Why, strong enough to laugh at misery,
And bear the chance of war yet. We are prisoners
I fear for ever, cousin.

I believe it;
And to that destiny have patiently
Laid up my hour to come.

O, cousin Arcite,
Where is Thebes now? where is our noble country?
Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more
Must we behold those comforts; never see
The hardy youths strive for the games of honour,
Hung with the painted favours of their ladies,
Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst ’em,
And, as an east wind, leave ’em all behind us
Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite,
Even in the wagging of a wanton leg,
Outstripp’d the people’s praises, won the garlands,
Ere they have time to wish ’em ours. O, never
Shall we two exercise, like twins of honour,
Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses
Like proud seas under us! Our good swords now⁠—
Better the red-ey’d god of war ne’er wore⁠—
Ravish’d our sides, like age, must run to rust,
And deck the temples of those gods that hate us;
These hands shall never draw ’em out like lightning,
To blast whole armies, more!

No, Palamon,
Those hopes are prisoners with us: here we are,
And here the graces of our youths must wither,
Like a too-timely spring; here age must find us,
And, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried;
The sweet embraces of a loving wife,
Loaden with kisses, arm’d with thousand Cupids,
Shall never clasp our necks; no issue know us,
No figures of ourselves shall we e’er see,
To glad our age, and like young eagles teach ’em
Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say
“Remember what your fathers were, and conquer!”
The fair-ey’d maids shall weep our banishments,
And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune,
Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done
To youth and nature: this is all our world;
We shall know nothing here but one another;
Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes;
The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it;
Summer shall come, and with her all delights,
But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still.

’Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds,
That shook the aged forest with their echoes,
No more now must we holla; no more shake
Our pointed javelins, whilst the angry swine
Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages,
Struck with our well-steel’d darts: all valiant uses⁠—
The food and nourishment of noble minds⁠—
In us two here shall perish; we shall die⁠—
Which is the curse of honour⁠—lastly,
Children of grief and ignorance.

Yet, cousin,
Even from the bottom of these miseries,
From all that fortune can inflict upon us,
I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings,
If the gods please, to hold here a brave patience,
And the enjoying of our griefs together.
Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish
If I think this our prison!

Certainly
’Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes
Were twinn’d together: ’tis most true, two souls
Put in two noble bodies, let ’em suffer
The gall of hazard, so they grow together,
Will never sink; they must not, say they could:
A willing man dies sleeping, and all’s done.

Shall we make worthy uses of this place,
That all men hate so much?

Let’s think this prison holy sanctuary,
To keep us from corruption of worse men:
We’re young, and yet desire the ways of honour;
That, liberty and common conversation,
The poison of pure spirits, might, like women,
Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing
Can be, but our imaginations
May make it ours? and here being thus together,
We are an endless mine to one another;
We’re one another’s wife, ever begetting
New births of love; we’re father, friends, acquaintance;
We are, in one another, families;
I am your heir, and you are mine; this place
Is our inheritance; no hard oppressor
Dare take this from us: here, with a little patience,
We shall live long, and loving; no surfeits seek us;
The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas
Swallow their youth. Were we at liberty,
A wife might part us lawfully, or business;
Quarrels consume us; envy of ill men
Crave our acquaintance; I might sicken, cousin,
Where you should never know it, and so perish
Without your noble hand to close mine eyes,
Or prayers to the gods: a thousand chaunces,
Were we from hence, would sever us.

You’ve made me⁠—
I thank you, cousin Arcite⁠—almost wanton
With my captivity: what a misery
It is to live abroad, and everywhere!
’Tis like a beast, methinks: I find the court here,
I’m sure, a more content; and all those pleasures
That woo the wills of men to vanity
I see through now; and am sufficient
To tell the world ’tis but a gaudy shadow,
That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.
What had we been, old in the court of Creon,
Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance
The virtues of the great ones? Cousin Arcite,
Had not the loving gods found this place for us,
We had died as they do, ill old men, unwept,
And had their epitaphs, the people’s curses.
Shall I say more?

Ye shall.
Is there record of any two that lov’d
Better than we do, Arcite?

I do not think it possible our friendship
Should ever leave us.

Till our deaths it cannot;
And after death our spirits shall be led
To those that love eternally. Speak on, sir.

This garden has a world of pleasures in’t.
What flower is this?

That was a fair boy certain, but a fool,
To love himself: were there not maids enough?

That’s a good wench!
But take heed to your kindness though!

I’ll have a gown full of ’em; and of these;
This is a pretty colour: will’t not do
Rarely upon a skirt, wench?

Behold, and wonder!
By heaven, she is a goddess!

Do reverence;
She is a goddess, Arcite!

Of all flowers,
Methinks, a rose is best.

It is the very emblem of a maid:
For when the west wind courts her gently,
How modestly she blows, and paints the sun
With her chaste blushes! when the north comes near her,
Rude and impatient, then, like chastity,
She locks her beauties in her bud again,
And leaves him to base briers.

Yet, good madam,
Sometimes her modesty will blow so far
She falls for it: a maid,
If she have any honour, would be loath
To take example by her.

The sun grows high; let’s walk in. Keep these flowers;
We’ll see how near art can come near their colours,
I’m wondrous merry-hearted; I could laugh now.

I cannot tell what you have done; I have,
Beshrew mine eyes for’t! Now I feel my shackles.

I will not, as you do, to worship her,
As she is heavenly and a blessed goddess;
I love her as a woman, to enjoy her:
So both may love.

I, that first saw her; I, that took possession
First with mine eye of all those beauties in her
Reveal’d to mankind. If thou lovest her,
Or entertain’st a hope to blast my wishes,
Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow
False as thy title to her: friendship, blood,
And all the ties between us, I disclaim,
If thou once think upon her!

Yes, I love her;
And if the lives of all my name lay on it,
I must do so; I love her with my soul.
If that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon!
I say again, I love; and, in loving her, maintain
I am as worthy and as free a lover,
And have as just a title to her beauty,
As any Palamon, or any living
That is a man’s son.

Yes, and have found me so. Why are you mov’d thus?
Let me deal coldly with you: am not I
Part of your blood, part of your soul? you’ve told me
That I was Palamon, and you were Arcite.

Am not I liable to those affections,
Those joys, griefs, angers, fears, my friend shall suffer?

Why, then, would you deal so cunningly,
So strangely, so unlike a noble kinsman,
To love alone? Speak truly; do you think me
Unworthy of her sight?

No; but unjust
If thou pursue that sight.

Because another
First sees the enemy, shall I stand still,
And let mine honour down, and never charge?

But say that one
Had rather combat me?

Let that one say so,
And use thy freedom: else, if thou pursu’st her,
Be as that cursed man that hates his country,
A branded villain.

I must be,
Till thou art worthy, Arcite; it concerns me;
And, in this madness, if I hazard thee,
And take thy life, I deal but truly.

Fie, sir!
You play the child extremely: I will love her,
I must, I ought to do so, and I dare;
And all this justly.

O, that now, that now
Thy false self and thy friend had but this fortune,
To be one hour at liberty, and grasp
Our good swords in our hands! I’d quickly teach thee
What ’twere to filch affection from another!
Thou art baser in it than a cutpurse:
Put but thy head out of this window more,
And, as I have a soul, I’ll nail thy life to’t!

Thou dar’st not, fool; thou canst not; thou art feeble:
Put my head out! I’ll throw my body out,
And leap the garden, when I see her next,
And pitch between her arms, to anger thee.

No more! the keeper’s coming: I shall live
To knock thy brains out with my shackles.

Lord Arcite, you must presently to the duke:
The cause I know not yet.

Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you
Of your fair cousin’s company.

And me too,
Even when you please, of life. Exeunt Gaoler and Arcite. Why is he sent for?
It may be, he shall marry her; he’s goodly,
And like enough the duke hath taken notice
Both of his blood and body. But his falsehood!
Why should a friend be treacherous? if that
Get him a wife so noble and so fair,
Let honest men ne’er love again. Once more
I would but see this fair one.⁠—Blessed garden,
And fruit and flowers more blessed, that still blossom
As her bright eyes shine on ye! Would I were,
For all the fortune of my life hereafter,
Yon little tree, yon blooming apricock!
How I would spread, and fling my wanton arms
In at her window! I would bring her fruit
Fit for the gods to feed on; youth and pleasure,
Still as she tasted, should be doubled on her;
And if she be not heavenly, I would make her
So near the gods in nature, they should fear her;
And then I’m sure she would love me.

How now, keeper!
Where’s Arcite?

Banish’d. Prince Pirithous
Obtain’d his liberty; but never more,
Upon his oath and life, must he set foot
Upon this kingdom.

Aside. He’s a blessed man!
He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms
The bold young men that, when he bids ’em charge,
Fall on like fire: Arcite shall have a fortune,
If he dare make himself a worthy lover,
Yet in the field to strike a battle for her;
And if he lose her then, he’s a cold coward:
How bravely may he bear himself to win her,
If he be noble Arcite, thousand ways!
Were I at liberty, I would do things
Of such a virtuous greatness, that this lady,
This blushing virgin, should take manhood to her,
And seek to ravish me.

My lord, for you
I have this charge too⁠—

No; but from this place to remove your lordship:
The windows are too open.

Devils take ’em
That are so envious to me! Pr’ythee, kill me.

By this good light,
Had I a sword, I’d kill thee.

Thou bring’st such pelting scurvy news continually,
Thou art not worthy life. I will not go.

I must
Constrain you, then; and, for you’re dangerous,
I’ll clap more irons on you.

Do, good keeper:
I’ll shake ’em so, ye shall not sleep;
I’ll make ye a new morris. Must I go?

Aside. Farewell, kind window;
May rude wind never hurt thee!⁠—O my lady,
If ever thou hast felt what sorrow was,
Dream how I suffer!⁠—Come, now bury me. Exeunt.

Banish’d the kingdom? ’tis a benefit,
A mercy, I must thank ’em for; but banish’d
The free enjoying of that face I die for,
O, ’twas a studied punishment, a death
Beyond imagination! such a vengeance,
That, were I old and wicked, all my sins
Could never pluck upon me. Palamon,
Thou hast the start now; thou shalt stay, and see
Her bright eyes break each morning ’gainst thy window,
And let in life into thee; thou shalt feed
Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty,
That nature ne’er exceeded, nor ne’er shall⁠—
Good gods, what happiness has Palamon!
Twenty to one, he’ll come to speak to her;
And, if she be as gentle as she’s fair,
I know she’s his; he has a tongue will tame
Tempests, and make the wild rocks wanton. Come what can come,
The worst is death; I will not leave the kingdom:
I know mine own is but a heap of ruins,
And no redress there. If I go, he has her.
I am resolv’d: another shape shall make me,
Or end my fortunes; either way, I’m happy:
I’ll see her, and be near her, or no more.

Why, then, have with ye, boys! ’tis but a chiding:
Let the plough play to-day; I’ll tickle’t out
Of the jades’ tails to-morrow.

I am sure
To have my wife as jealous as a turkey:
But that’s all one: I’ll go through, let her mumble.

Clap her aboard to-morrow night, and stoa her,
And all’s made up again.

Ay, do but put
A feskue in her fist, and you shall see her
Take a new lesson out, and be a good wench.
Do we all hold against the Maying?

Hold!
What should ail us?

And Sennois,
And Rycas; and three better lads ne’er danc’d
Under green tree; and ye know what wenches, ha!
But will the dainty domine, the schoolmaster,
Keep touch, do you think? for he does all, ye know.

He’ll eat a hornbook, ere he fail: go to!
The matter is too far driven between
Him and the tanner’s daughter, to let slip now;
And she must see the duke, and she must dance too.

All the boys in Athens
Blow wind i’ the breech on us: and here I’ll be,
And there I’ll be, for our town, and here again,
And there again: ha, boys, heigh for the weavers!

By any means; our thing of learning says so;
Where he himself will edify the duke
Most parlously in our behalfs: he’s excellent i’ the woods;
Bring him to the plains, his learning makes no cry.

We’ll see the sports; then every man to’s tackle!
And, sweet companions, let’s rehearse by any means,
Before the ladies see us, and do sweetly,
And God knows what may come on’t.

Content: the sports
Once ended, we’ll perform. Away, boys, and hold!

Yes, ’tis a question
To me that know not.

Not far, sir.
Are there such games to-day?

Yes, marry, are there;
And such as you never saw: the duke himself
Will be in person there.

Well, sir,
Take your own time.⁠—Come, boys.

My mind misgives me
This fellow has a vengeance trick o’ the hip;
Mark how his body’s made for’t

I’ll be hang’d though,
If he dare venture; hang him, plum-porridge!
He wrestle? he roast eggs! Come, let’s be gone, lads. Exeunt Countrymen.

This is an offer’d opportunity
I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled,
The best men call’d it excellent; and run
Swifter than wind upon a field of corn,
Curling the wealthy ears, nev’r flew. I’ll venture,
And in some poor disguise be there: who knows
Whether my brows may not be girt with garlands,
And happiness prefer me to a place
Where I may ever dwell in sight of her? Exit.

Why should I love this gentleman? ’tis odds
He never will affect me: I am base,
My father the mean keeper of his prison,
And he a prince: to marry him is hopeless,
To be his whore is witless. Out upon’t!
What pushes are we wenches driven to,
When fifteen once has found us! First, I saw him;
I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man;
He has as much to please a woman in him⁠—
If he please to bestow it so⁠—as ever
These eyes yet look’d on: next I pitied him;
And so would any young wench, o’ my conscience,
That ever dream’d, or vow’d her maidenhead
To a young handsome man: then I lov’d him,
Extremely lov’d him, infinitely lov’d him;
And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too;
But in my heart was Palamon, and there,
Lord, what a coil he keeps! To hear him
Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is!
And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken
Was never gentleman: when I come in
To bring him water in a morning, first
He bows his noble body, then salutes me thus,
“Fair, gentle maid, good morrow: may thy goodness
Get thee a happy husband!” Once he kiss’d me;
I lov’d my lips the better ten days after:
Would he would do so every day! He grieves much,
And me as much to see his misery:
What should I do, to make him know I love him?
For I would fain enjoy him say I ventur’d
To set him free? what says the law, then? Thus much
For law, or kindred! I will do it;
And this night or to-morrow he shall love me. Exit.

You have done worthily; I have not seen,
Since Hercules, a man of tougher sinews:
Whate’er you are, you run the best, and wrestle,
That these times can allow.

My father said so;
And to those gentle uses gave me life.

Your father,
Sure, is a happy sire then. What proves you?

A little of all noble qualities:
I could have kept a hawk, and well have holla’d
To a deep cry of dogs; I dare not praise
My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me
Would say it was my best piece; last and greatest,
I would be thought a soldier.

I admire him:
I have not seen so young a man so noble⁠—
If he say true⁠—of his sort.

Believe,
His mother was a wondrous handsome woman;
His face methinks goes that way.

But his body
And fiery mind illustrate a brave father.

Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun,
Breaks through his baser garments!

Noble Theseus,
To purchase a name, and do my ablest service
To such a well-found wonder as thy worth;
For only in thy court, of all the world,
Dwells fair-ey’d Honour.

Sir, we are much indebted to your travel,
Nor shall you lose your wish.⁠—Pirithous,
Dispose of this fair gentleman.

Thanks, Theseus.⁠—
Whate’re you are, you’re mine; and I shall give you
To a most noble service⁠—to this lady,
This bright young virgin: pray, observe her goodness:
You’ve honour’d her fair birthday with your virtues,
And, as your due, you’re hers; kiss her fair hand, sir.

Sir, you’re a noble giver.⁠—To Emilia. Dearest beauty,
Thus let me seal my vow’d faith. Kisses her hand. When your servant⁠—
Your most unworthy creature⁠—but offends you,
Command him die, he shall.

That were too cruel.
If you deserve well, sir, I shall soon see it:
You’re mine; and somewhat better than your rank I’ll use you.

I’ll see you furnish’d: and because you say
You are a horseman, I must needs entreat you
This afternoon to ride; but ’tis a rough one.

I like him better, prince; I shall not, then,
Freeze in my saddle.

Sweet, you must be ready⁠—
And you, Emilia⁠—and you, friend⁠—and all⁠—
To-morrow by the sun, to do observance
To flowery May, in Dian’s wood.⁠—Wait well, sir,
Upon your mistress.⁠—Emily, I hope
He shall not go afoot.

That were a shame, sir,
While I have horses.⁠—Take your choice; and what
You want at any time, let me but know it:
If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you
You’ll find a loving mistress.

If I do not,
Let me find that my father ever hated⁠—
Disgrace and blows.

Go, lead the way; you’ve won it;
It shall be so: you shall receive all dues
Fit for the honour you have won; ’twere wrong else.⁠—
Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a servant,
That, if I were a woman, would be master:
But you are wise.

Let all the dukes and all the devils roar,
He is at liberty: I’ve ventur’d for him;
And out I’ve brought him to a little wood
A mile hence: I have sent him, where a cedar,
Higher than all the rest, spreads like a plane,
Fast by a brook; and there he shall keep close,
Till I provide him files and food; for yet
His iron bracelets are not off. O Love,
What a stout-hearted child thou art! My father
Durst better have endur’d cold iron than done it.
I love him beyond love and beyond reason,
Or wit, or safety; I have made him know it:
I care not: I am desperate; if the law
Find me, and then condemn me for’t, some wenches,
Some honest-hearted maids, will sing my dirge,
And tell to memory my death was noble,
Dying almost a martyr. That way he takes,
I purpose is my way too: sure he cannot
Be so unmanly as to leave me here:
If he do, maids will not so easily
Trust men again: and yet he has not thank’d me
For what I’ve done; no, not so much as kiss’d me;
And that, methinks, is not so well; nor scarcely
Could I persuade him to become a freeman,
He made such scruples of the wrong he did
To me and to my father. Yet, I hope,
When he considers more, this love of mine
Will take more root within him: let him do
What he will with me, so he use me kindly;
For use me so he shall, or I’ll proclaim him,
And to his face, no man. I’ll presently
Provide him necessaries, and pack my clothes up,
And where there is a patch of ground I’ll venture,
So he be with me: by him, like a shadow,
I’ll ever dwell. Within this hour the whoobub
Will be all o’er the prison: I am then
Kissing the man they look for. Farewell, father!
Get many more such prisoners and such daughters,
And shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him! Exit.