Arcite. The Duke has lost Hippolita: each took
A several laund. This is a solemn rite
They owe bloom'd May, and the Athenians pay|it
To the heart of ceremony. Oh, queen Emil|ia!
Fresher than May, sweeter
Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all
[40:1]The enamell'd knacks o' the mead or garden! Yea,
We challenge too the bank of any nymph,
That makes the stream seem flowers!—Thou,—oh jew|el
O' the wood, o' the world,—hast likewise blest a place
With thy sole presence. In thy rumina|tion
That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between,
And chop on some cold thought!—Thrice blessed chance,
To drop on such a mistress! Expecta|tion
Most guiltless of | it.| Tell me, oh lady For|tune,
(Next after Emily my sovran,) how far
I may be proud. She takes strong note of me,
Hath made me near her, and this beauteous morn,
(The primest of all the year,) presents me with
A brace of horses; two such steeds might well
Be by a pair of kings back'd, in a field
That their crowns' titles tried. Alas, alas!
Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner!...
... If
Thou knew'st my mistress breathed on me, and that
I cared her language, lived in her eye, oh coz,
What passion would enclose thee!
There is great spirit, also, in what follows. Some phrases, here again, are precisely Shakspeare's; and several parts of the dialogue have much of his pointed epigrammatic style. The massive accumulation of reproaches which Palamon hurls on Arcite is, in its energy, more like him than his assistant; and the opposition of character between Palamon and his calmer kinsman, is well kept up; but the dialogue cannot be accounted one of the best in the play.
Shaksperean string of epithets.
Palamon. ... Oh, thou most perfid|ious
That ever gently look'd! The void'st of hon|our
That e'er bore gentle token! Falsest cous|in
That ever blood made kin! call'st thou her thine?
I'll prove it in my shackles, in these hands
Void of appointment, that thou liest, and art
A very thief in love, a chaffy lord,
Not worth the name of villain!—Had I a sword,
And these house-clogs away!
Shaksperean word-play.
Arcite. Dear cousin Pal|amon!
Palamon. Cozener Arcite! give me language such
As thou hast shewed me feat.
Arcite. Not finding in
[41:1]The circuit of my breast, any gross stuff
To form me like your blazon, holds me to
This gentleness of answer. 'Tis your pas|sion
That thus mistakes; the which, to you being en|emy,
Cannot to me be kind....
