SCENE II. The prison

Enter Palamon and Arcite in prison.

PALAMON. How do you, noble cousin?

ARCITE. How do you, sir?

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

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

PALAMON. 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, Outstripped 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-eyed god of war ne’er wore— Ravished 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.

ARCITE. 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, armed 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-eyed 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.

PALAMON. ’Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds That shook the aged forest with their echoes No more now must we hallow, no more shake Our pointed javelins whilst the angry swine Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages, Struck with our well-steeled 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.

ARCITE. 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!

PALAMON. Certainly ’Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes Were twined 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.

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

PALAMON. How, gentle cousin?

ARCITE. Let’s think this prison holy sanctuary, To keep us from corruption of worse men. We are 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 are one another’s wife, ever begetting New births of love; we are 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 chances, Were we from hence, would sever us.

PALAMON. You have 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 am 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?

ARCITE. I would hear you still.

PALAMON. Ye shall. Is there record of any two that loved Better than we do, Arcite?

ARCITE. Sure, there cannot.

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

ARCITE. Till our deaths it cannot;

Enter Emilia and her Woman , below.

And after death our spirits shall be led To those that love eternally. Speak on, sir.

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

WOMAN. ’Tis called narcissus, madam.

EMILIA. That was a fair boy, certain, but a fool, To love himself. Were there not maids enough?

ARCITE. Pray, forward.

PALAMON. Yes.

EMILIA. Or were they all hard-hearted?

WOMAN. They could not be to one so fair.

EMILIA. Thou wouldst not.

WOMAN. I think I should not, madam.

EMILIA. That’s a good wench. But take heed to your kindness, though.

WOMAN. Why, madam?

EMILIA. Men are mad things.

ARCITE. Will ye go forward, cousin?

EMILIA. Canst not thou work such flowers in silk, wench?

WOMAN. Yes.

EMILIA. 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?

WOMAN. Dainty, madam.

ARCITE. Cousin, cousin! How do you, sir? Why, Palamon!

PALAMON. Never till now I was in prison, Arcite.

ARCITE. Why, what’s the matter, man?

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

ARCITE. Ha!

PALAMON. Do reverence. She is a goddess, Arcite.

EMILIA. Of all flowers, Methinks a rose is best.

WOMAN. Why, gentle madam?

EMILIA. 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.

WOMAN. Yet, good madam, Sometimes her modesty will blow so far She falls for ’t. A maid, If she have any honour, would be loath To take example by her.

EMILIA. Thou art wanton.

ARCITE. She is wondrous fair.

PALAMON. She is all the beauty extant.

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

WOMAN. I could lie down, I am sure.

EMILIA. And take one with you?

WOMAN. That’s as we bargain, madam.

EMILIA. Well, agree then.

[ Exeunt Emilia and Woman . ]

PALAMON. What think you of this beauty?

ARCITE. ’Tis a rare one.

PALAMON. Is’t but a rare one?

ARCITE. Yes, a matchless beauty.

PALAMON. Might not a man well lose himself, and love her?

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

PALAMON. You love her, then?

ARCITE. Who would not?

PALAMON. And desire her?

ARCITE. Before my liberty.

PALAMON. I saw her first.

ARCITE. That’s nothing.

PALAMON. But it shall be.

ARCITE. I saw her too.

PALAMON. Yes, but you must not love her.

ARCITE. 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.

PALAMON. You shall not love at all.

ARCITE. Not love at all! Who shall deny me?

PALAMON. I, that first saw her; I that took possession First with mine eye of all those beauties in her Revealed 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.

ARCITE. 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.

PALAMON. Have I called thee friend?

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

PALAMON. Yes.

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

PALAMON. Ye may be.

ARCITE. 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?

PALAMON. No; but unjust, If thou pursue that sight.

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

PALAMON. Yes, if he be but one.

ARCITE. But say that one Had rather combat me?

PALAMON. Let that one say so, And use thy freedom. Else, if thou pursuest her, Be as that cursed man that hates his country, A branded villain.

ARCITE. You are mad.

PALAMON. 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 truely.

ARCITE. 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.

PALAMON. 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 would 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.

ARCITE. 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.

Enter Jailer .

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

ARCITE. Do!

JAILER. By your leave, gentlemen.

PALAMON. Now, honest keeper?

JAILER. Lord Arcite, you must presently to th’ Duke; The cause I know not yet.

ARCITE. I am ready, keeper.

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

[ Exeunt Arcite and Jailer . ]

PALAMON. And me too, Even when you please, of life.—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.

Enter Jailer .

And then I am sure she would love me. How now, keeper? Where’s Arcite?

JAILER. Banished. Prince Pirithous Obtained his liberty, but never more Upon his oath and life must he set foot Upon this kingdom.

PALAMON. 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.

JAILER. My lord for you I have this charge to—

PALAMON. To discharge my life?

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

PALAMON. Devils take ’em, That are so envious to me! Prithee, kill me.

JAILER. And hang for’t afterward!

PALAMON. By this good light, Had I a sword I would kill thee.

JAILER. Why, my Lord?

PALAMON. Thou bringst such pelting, scurvy news continually, Thou art not worthy life. I will not go.

JAILER. Indeed, you must, my lord.

PALAMON. May I see the garden?

JAILER. No.

PALAMON. Then I am resolved, I will not go.

JAILER. I must constrain you then; and, for you are dangerous, I’ll clap more irons on you.

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

JAILER. There is no remedy.

PALAMON. 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 Palamon and Jailer . ]