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Cornets in sundry places; noises and hollaing as of people a-Maying. Enter Arcite. |
| Arcite |
The duke has lost Hippolyta; each took
A several land. This is a solemn rite
They owe bloom’d May, and the Athenians pay it
To th’ heart of ceremony. O Queen Emilia,
Fresher than May, sweeter
Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all
Th’ enamell’d knacks o’ the mead or garden! yea,
We challenge to the bank of any nymph,
That makes the stream seem flowers; thou, O jewel
O’ the wood, o’ the world, hast likewise bless’d a place
With thy sole presence! In thy rumination
That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between,
And chop on some cold thought! thrice-blessed chance,
To drop on such a mistress, expectation
Most guiltless on’t. Tell me, O Lady Fortune—
Next after Emily my sovereign—how far
I may be proud? She takes strong note of me,
Hath made me near her, and this beauteous morn,
The prim’st of all the year, presents me with
A brace of horses; two such steeds might well
Be by a pair of kings back’d, in a field
That their crowns’ titles tried. Alas, alas,
Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner! thou
So little dream’st upon my fortune, that
Thou think’st thyself the happier thing, to be
So near Emilia; me thou deem’st at Thebes,
And therein wretched, although free: but if
Thou knew’st my mistress breath’d on me, and that
I ear’d her language, liv’d in her eye, O coz,
What passion would enclose thee!
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Enter Palamon out of a bush, with his shackles: he bends his fist at Arcite. |
| Palamon |
Traitor kinsman!
Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signs
Of prisonment were off me, and this hand
But owner of a sword. By all oaths in one,
I, and the justice of my love, would make thee
A confess’d traitor! O thou most perfidious
That ever gently look’d! the void’st of honour
That e’er bore gentle token! falsest cousin
That ever blood made kin! call’st thou her thine?
I’ll prove it in my shackles, with these hands
Void of appointment, that thou liest, and art
A very thief in love, a chaffy lord,
Nor worth the name of villain! Had I a sword,
And these house-clogs away—
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| Arcite |
Dear cousin Palamon— |
| Palamon |
Cozener Arcite, give me language such
As thou hast show’d me feat!
|
| Arcite |
Not finding in
The circuit of my breast any gross stuff
To form me like your blazon, holds me to
This gentleness of answer: ’tis your passion
That thus mistakes; the which, to you being enemy,
Cannot to me be kind. Honour and honesty
I cherish and depend on, howsoe’er
You skip them in me; and with them, fair coz,
I’ll maintain my proceedings. Pray, be pleas’d
To show in generous terms your griefs, since that
Your question’s with your equal, who professes
To clear his own way with the mind and sword
Of a true gentleman.
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| Palamon |
That thou durst, Arcite! |
| Arcite |
My coz, my coz, you have been well advertis’d
How much I dare: you’ve seen me use my sword
Against th’ advice of fear. Sure, of another
You would not hear me doubted, but your silence
Should break out, though i’ the sanctuary.
|
| Palamon |
Sir,
I’ve seen you move in such a place, which well
Might justify your manhood; you were call’d
A good knight and a bold: but the whole week’s not fair,
If any day it rain. Their valiant temper
Men lose when they incline to treachery;
And then they fight like compell’d bears, would fly
Were they not tied.
|
| Arcite |
Kinsman, you might as well
Speak this, and act it in your glass, as to
His ear which now disdains you.
|
| Palamon |
Come up to me:
Quit me of these cold gyves, give me a sword,
Though it be rusty, and the charity
Of one meal lend me; come before me then,
A good sword in thy hand, and do but say
That Emily is thine, I will forgive
The trespass thou hast done me, yea, my life,
If then thou carry’t; and brave souls in shades,
That have died manly, which will seek of me
Some news from earth, they shall get none but this,
That thou art brave and noble.
|
| Arcite |
Be content,
Again betake you to your hawthorn-house:
With counsel of the night, I will be here
With wholesome viands; these impediments
Will I file off; you shall have garments, and
Perfumes to kill the smell o’ the prison; after,
When you shall stretch yourself, and say but, “Arcite,
I am in plight,” there shall be at your choice
Both sword and armour.
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| Palamon |
O you heavens, dares any
So noble bear a guilty business? none
But only Arcite; therefore none but Arcite
In this kind is so bold.
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| Arcite |
Sweet Palamon— |
| Palamon |
I do embrace you and your offer: for
Your offer do’t I only, sir; your person,
Without hypocrisy, I may not wish
More than my sword’s edge on’t.
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