Book I. In Days Of Old, There Lived, Of Mighty Fame, A Valiant Prince, And Theseus Was His Name: A Chief, Who More In Feats Of Arms Excell'D, The Rising Nor The Setting Sun Beheld. Of Athens He Was Lord; Much Land He Won, And Added Foreign Countries To His Crown. In Scythia With The Warrior Queen He Strove, Whom First By Force He Conquer'D, Then By Love; He Brought In Triumph Back The Beauteous Dame, With Whom Her Sister, Fair Emilia, Came. With Honour To His Home Let Theseus Ride, With Love To Friend, And Fortune For His Guide, And His Victorious Army At His Side. I Pass Their Warlike Pomp, Their Proud Array, Their Shouts, Their Songs, Their Welcome On The Way. But, Were It Not Too Long, I Would Recite The Feats Of Amazons, The Fatal Fight Betwixt The Hardy Queen And Hero Knight; The Town Besieged, And How Much Blood It Cost The Female Army, And The Athenian Host; The Spousals Of Hippolita The Queen; What Tilts And Tourneys At The Feast Were Seen; The Storm At Their Return, The Ladies' Fear: But These, And Other Things, I Must Forbear. The Field Is Spacious I Design To Sow, With Oxen Far Unfit To Draw The Plough: The Remnant Of My Tale Is Of A Length To Tire Your Patience, And To Waste My Strength; And Trivial Accidents Shall Be Forborne, That Others May Have Time To Take Their Turn; As Was At First Enjoin'D Us By Mine Host: That He Whose Tale Is Best, And Pleases Most, Should Win His Supper At Our Common Cost. And Therefore Where I Left, I Will Pursue This Ancient Story, Whether False Or True, In Hope It May Be Mended With A New. The Prince I Mention'D, Full Of High Renown, In This Array Drew Near The Athenian Town; When In His Pomp And Utmost Of His Pride, Marching He Chanced To Cast His Eye Aside, And Saw A Choir Of Mourning Dames, Who Lay By Two And Two Across The Common Way: At His Approach They Raised A Rueful Cry, And Beat Their Breasts, And Held Their Hands On High, Creeping And Crying, Till They Seized At Last His Courser'S Bridle, And His Feet Embraced. Tell Me, Said Theseus, What And Whence You Are, And Why This Funeral Pageant You Prepare? Is This The Welcome Of My Worthy Deeds, To Meet My Triumph In Ill-Omen'D Weeds? Or Envy You My Praise, And Would Destroy With Grief My Pleasures, And Pollute My Joy? Or Are You Injured, And Demand Relief? Name Your Request, And I Will Ease Your Grief. The Most In Years Of All The Mourning Train Began; But Swooned First Away For Pain, Then Scarce Recover'D Spoke: Nor Envy We Thy Great Renown, Nor Grudge Thy Victory; 'Tis Thine, O King, The Afflicted To Redress, And Fame Has Fill'D The World With Thy Success: We Wretched Women Sue For That Alone, Which Of Thy Goodness Is Refused To None; Let Fall Some Drops Of Pity On Our Grief, If What We Beg Be Just, And We Deserve Relief: For None Of Us, Who Now Thy Grace Implore, But Held The Rank Of Sovereign Queen Before; Till, Thanks To Giddy Chance, Which Never Bears, That Mortal Bliss Should Last For Length Of Years, She Cast Us Headlong From Our High Estate, And Here In Hope Of Thy Return We Wait: And Long Have Waited In The Temple Nigh, Built To The Gracious Goddess Clemency. But Reverence Thou The Power Whose Name It Bears, Relieve The Oppress'D, And Wipe The Widow'S Tears. I, Wretched I, Have Other Fortune Seen, The Wife Of Capaneus, And Once A Queen: At Thebes He Fell; Cursed Be The Fatal Day! And All The Rest Thou Seest In This Array, To Make Their Moan, Their Lords In Battle Lost Before That Town Besieged By Our Confederate Host: But Creon, Old And Impious, Who Commands The Theban City, And Usurps The Lands, Denies The Rites Of Funeral Fires To Those Whose Breathless Bodies Yet He Calls His Foes. Unburn'D, Unburied, On A Heap They Lie; Such Is Their Fate, And Such His Tyranny; No Friend Has Leave To Bear Away The Dead, But With Their Lifeless Limbs His Hounds Are Fed. At This She Shriek'D Aloud; The Mournful Train Echoed Her Grief, And Grovelling On The Plain, With Groans, And Hands Upheld, To Move His Mind, Besought His Pity To Their Helpless Kind! The Prince Was Touch'D, His Tears Began To Flow, And, As His Tender Heart Would Break In Two, He Sigh'D, And Could Not But Their Fate Deplore, So Wretched Now, So Fortunate Before. Then Lightly From His Lofty Steed He Flew, And, Raising One By One The Suppliant Crew, To Comfort Each Full Solemnly He Swore, That By The Faith Which Knights To Knighthood Bore, And Whate'Er Else To Chivalry Belongs, He Would Not Cease, Till He Revenged Their Wrongs: That Greece Should See Perform'D What He Declared; And Cruel Creon Find His Just Reward. He Said No More, But, Shunning All Delay, Rode On; Nor Enter'D Athens On His Way: But Left His Sister And His Queen Behind, And Waved His Royal Banner In The Wind: Where In An Argent Field The God Of War Was Drawn Triumphant On His Iron Car; Red Was His Sword, And Shield, And Whole Attire, And All The Godhead Seem'D To Glow With Fire; Even The Ground Glitter'D Where The Standard Flew, And The Green Grass Was Dyed To Sanguine Hue. High On His Pointed Lance His Pennon Bore His Cretan Fight, The Conquer'D Minotaur: The Soldiers Shout Around With Generous Rage, And In That Victory Their Own Presage. He Praised Their Ardour: Inly Pleased To See His Host The Flower Of Grecian Chivalry, All Day He March'D, And All The Ensuing Night, And Saw The City With Returning Light. The Process Of The War I Need Not Tell, How Theseus Conquer'D, And How Creon Fell: Or After, How By Storm The Walls Were Won, Or How The Victor Sack'D And Burn'D The Town: How To The Ladies He Restored Again The Bodies Of Their Lords In Battle Slain: And With What Ancient Rites They Were Interr'D; All These To Fitter Times Shall Be Deferr'D. I Spare The Widows' Tears, Their Woeful Cries, And Howling At Their Husbands' Obsequies; How Theseus At These Funerals Did Assist, And With What Gifts The Mourning Dames Dismiss'D. Thus When The Victor Chief Had Creon Slain, And Conquer'D Thebes, He Pitch'D Upon The Plain His Mighty Camp, And, When The Day Return'D, The Country Wasted, And The Hamlets Burn'D, And Left The Pillagers, To Rapine Bred, Without Control To Strip And Spoil The Dead. There, In A Heap Of Slain, Among The Rest Two Youthful Knights They Found Beneath A Load Oppress'D Of Slaughter'D Foes, Whom First To Death They Sent-- The Trophies Of Their Strength, A Bloody Monument. Both Fair, And Both Of Royal Blood They Seem'D, Whom Kinsmen To The Crown The Heralds Deem'D; That Day In Equal Arms They Fought For Fame; Their Swords, Their Shields, Their Surcoats Were The Same. Close By Each Other Laid, They Press'D The Ground, Their Manly Bosoms Pierced With Many A Grisly Wound; Nor Well Alive, Nor Wholly Dead They Were, But Some Faint Signs Of Feeble Life Appear: The Wandering Breath Was On The Wing To Part, Weak Was The Pulse, And Hardly Heaved The Heart. These Two Were Sisters' Sons; And Arcite One Much Famed In Fields, With Valiant Palamon. From These Their Costly Arms The Spoilers Rent, And Softly Both Convey'D To Theseus' Tent: Whom, Known Of Creon'S Line, And Cured With Care, He To His City Sent As Prisoners Of The War, Hopeless Of Ransom, And Condemn'D To Lie In Durance, Doom'D A Lingering Death To Die. This Done, He March'D Away With Warlike Sound, And To His Athens Turn'D, With Laurels Crown'D, Where Happy Long He Lived, Much Loved, And More Renown'D. But In A Tower, And Never To Be Loosed, The Woful Captive Kinsmen Are Enclosed. Thus Year By Year They Pass, And Day By Day, Till Once, 'Twas On The Morn Of Cheerful May, The Young Emilia, Fairer To Be Seen Than The Fair Lily On The Flowery Green, More Fresh Than May Herself In Blossoms New, For With The Rosy Colour Strove Her Hue, Waked, As Her Custom Was, Before The Day, To Do The Observance Due To Sprightly May: For Sprightly May Commands Our Youth To Keep The Vigils Of Her Night, And Breaks Their Sluggard Sleep; Each Gentle Breast With Kindly Warmth She Moves; Inspires New Flames, Revives Extinguish'D Loves. In This Remembrance, Emily, Ere Day, Arose, And Dress'D Herself In Rich Array; Fresh As The Month, And As The Morning Fair: Adown Her Shoulders Fell Her Length Of Hair: A Riband Did The Braided Tresses Bind, The Rest Was Loose And Wanton'D In The Wind. Aurora Had But Newly Chased The Night, And Purpled O'Er The Sky With Blushing Light, When To The Garden Walk She Took Her Way, To Sport And Trip Along In Cool Of Day, And Offer Maiden Vows In Honour Of The May. At Every Turn, She Made A Little Stand, And Thrust Among The Thorns Her Lily Hand To Draw The Rose, And Every Rose She Drew She Shook The Stalk, And Brush'D Away The Dew: Then Party-Colour'D Flowers Of White And Red She Wove, To Make A Garland For Her Head: This Done, She Sung And Caroll'D Out So Clear, That Men And Angels Might Rejoice To Hear: Even Wondering Philomel Forgot To Sing; And Learn'D From Her To Welcome In The Spring. The Tower, Of Which Before Was Mention Made, Within Whose Keep The Captive Knights Were Laid, Built Of A Large Extent, And Strong Withal, Was One Partition Of The Palace Wall; The Garden Was Enclosed Within The Square Where Young Emilia Took The Morning Air. It Happen'D Palamon, The Prisoner Knight, Restless For Woe, Arose Before The Light, And With His Jailer'S Leave Desired To Breathe An Air More Wholesome Than The Damps Beneath. This Granted, To The Tower He Took His Way, Cheer'D With The Promise Of A Glorious Day: Then Cast A Languishing Regard Around, And Saw, With Hateful Eyes, The Temples Crown'D With Golden Spires, And All The Hostile Ground. He Sigh'D, And Turn'D His Eyes, Because He Knew 'Twas But A Larger Jail He Had In View: Then Look'D Below, And From The Castle'S Height Beheld A Nearer And More Pleasing Sight: The Garden, Which Before He Had Not Seen, In Spring'S New Livery Clad Of White And Green, Fresh Flowers In Wide Parterres, And Shady Walks Between. This View'D, But Not Enjoy'D, With Arms Across He Stood, Reflecting On His Country'S Loss; Himself An Object Of The Public Scorn, And Often Wish'D He Never Had Been Born. At Last, For So His Destiny Required, With Walking Giddy, And With Thinking Tired, He Through A Little Window Cast His Sight, Though Thick Of Bars, That Gave A Scanty Light: But Even That Glimmering Served Him To Descry The Inevitable Charms Of Emily. Scarce Had He Seen, But Seized With Sudden Smart, Stung To The Quick, He Felt It At His Heart; Struck Blind With Overpowering Light He Stood, Then Started Back Amazed, And Cried Aloud. Young Arcite Heard; And Up He Ran With Haste, To Help His Friend, And In His Arms Embraced; And Ask'D Him Why He Look'D So Deadly Wan, And Whence And How His Change Of Cheer Began? Or Who Had Done The Offence? But If, Said He, Your Grief Alone Is Hard Captivity; For Love Of Heaven, With Patience Undergo A Cureless Ill, Since Fate Will Have It So: So Stood Our Horoscope In Chains To Lie, And Saturn In The Dungeon Of The Sky, Or Other Baleful Aspect, Ruled Our Birth, When All The Friendly Stars Were Under Earth: Whate'Er Betides, By Destiny 'Tis Done; And Better Bear Like Men, Than Vainly Seek To Shun. Nor Of My Bonds, Said Palamon Again, Nor Of Unhappy Planets I Complain; But When My Mortal Anguish Caused My Cry, That Moment I Was Hurt Through Either Eye; Pierced With A Random Shaft, I Faint Away, And Perish With Insensible Decay; A Glance Of Some New Goddess Gave The Wound, Whom, Like Actaeon, Unaware I Found. Look How She Walks Along Yon Shady Space! Not Juno Moves With More Majestic Grace; And All The Cyprian Queen Is In Her Face. If Thou Art Venus (For Thy Charms Confess That Face Was Form'D In Heaven, Nor Art Thou Less Disguised In Habit, Undisguised In Shape), Oh, Help Us Captives From Our Chains To 'Scape! But If Our Doom Be Past In Bonds To Lie For Life, And In A Loathsome Dungeon Die, Then Be Thy Wrath Appeased With Our Disgrace, And Show Compassion To The Theban Race, Oppress'D By Tyrant Power! While Yet He Spoke, Arcite On Emily Had Fix'D His Look; The Fatal Dart A Ready Passage Found, And Deep Within His Heart Infix'D The Wound: So That If Palamon Were Wounded Sore, Arcite Was Hurt As Much As He, Or More: Then From His Inmost Soul He Sigh'D, And Said, The Beauty I Behold Has Struck Me Dead: Unknowingly She Strikes; And Kills By Chance; Poison Is In Her Eyes, And Death In Every Glance. Oh, I Must Ask; Nor Ask Alone, But Move Her Mind To Mercy, Or Must Die For Love! Thus Arcite: And Thus Palamon Replies, (Eager His Tone And Ardent Were His Eyes): Speak'St Thou In Earnest, Or In Jesting Vein? Jesting, Said Arcite, Suits But Ill With Pain. It Suits Far Worse (Said Palamon Again, And Bent His Brows) With Men Who Honour Weigh, Their Faith To Break, Their Friendship To Betray; But Worst With Thee, Of Noble Lineage Born, My Kinsman, And In Arms My Brother Sworn. Have We Not Plighted Each Our Holy Oath, That One Should Be The Common Good Of Both; One Soul Should Both Inspire, And Neither Prove His Fellow'S Hindrance In Pursuit Of Love? To This Before The Gods We Gave Our Hands, And Nothing But Our Death Can Break The Bands. This Binds Thee, Then, To Further My Design, As I Am Bound By Vow To Further Thine: Nor Canst, Nor Dar'St Thou, Traitor, On The Plain Appeach My Honour, Or Thine Own Maintain, Since Thou Art Of My Council, And The Friend Whose Faith I Trust, And On Whose Care Depend: And Would'St Thou Court My Lady'S Love, Which I Much Rather Than Release Would Choose To Die? But Thou, False Arcite, Never Shall Obtain Thy Bad Pretence; I Told Thee First My Pain; For First My Love Began Ere Thine Was Born: Thou As My Council, And My Brother Sworn, Art Bound To Assist My Eldership Of Right, Or Justly To Be Deem'D A Perjured Knight. Thus Palamon: But Arcite With Disdain In Haughty Language Thus Replied Again: Forsworn Thyself: The Traitor'S Odious Name I First Return, And Then Disprove Thy Claim. If Love Be Passion, And That Passion Nursed With Strong Desires, I Loved The Lady First. Canst Thou Pretend Desire, Whom Zeal Inflamed To Worship, And A Power Celestial Named? Thine Was Devotion To The Blest Above, I Saw The Woman And Desired Her Love; First Own'D My Passion, And To Thee Commend The Important Secret, As My Chosen Friend. Suppose (Which Yet I Grant Not) Thy Desire A Moment Elder Than My Rival Fire; Can Chance Of Seeing First Thy Title Prove? And Know'St Thou Not, No Law Is Made For Love? Law Is To Things Which To Free Choice Relate; Love Is Not In Our Choice, But In Our Fate; Laws Are But Positive; Love'S Power, We See, Is Nature'S Sanction, And Her First Decree. Each Day We Break The Bond Of Human Laws For Love, And Vindicate The Common Cause. Laws For Defence Of Civil Rights Are Placed, Love Throws The Fences Down, And Makes A General Waste; Maids, Widows, Wives, Without Distinction Fall; The Sweeping Deluge, Love, Comes On, And Covers All. If, Then, The Laws Of Friendship I Transgress, I Keep The Greater, While I Break The Less; And Both Are Mad Alike, Since Neither Can Possess. Both Hopeless To Be Ransom'D, Never More To See The Sun, But As He Passes O'Er. Like ?Sop'S Hounds Contending For The Bone, Each Pleaded Right, And Would Be Lord Alone: The Fruitless Fight Continued All The Day; A Cur Came By, And Snatch'D The Prize Away. As Courtiers, Therefore, Jostle For A Grant, And When They Break Their Friendship, Plead Their Want; So Thou, If Fortune Will Thy Suit Advance, Love On, Nor Envy Me My Equal Chance; For I Must Love, And Am Resolved To Try My Fate, Or, Failing In The Adventure, Die. Great Was Their Strife, Which Hourly Was Renew'D, Till Each With Mortal Hate His Rival View'D; Now Friends No More, Nor Walking Hand In Hand; But When They Met, They Made A Surly Stand; And Glared Like Angry Lions As They Pass'D, And Wish'D That Every Look Might Be Their Last. It Chanced At Length, Pirithous Came To Attend This Worthy Theseus, His Familiar Friend: Their Love In Early Infancy Began, And Rose As Childhood Ripen'D Into Man. Companions Of The War; And Loved So Well, That When One Died, As Ancient Stories Tell, His Fellow To Redeem Him Went To Hell. But To Pursue My Tale; To Welcome Home His Warlike Brother Is Pirithous Come: Arcite Of Thebes Was Known In Arms Long Since, And Honour'D By This Young Thessalian Prince. Theseus, To Gratify His Friend And Guest, Who Made Our Arcite'S Freedom His Request, Restored To Liberty The Captive Knight, But On These Hard Conditions I Recite: That If Hereafter Arcite Should Be Found Within The Compass Of Athenian Ground, By Day Or Night, Or On Whate'Er Pretence, His Head Should Pay The Forfeit Of The Offence. To This Pirithous For His Friend Agreed, And On His Promise Was The Prisoner Freed. Unpleased And Pensive Hence He Takes His Way, At His Own Peril; For His Life Must Pay. Who Now But Arcite Mourns His Bitter Fate, Finds His Dear Purchase, And Repents Too Late? What Have I Gain'D, He Said, In Prison Pent, If I But Change My Bonds For Banishment? And Banish'D From Her Sight, I Suffer More In Freedom Than I Felt In Bonds Before; Forced From Her Presence, And Condemn'D To Live: Unwelcome Freedom, And Unthank'D Reprieve! Heaven Is Not, But Where Emily Abides, And Where She'S Absent, All Is Hell Besides. Next To My Day Of Birth, Was That Accursed, Which Bound My Friendship To Pirithous First: Had I Not Known That Prince, I Still Had Been In Bondage, And Had Still Emilia Seen: For Though I Never Can Her Grace Deserve, 'Tis Recompence Enough To See And Serve. O Palamon, My Kinsman And My Friend, How Much More Happy Fates Thy Love Attend! Thine Is The Adventure; Thine The Victory: Well Has Thy Fortune Turn'D The Dice For Thee: Thou On That Angel'S Face May'St Feed Thine Eyes, In Prison, No; But Blissful Paradise! Thou Daily Seest That Sun Of Beauty Shine, And Lovest At Least In Love'S Extremest Line. I Mourn In Absence, Love'S Eternal Night; And Who Can Tell But Since Thou Hast Her Sight, And Art A Comely, Young, And Valiant Knight, Fortune (A Various Power) May Cease To Frown, And By Some Ways Unknown Thy Wishes Crown? But I, The Most Forlorn Of Human Kind, Nor Help Can Hope, Nor Remedy Can Find; But Doom'D To Drag My Loathsome Life In Care, For My Reward, Must End It In Despair. Fire, Water, Air, And Earth, And Force Of Fates, That Governs All, And Heaven That All Creates, Nor Art, Nor Nature'S Hand Can Ease My Grief; Nothing But Death, The Wretch'S Last Relief: Then Farewell Youth, And All The Joys That Dwell, With Youth And Life, And Life Itself Farewell! But Why, Alas! Do Mortal Men In Vain Of Fortune, Fate, Or Providence Complain? God Gives Us What He Knows Our Wants Require, And Better Things Than Those Which We Desire: Some Pray For Riches; Riches They Obtain; But, Watch'D By Robbers, For Their Wealth Are Slain: Some Pray From Prison To Be Freed; And Come, When Guilty Of Their Vows, To Fall At Home; Murder'D By Those They Trusted With Their Life, A Favour'D Servant, Or A Bosom Wife. Such Dear-Bought Blessings Happen Every Day, Because We Know Not For What Things To Pray. Like Drunken Sots About The Street We Roam; Well Knows The Sot He Has A Certain Home; Yet Knows Not How To Find The Uncertain Place, And Blunders On, And Staggers Every Pace. Thus All Seek Happiness; But Few Can Find. For Far The Greater Part Of Men Are Blind. This Is My Case, Who Thought Our Utmost Good Was In One Word Of Freedom Understood: The Fatal Blessing Came: From Prison Free, I Starve Abroad, And Lose The Sight Of Emily. Thus Arcite; But If Arcite Thus Deplore His Sufferings, Palamon Yet Suffers More. For When He Knew His Rival Freed And Gone, He Swells With Wrath; He Makes Outrageous Moan: He Frets, He Fumes, He Stares, He Stamps The Ground; The Hollow Tower With Clamours Rings Around: With Briny Tears He Bathed His Fetter'D Feet, And Dropp'D All O'Er With Agony Of Sweat. Alas! He Cried, I Wretch In Prison Pine, Too Happy Rival, While The Fruit Is Thine: Thou Livest At Large, Thou Draw'St Thy Native Air, Pleased With Thy Freedom, Proud Of My Despair: Thou May'St, Since Thou Hast Youth And Courage Join'D, A Sweet Behaviour And A Solid Mind, Assemble Ours, And All The Theban Race, To Vindicate On Athens Thy Disgrace; And After, By Some Treaty Made, Possess Fair Emily, The Pledge Of Lasting Peace. So Thine Shall Be The Beauteous Prize, While I Must Languish In Despair, In Prison Die. Thus All The Advantage Of The Strife Is Thine, Thy Portion Double Joys, And Double Sorrows Mine. The Rage Of Jealousy Then Fired His Soul, And His Face Kindled Like A Burning Coal: Now Cold Despair, Succeeding In Her Stead, To Livid Paleness Turns The Glowing Red. His Blood, Scarce Liquid, Creeps Within His Veins, Like Water Which The Freezing Wind Constrains. Then Thus He Said: Eternal Deities, Who Rule The World With Absolute Decrees, And Write Whatever Time Shall Bring To Pass, With Pens Of Adamant On Plates Of Brass; What! Is The Race Of Human Kind Your Care, Beyond What All His Fellow-Creatures Are? He With The Rest Is Liable To Pain, And Like The Sheep, His Brother-Beast, Is Slain; Cold, Hunger, Prisons, Ills Without A Cure, All These He Must, And Guiltless, Oft Endure. Or Does Your Justice, Power, Or Prescience Fail, When The Good Suffer, And The Bad Prevail? What Worse To Wretched Virtue Could Befall, If Fate Or Giddy Fortune Govern'D All? Nay, Worse Than Other Beasts Is Our Estate; Them, To Pursue Their Pleasures, You Create; We, Bound By Harder Laws, Must Curb Our Will, And Your Commands, Not Our Desires, Fulfil; Then When The Creature Is Unjustly Slain, Yet After Death, At Least, He Feels No Pain; But Man, In Life Surcharged With Woe Before, Not Freed When Dead, Is Doom'D To Suffer More. A Serpent Shoots His Sting At Unaware; An Ambush'D Thief Forelays A Traveller: The Man Lies Murder'D, While The Thief And Snake, One Gains The Thickets, And One Threads The Brake. This Let Divines Decide; But Well I Know, Just, Or Unjust, I Have My Share Of Woe, Through Saturn Seated In A Luckless Place, And Juno'S Wrath, That Persecutes My Race; Or Mars And Venus, In A Quartile, Move My Pangs Of Jealousy For Arcite'S Love. Let Palamon Oppress'D In Bondage Mourn, While To His Exiled Rival We Return. By This, The Sun, Declining From His Height, The Day Had Shorten'D To Prolong The Night; The Lengthen'D Night Gave Length Of Misery Both To The Captive Lover And The Free. For Palamon In Endless Prison Mourns, And Arcite Forfeits Life If He Returns: The Banish'D Never Hopes His Love To See, Nor Hopes The Captive Lord His Liberty. 'Tis Hard To Say Who Suffers Greater Pains: One Sees His Love, But Cannot Break His Chains: One Free, And All His Motions Uncontroll'D, Beholds Whate'Er He Would, But What He Would Behold. Judge As You Please, For I Will Haste To Tell What Fortune To The Banish'D Knight Befell. When Arcite Was To Thebes Return'D Again, The Loss Of Her He Loved Renew'D His Pain; What Could Be Worse, Than Never More To See His Life, His Soul, His Charming Emily? He Raved With All The Madness Of Despair, He Roar'D, He Beat His Breast, He Tore His Hair. Dry Sorrow In His Stupid Eyes Appears, For, Wanting Nourishment, He Wanted Tears: His Eye-Balls In Their Hollow Sockets Sink, Bereft Of Sleep, He Loathes His Meat And Drink. He Withers At His Heart, And Looks As Wan As The Pale Spectre Of A Murder'D Man: That Pale Turns Yellow, And His Face Receives The Faded Hue Of Sapless Boxen Leaves: In Solitary Groves He Makes His Moan, Walks Early Out, And Ever Is Alone: Nor, Mix'D In Mirth, In Youthful Pleasures Shares, But Sighs When Songs And Instruments He Hears. His Spirits Are So Low, His Voice Is Drown'D, He Hears As From Afar, Or In A Swound, Like The Deaf Murmurs Of A Distant Sound: Uncomb'D His Locks And Squalid His Attire, Unlike The Trim Of Love And Gay Desire; But Full Of Museful Mopings, Which Presage The Loss Of Reason, And Conclude In Rage. This When He Had Endured A Year And More, Now Wholly Changed From What He Was Before, It Happen'D Once, That, Slumbering As He Lay, He Dream'D (His Dream Began At Break Of Day) That Hermes O'Er His Head In Air Appear'D, And With Soft Words His Drooping Spirits Cheer'D: His Hat, Adorn'D With Wings, Disclosed The God, And In His Hand He Bore The Sleep-Compelling Rod: Such As He Seem'D, When, At His Sire'S Command, On Argus' Head He Laid The Snaky Wand. Arise, He Said, To Conquering Athens Go, There Fate Appoints An End To All Thy Woe. The Fright Awaken'D Arcite With A Start, Against His Bosom Bounced His Heaving Heart; But Soon He Said, With Scarce-Recover'D Breath, And Thither Will I Go, To Meet My Death. Sure To Be Slain; But Death Is My Desire, Since In Emilia'S Sight I Shall Expire. By Chance He Spied A Mirror While He Spoke, And Gazing There, Beheld His Alter'D Look; Wondering, He Saw His Features And His Hue So Much Were Changed, That Scarce Himself He Knew. A Sudden Thought Then Starting In His Mind, Since I In Arcite Cannot Arcite Find, The World May Search In Vain With All Their Eyes, But Never Penetrate Through This Disguise. Thanks To The Change Which Grief And Sickness Give, In Low Estate I May Securely Live, And See Unknown My Mistress Day By Day. He Said; And Clothed Himself In Coarse Array: A Labouring Hind In Show; Then Forth He Went, And To The Athenian Towers His Journey Bent: One Squire Attended In The Same Disguise, Made Conscious Of His Master'S Enterprise. Arrived At Athens, Soon He Came To Court, Unknown, Unquestion'D In That Thick Resort: Proffering For Hire His Service At The Gate, To Drudge, Draw Water, And To Run Or Wait. So Fair Befell Him, That For Little Gain He Served At First Emilia'S Chamberlain; And, Watchful All Advantages To Spy, Was Still At Hand, And In His Master'S Eye; And As His Bones Were Big, And Sinews Strong, Refused No Toil That Could To Slaves Belong; But From Deep Wells With Engines Water Drew, And Used His Noble Hands The Wood To Hew. He Pass'D A Year At Least Attending Thus On Emily, And Call'D Philostratus. But Never Was There Man Of His Degree So Much Esteem'D, So Well Beloved As He. So Gentle Of Condition Was He Known, That Through The Court His Courtesy Was Blown: All Think Him Worthy Of A Greater Place, And Recommend Him To The Royal Grace; That, Exercised Within A Higher Sphere, His Virtues More Conspicuous Might Appear. Thus By The General Voice Was Arcite Praised, And By Great Theseus To High Favour Raised; Among His Menial Servants First Enroll'D, And Largely Entertain'D With Sums Of Gold: Besides What Secretly From Thebes Was Sent, Of His Own Income, And His Annual Rent: This Well Employ'D, He Purchased Friends And Fame, But Cautiously Conceal'D From Whence It Came. Thus For Three Years He Lived With Large Increase, In Arms Of Honour, And Esteem In Peace; To Theseus' Person He Was Ever Near; And Theseus For His Virtues Held Him Dear. Book Ii. While Arcite Lives In Bliss, The Story Turns Where Hopeless Palamon In Prison Mourns. For Six Long Years Immured, The Captive Knight Had Dragg'D His Chains, And Scarcely Seen The Light: Lost Liberty And Love At Once He Bore: His Prison Pain'D Him Much, His Passion More: Nor Dares He Hope His Fetters To Remove, Nor Ever Wishes To Be Free From Love. But When The Sixth Revolving Year Was Run, And May Within The Twins Received The Sun, Were It By Chance, Or Forceful Destiny, Which Forms In Causes First Whate'Er Shall Be, Assisted By A Friend, One Moonless Night, This Palamon From Prison Took His Flight: A Pleasant Beverage He Prepared Before Of Wine And Honey, Mix'D With Added Store Of Opium; To His Keeper This He Brought, Who Swallow'D Unaware The Sleepy Draught, And Snored Secure Till Morn, His Senses Bound In Slumber, And In Long Oblivion Drown'D. Short Was The Night, And Careful Palamon Sought The Next Covert E'Er The Rising Sun. A Thick-Spread Forest Near The City Lay, To This With Lengthen'D Strides He Took His Way, (For Far He Could Not Fly, And Fear'D The Day). Safe From Pursuit, He Meant To Shun The Light, Till The Brown Shadows Of The Friendly Night To Thebes Might Favour His Intended Flight. When To His Country Come, His Next Design Was All The Theban Race In Arms To Join, And War On Theseus, Till He Lost His Life, Or Won The Beauteous Emily To Wife. Thus While His Thoughts The Lingering Day Beguile, To Gentle Arcite Let Us Turn Our Style; Who Little Dreamt How Nigh He Was To Care, Till Treacherous Fortune Caught Him In The Snare. The Morning Lark, The Messenger Of Day, Saluted In Her Song The Morning Gray; And Soon The Sun Arose With Beams So Bright, That All The Horizon Laugh'D To See The Joyous Sight: He With His Tepid Rays The Rose Renews, And Licks The Drooping Leaves, And Dries The Dews; When Arcite Left His Bed, Resolved To Pay Observance To The Month Of Merry May: Forth On His Fiery Steed Betimes He Rode, That Scarcely Prints The Turf On Which He Trode: At Ease He Seem'D, And, Prancing O'Er The Plains, Turn'D Only To The Grove His Horse'S Reins, The Grove I Named Before; And, Lighted There, A Woodbine Garland Sought To Crown His Hair; Then Turn'D His Face Against The Rising Day, And Raised His Voice To Welcome In The May. For Thee, Sweet Month! The Groves Green Liveries Wear, If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year: For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature'S Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers: When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On. So May Thy Tender Blossoms Fear No Blight, Nor Goats With Venom'D Teeth Thy Tendrils Bite, As Thou Shalt Guide My Wandering Feet To Find The Fragrant Greens I Seek, My Brows To Bind. His Vows Address'D, Within The Grove He Stray'D, Till Fate, Or Fortune, Near The Place Convey'D His Steps Where, Secret, Palamon Was Laid. Full Little Thought Of Him The Gentle Knight, Who, Flying Death, Had There Conceal'D His Flight, In Brakes And Brambles Hid, And Shunning Mortal Sight: And Less He Knew Him For His Hated Foe, But Fear'D Him As A Man He Did Not Know. But As It Has Been Said Of Ancient Years, That Fields Are Full Of Eyes, And Woods Have Ears; For This The Wise Are Ever On Their Guard, For, Unforeseen, They Say, Is Unprepared. Uncautious Arcite Thought Himself Alone, And Less Than All Suspected Palamon, Who, Listening, Heard Him, While He Search'D The Grove, And Loudly Sung His Roundelay Of Love: But On The Sudden Stopp'D, And Silent Stood, As Lovers Often Muse, And Change Their Mood; Now High As Heaven, And Then As Low As Hell; Now Up, Now Down, As Buckets In A Well: For Venus, Like Her Day, Will Change Her Cheer, And Seldom Shall We See A Friday Clear. Thus Arcite Having Sung, With Alter'D Hue Sunk On The Ground, And From His Bosom Drew A Desperate Sigh, Accusing Heaven And Fate, And Angry Juno'S Unrelenting Hate. Cursed Be The Day When First I Did Appear; Let It Be Blotted From The Calendar, Lest It Pollute The Month, And Poison All The Year! Still Will The Jealous Queen Pursue Our Race? Cadmus Is Dead, The Theban City Was: Yet Ceases Not Her Hate: For All Who Come From Cadmus Are Involved In Cadmus' Doom. I Suffer For My Blood: Unjust Decree! That Punishes Another'S Crime On Me. In Mean Estate I Serve My Mortal Foe, The Man Who Caused My Country'S Overthrow. This Is Not All; For Juno, To My Shame, Has Forced Me To Forsake My Former Name; Arcite I Was, Philostratus I Am. That Side Of Heaven Is All My Enemy: Mars Ruin'D Thebes: His Mother Ruin'D Me. Of All The Royal Race Remains But One Besides Myself, The Unhappy Palamon, Whom Theseus Holds In Bonds, And Will Not Free; Without A Crime, Except His Kin To Me. Yet These, And All The Rest, I Could Endure; But Love'S A Malady Without A Cure: Fierce Love Has Pierced Me With His Fiery Dart; He Fires Within, And Hisses At My Heart. Your Eyes, Fair Emily, My Fate Pursue; I Suffer For The Rest, I Die For You! Of Such A Goddess No Time Leaves Record, Who Burn'D The Temple Where She Was Adored: And Let It Burn, I Never Will Complain, Pleased With My Sufferings, If You Knew My Pain. At This A Sickly Qualm His Heart Assail'D, His Ears Ring Inward, And His Senses Fail'D. No Word Miss'D Palamon Of All He Spoke, But Soon To Deadly Pale He Changed His Look: He Trembled Every Limb, And Felt A Smart, As If Cold Steel Had Glided Through His Heart; No Longer Staid, But Starting From His Place, Discover'D Stood, And Show'D His Hostile Face: False Traitor, Arcite! Traitor To Thy Blood! Bound By Thy Sacred Oath To Seek My Good, Now Art Thou Found Forsworn, For Emily; And Darest Attempt Her Love, For Whom I Die. So Hast Thou Cheated Theseus With A Wile, Against Thy Vow, Returning To Beguile Under A Borrow'D Name: As False To Me, So False Thou Art To Him Who Set Thee Free. But Rest Assured, That Either Thou Shalt Die, Or Else Renounce Thy Claim In Emily: For Though Unarm'D I Am, And (Freed By Chance) Am Here Without My Sword, Or Pointed Lance, Hope Not, Base Man, Unquestioned Hence To Go, For I Am Palamon, Thy Mortal Foe.