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⌉. Palamon sees Emilia and is silent

And after death our spirits shall be led

To those that love eternally. Speak on, sir.

EMILIA (to her Woman)

This garden has a world of pleasure 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 (to Palamon)

Pray forward.

PALAMON Yes.

EMILIA (to her Woman) 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 (to Palamon) Will ye go forward, cousin?

EMILIA (to her Woman)

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 (to Palamon)

Cousin, cousin, how do you, sir? Why, Palamon!

PALAMON

Never till now was I in prison, Arcite.

ARCITE

Why, what’s the matter, man?

PALAMON Behold and wonder!

Arcite sees Emilia

By heaven, she is a goddess!

ARCITE Ha!

PALAMON

Do reverence.

She is a goddess, Arcite.

EMILIA (to her Woman)

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 (to Palamon)

She is wondrous fair.

PALAMON She is all the beauty extant.

EMILIA (to her Woman)

The sun grows high—let’s walk in. Keep these flowers.

We’ll see how close 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 her 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.