gout and rheum that in lag hours attend
For gray approachers; we come towards the gods
Young and unwappered, not halting under crimes
Many and stale. That sure shall please the gods
Sooner than such, to give us nectar with ’em,
For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen,
Whose lives for this poor comfort are laid down,
You have sold ’em too too cheap.
Many living men have outlived the love of the people; yes, many fathers stand in exactly the same state with their children. We have some comfort by thinking this way. We die, but not without people's pity; those who live on have their good wishes. We prevent the disgusting misery of old age, avoid the gout and running nose that waits for the gray-haired in their final hours. We come to the gods young and unburdened, not crippled by many old and stale crimes. The gods will surely prefer us over such people, giving us nectar with them, because we are clearer spirits. My dear kinsmen, whose lives for this poor comfort are laid down, you have sold them far too cheap.
Lots of people live past the point where everyone loves them anymore. Yeah, fathers and sons end up that way too. But we can take some comfort in that. We're dying, but at least people will feel sorry for us. Others live on with their good wishes. We skip the disgusting misery of being old, skip the arthritis and runny nose that comes with old age. We're going to the gods young and untainted, not bogged down by a bunch of old crimes. The gods will like us better than people like that—we're clearer spirits. My friends, you guys gave up your lives for this small comfort. You sold yourselves way too cheap.
people outlive being loved we die with dignity no old age misery no regrets gods will prefer us you shouldve asked for more
What ending could be
Of more content? O’er us the victors have
Fortune, whose title is as momentary,
As to us death is certain. A grain of honour
They not o’erweigh us.
What better ending could there be? The victors have fortune over us, but fortune is temporary as death is certain for us. A grain of honor doesn't outweigh us.
Could this end any better? Yeah, the victors have fortune on their side for now, but fortune doesn't last while death is always coming for us. They're not more honorable than we are.
couldnt end better victors have luck not honor
Let us bid farewell;
And with our patience anger tottering Fortune,
Who at her certain’st reels.
Let's say goodbye and with our patience anger Fortune, who is unsteady at her most certain moments.
Let's say goodbye. We'll frustrate Fortune with our patience—she's always unstable anyway.
goodbye our patience will anger fortune
Come; who begins?
Come; who begins?
In other words: come; who begins?
come who begins
E’en he that led you to this banquet shall
Taste to you all.—Ah ha, my friend, my friend,
Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once;
You’ll see ’t done now for ever. Pray, how does she?
I heard she was not well; her kind of ill
Gave me some sorrow.
He who led you to this feast will first taste it himself.—Ah, my friend, my friend, your gentle daughter once gave me freedom; you'll see me do it for her now, forever. Tell me, how is she? I heard she wasn't well; her kind of sickness gave me sorrow.
The guy who got us into this will be first to die.—Friend, your daughter once got me out of prison. I'll do this for her—it's only fair. How is she doing? I heard she was sick, and that really bothered me.
your daughter saved me im going to return the favor
Sir, she’s well restored,
And to be married shortly.
Sir, she's recovered and will be married soon.
She's fine and getting married pretty soon.
shes good getting married soon
By my short life,
I am most glad on’t. ’Tis the latest thing
I shall be glad of; prithee, tell her so.
Commend me to her, and, to piece her portion,
Tender her this.
By my short life, I'm very glad of it. This will be the last thing I'm glad about; please tell her so. Give her my regards, and to add to her wedding portion, give her this.
I'm honestly so happy to hear that—that's probably the last happy thing I'll feel. Tell her that for me, and give her this to add to her dowry.
im so glad this is my last joy give her this
The Three Noble Kinsmen's resolution is not a trick or a deus ex machina in the dismissive sense. In 5-1, three gods made three promises: Mars would give Arcite the victory; Venus would give Palamon his love; Diana would end Emilia's ordeal. All three promises are kept. Mars gave Arcite the tournament. Venus gave Palamon Emilia. Diana's rose fell — meaning Emilia would be 'gathered' (married) — and she was. The play's argument is not that the gods are unjust or absent. It's that their justice operates in a register humans can't read in advance. Palamon prayed for Emilia; he got her. He did not pray for Arcite's life. That prayer was never made. The gods gave him what he asked for, and the cost of what he asked for was something he didn't know to protect.
Nay let’s be offerers all.
No, let's all offer gifts.
Actually, we should all give something too.
lets all give
Is it a maid?
Is she unmarried?
Is she single?
virgin?
Verily, I think so.
A right good creature, more to me deserving
Then I can ’quite or speak of.
Yes, I believe so. A truly good person, more deserving than I can repay or describe.
Yeah, I think so. She's genuinely amazing, more than I could ever repay or even put into words.
yeah shes amazing more than i could ever repay
Commend us to her.
Give her our regards.
Tell her we said hello.
tell her we said hi
The gods requite you all, and make her thankful.
May the gods repay you all and make her grateful.
The gods will reward you all, and I hope she's thankful.
gods reward u all hope shes grateful
Adieu; and let my life be now as short
As my leave-taking.
Goodbye; may my life end as quickly as this farewell.
Goodbye. I hope death comes as fast as I'm leaving.
goodbye hope it's quick
Pirithous's narrative of Arcite's death is one of the play's great speeches — and it raises a question the play doesn't answer: was the accident truly an accident? He invokes 'envious flint, cold as old Saturn' — attributing the spark to astrological malice. Saturn was the planet of misfortune, cold and lead-like, traditionally opposed to Jupiter's generosity. If Saturn sent the spark, then the gods were already working against Arcite's victory even as it was proclaimed. Alternatively, the horse was Emily's gift — and Emily never wanted Arcite to win. Perhaps the universe arranged the accident that its mistress needed. The play leaves this open. What it shows clearly is that human victory is temporary, and the gods reserve the right to revise the scoreline.
Lead, courageous cousin.
Lead, courageous cousin.
In other words: lead, courageous cousin.
lead courageous cousin
We’ll follow cheerfully.
We’ll follow cheerfully.
In other words: we’ll follow cheerfully.
we’ll follow cheerfully
Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!
Stop, stop! Oh stop, stop, stop!
Wait, wait! Stop, stop, stop!
hold up hold up hold up
Hold, ho! It is a cursed haste you made
If you have done so quickly!—Noble Palamon,
The gods will show their glory in a life
That thou art yet to lead.
Wait, stop! It would be terrible if you've done it so quickly!—Noble Palamon, the gods will show their glory in the life you still have to live.
Whoa, stop! That would be horrible if it's already done!—Palamon, the gods will show how great they are in the life you're still going to live.
wait dont do it gods will show glory in your life
Palamon's speech — 'O cousin, that we should things desire which do cost us the loss of our desire!' — is the play's final philosophical statement, and it's more interesting than it first appears. The surface meaning is: I got what I wanted and lost the person I loved. But the syntax goes deeper: the things we desire cost us 'the loss of our desire' — desire itself. When you get the thing you wanted, the wanting stops. And in this case, what Palamon most purely wanted — which was Arcite, his friendship, his world before Emilia — was destroyed by the act of wanting Emilia. Getting Emilia killed the desire. Or: getting Emilia killed Arcite, who was the context in which all desire made sense. This is one of the most genuinely difficult observations about human wanting in all of Shakespeare, and Theseus's response — 'we are always children in some kind' — is both inadequate and true.
Can that be,
When Venus, I have said, is false? How do things fare?
Can that be when love is false? How are things?
How can that be when love betrays? What's going on?
love is false whats happening?
Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear
That are most dearly sweet and bitter.
Stand up, great sir, and listen to news that is both dearly sweet and bitter.
Get up and hear some news—it's both wonderful and terrible.
listen news is sweet and bitter
What
Hath waked us from our dream?
What has woken us from our dream?
What's happening? We were saying goodbye.
whats happening?
List, then. Your cousin,
Mounted upon a steed that Emily
Did first bestow on him, a black one, owing
Not a hair-worth of white, which some will say
Weakens his price, and many will not buy
His goodness with this note, which superstition
Here finds allowance—on this horse is Arcite
Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins
Did rather tell than trample; for the horse
Would make his length a mile, if ’t pleased his rider
To put pride in him. As he thus went counting
The flinty pavement, dancing, as ’twere, to th’ music
His own hooves made—for, as they say, from iron
Came music’s origin—what envious flint,
Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessed
With fire malevolent, darted a spark,
Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made,
I comment not; the hot horse, hot as fire,
Took toy at this and fell to what disorder
His power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,
Forgets school-doing, being therein trained
And of kind manage. Pig-like he whines
At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather
Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means
Of boist’rous and rough jad’ry to disseat
His lord that kept it bravely. When naught served,
When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff’ring plunges
Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that
He kept him ’tween his legs, on his hind hoofs
On end he stands
That Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head,
Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreath
Even then fell off his head and presently
Backward the jade comes o’er, and his full poise
Becomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living,
But such a vessel ’tis that floats but for
The surge that next approaches. He much desires
To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears.
Listen then. Your cousin was riding the black horse Emily gave him—the one with no white on it, which some say makes it less valuable, though it's still a great horse—he was trotting through Athens on this horse, the horseshoes clicking on the stones. The horse was spirited, would have seemed a mile long if he'd ridden it proudly. As he went, dancing to the rhythm of his own hooves—and people say music came from iron—something cold and envious, like Saturn's evil fire, sparked out, or maybe some fierce sulfur. I don't know exactly. The hot horse, burning like fire, went wild from it, doing everything his strength and rage could do—bucking, standing on hind legs, completely forgetting his training. He squealed like a pig at the spurs, tearing at them instead of obeying. He tried every rough, vicious move to throw Arcite off. But nothing worked—the curb didn't break, the girth didn't break, the bucking didn't throw him because Arcite held on with his legs. He was standing so high that Arcite's legs were above his head, like he was hanging by magic. His victory wreath fell off. The horse threw him backward and became just a weight on Arcite. But he's alive—barely though, just floating until the next moment. He wants to talk to you. Here he comes.
So Arcite was riding Emily's black horse through Athens—the one with no white, which some think makes it worse but it's actually beautiful. He was prancing through town, his hooves making music on the stone. The horse was incredible, stretching out like he was a mile long. But then something terrified it—maybe a spark or flame, cold and evil. The horse just went completely berserk. He bucked and reared, totally forgot everything he was trained to do, squealed at the spurs like a pig, threw everything he had at trying to dump Arcite. Nothing worked though—nothing could break the curb or girth or knock him loose because Arcite wouldn't let go. He ended up hanging upside down with his legs over his head. His crown fell off. Eventually the horse finally threw him, but Arcite's still alive—barely. He's asking to see you.
arcite riding emily's horse black horse spirited prancing through athens something scared it went wild bucking arcite legs above his head victory wreath fell off horse threw him barely alive wants to talk
O miserable end of our alliance!
The gods are mighty. Arcite, if thy heart,
Thy worthy, manly heart, be yet unbroken,
Give me thy last words. I am Palamon,
One that yet loves thee dying.
Oh terrible end of our alliance! The gods are mighty. Arcite, if your worthy, manly heart is still unbroken, give me your last words. I'm Palamon, one who loves you even as you die.
This is the worst ending to everything. The gods are so powerful. Arcite, if your heart is still strong, give me your last words. I'm Palamon, and I still love you even though you're dying.
worst ending arcite i still love u give me your last words
Take Emilia
And with her all the world’s joy. Reach thy hand;
Farewell. I have told my last hour. I was false,
Yet never treacherous. Forgive me, cousin.
One kiss from fair Emilia.
Take Emily and with her all the world's joy. Reach your hand; goodbye. My last hour is told. I was unfaithful yet never treacherous. Forgive me, cousin. One kiss from fair Emily.
Take Emily—take all the joy in the world. Hold my hand. Goodbye. That's my last word. I was dishonest but never truly betrayed you. Forgive me, cousin. Let me have one kiss from Emily.
take emily forgive me i was wrong but not evil one last kiss
Theseus is one of the play's structural centers — the authority figure who sets the terms of the whole plot. He condemns the kinsmen, pardons them, sets the tournament conditions, watches the resolution. And his closing speech is remarkable for how much it admits he doesn't understand. 'Never Fortune did play a subtler game' — the game is too subtle for him, as it is for everyone. 'What things you make of us' — addressed to the gods, and carrying genuine bewilderment. 'We laugh for what we lack, we are sorry for what we have, and are always children' — this is not the wisdom of a man who has managed events successfully. It's the humility of a man who has watched the gods manage them instead. He ends by calling for decorum: 'bear us like the time.' Not transcendence. Not understanding. Just: carry yourself appropriately. It's the most honest thing a ruler can say when the situation exceeds his power.
’Tis done.
Take her. I die.
It is done. Take her. I am dying.
It's done. Take her. I'm dying.
done she's urs im out
Thy brave soul seek Elysium!
May your brave soul find Elysium!
May your soul find peace in Elysium!
rest in peace
I’ll close thine eyes, Prince; blessed souls be with thee!
Thou art a right good man, and, while I live,
This day I give to tears.
I'll close your eyes, Prince; may blessed souls be with you! You're a truly good man, and as long as I live, I dedicate this day to tears.
I'll close your eyes, Prince; may the blessed souls be with you. You were a truly good man. I'll spend this day and the rest of my life crying over you.
goodbye prince youre good im gonna cry
And I to honour.
And I dedicate myself to honor.
And I'll dedicate my life to honoring him.
and i'll live with honor
In this place first you fought; e’en very here
I sundered you. Acknowledge to the gods
Our thanks that you are living.
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 altar,
And given you your love. Our master Mars,
Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gave
The grace of the contention. So the deities
Have showed due justice.—Bear this hence.
In this place you first fought; right here I separated you. Give thanks to the gods that you're living. His part is played, and though it was short, he did it well; your life is extended, and the blessed dew of heaven waters you. The powerful Venus has blessed her altar well and given you your love. Our master Mars has vouched his oracle and gave Arcite the victory of the fight. So the gods have shown their justice.—Take this away.
This is where you first fought each other, right here where I split you apart. Be grateful to the gods that you're alive. He played his part well, even though it was short; your life is longer, and heaven's blessing falls on you like dew. Venus blessed her altar and gave you your love. Mars made his oracle come true by giving Arcite the victory. So the gods have shown justice.—Take his body away.
you fought here first be grateful ur alive his part was short but good venus gave u love mars gave victory gods showed justice
O cousin,
That we should things desire, which do cost us
The loss of our desire! That naught could buy
Dear love, but loss of dear love!
Oh cousin, that we should desire things that cost us the loss of what we desire! That nothing could buy dear love except the loss of dear love!
Cousin, it's so cruel—we wanted something so much that we lost what we wanted. We had to lose love to get love.
we wanted something and lost what we wanted we had to lose love to get love
Never Fortune
Did play a subtler game. The conquered triumphs;
The victor has the loss; yet in the passage
The gods have been most equal. Palamon,
Your kinsman hath confessed the right o’ th’ lady
Did lie in you, for you first saw her and
Even then proclaimed your fancy. He restored her
As your stol’n jewel and desired your spirit
To send him hence forgiven. The gods my justice
Take from my hand and they themselves become
The executioners. Lead your lady off
And call your lovers from the stage of death,
Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two
Let us look sadly, and give grace unto
The funeral of Arcite, in whose end
The visages of bridegrooms we’ll put on
And smile with Palamon; for whom an hour,
But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry
As glad of Arcite, and am now as glad
As for him sorry. O you heavenly charmers,
What things you make of us! For what we lack
We laugh, for what we have are sorry, still
Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful
For that which is, and with you leave dispute
That are above our question. Let’s go off
And bear us like the time.
Fortune has never played a more subtle game. The conquered triumphs; the victor suffers loss; yet in all this the gods have been just. Palamon, your kinsman confessed that the lady was rightfully yours, since you saw her first and declared your love immediately. He restored her to you like a stolen jewel and wished your spirit to forgive him and send him away. The gods take justice from my hand and become the executors themselves. Lead your lady away and call your friends from the stage of death, whom I adopt as my friends. For a day or two let us look sad and give honor to Arcite's funeral, and then we'll put on the faces of bridegrooms and smile with Palamon; an hour ago I was as deeply sorry for Arcite as glad, and now I'm as glad as I was sorry. Oh you heavenly powers, what do you make of us! We laugh at what we lack, we're sorry for what we have, we're still like children in some way. Let us be thankful for what we have and leave to you questions above our understanding. Let's go away and behave according to the times.
Fortune has never played a more clever game. The guy who lost gets what he wants, and the guy who won loses everything. But somehow the gods made it fair. Palamon, your cousin admitted you had the real right to Emily—you saw her first and said so right away. He gave her back to you like something stolen that's being returned, and just wanted your forgiveness. The gods are taking over the justice from me and executing it themselves. Take your lady and get those other knights out of here—I'm going to be their friend now. Let's be sad for a day or two and honor Arcite's funeral, then we'll smile about Palamon like bridegrooms. An hour ago I was crying for Arcite's death just as much as I'm happy about it now, and now I'm just as happy as I was sad. You gods play with us so much. We laugh about what we don't have and cry about what we do—we're basically kids forever. Let's just be grateful for what is and stop asking questions we can't answer. Let's go and deal with life as it comes.
fortune played a clever game the loser won the winner lost gods made it fair palamon had the right arcite admitted it well mourn then celebrate gods control everything we're like children be grateful stop asking why
The Reckoning
This is one of the strangest endings in Shakespeare: the loser wins. Arcite won the tournament, received Emilia — and then his horse threw him and he died. Palamon was about to be executed and is now given the woman and his life. The reversal is so complete and so fast that it functions almost as a joke — if you laughed, you would be wrong, because Arcite is genuinely dying and Palamon is genuinely losing his best friend. What the scene earns is not happiness, but something harder: 'O cousin, that we should things desire which do cost us the loss of our desire.' Palamon has everything he wanted and nothing he loves. Theseus names it: 'The conquered triumphs; the victor has the loss.' The gods kept all their promises. Every promise broke something.
If this happened today…
The man who lost the job to his best friend is called back in. His friend, who just got the promotion, crashed his car on the drive out and is in the hospital. The dying friend hands everything over: 'Take the job. Take my apartment. Forgive me for winning.' The guy who lost gets everything. He says: 'I got what I wanted, and it cost me the only person I wanted to share it with.' The CEO says: 'The gods played a very subtle game.' Everyone agrees. No one knows what to do with that.