Jail. Go to, leave your pointing; they would not
Make us their object; out of their sight.
Daugh. It is a holliday to look on them: Lord, the
Difference of men. [Exeunt.
Scæna Secunda.
Enter Palamon, and Arcite in prison.
Pal. How do you, Noble Cosin?
Arcite. How do you, Sir?
Pal. Why, strong enough to laugh at misery,
And bear the chance of war yet, we are prisoners
I fear for ever Cosin.
Arcite. I believe it,
And to that destiny have patiently
Laid up my hour to come.
Pal. Oh Cosin Arcite,
Where is Thebs now? where is our noble Countrey?
Where are our friends, and kindreds? never more
Must we behold those comforts, never see
The hardy youths strive for the Games of honor
(Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies)
Like tall Ships under Sail: then start amongst 'em
And as an Eastwind leave 'em all behind us,
Like lazy Clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite,
Even in the wagging of a wanton leg
Out-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands,
E'r they have time to wish 'em ours. Oh never
Shall we two exercise, like twins of honor,
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 nev'r were)
Bravish'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 light'ning
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, arm'd with thousand Cupids
Shall never claspe our necks, no issue know us,
No figures of our selves shall we ev'r 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 tels 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.