Wom. Dainty Madam.
Arc. Cosin, Cosin, how do you, Sir? Why Palamon?
Pal. Never till now, I was in prison Arcite.
Arc. Why, what's the matter man?
Pal. Behold, and wonder.
By heaven she is a Goddess.
Arcite. Ha.
Pal. Do reverence.
She is a Goddess Arcite.
Emil. Of all Flowers,
Methinks a Rose is best.
Wom. Why gentle Madam?
Emil. 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.