Page 1307 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Another’s way of speech, when by mine own
I may be reasonably conceived − saved too,
Speaking it truly? Why am I bound
By any generous bond to follow him [50]

Follows his tailor, haply so long until
The followed make pursuit? Or let me know
Why mine own barber is unblest, with him
My poor chin too, for ’tis not scissored just

To such a favourite’s glass? What canon is there [55]
That does command my rapier from my hip
To dangle’t in my hand, or to go tiptoe
Before the street be foul? Either I am

The fore-horse in the team, or I am none
That draw i’th’sequent trace. These poor slight sores [60]
Need not a plantain; that which rips my bosom
Almost to th’heart’s −

ARCITE

Our uncle Creon.

PALAMON

He;
A most unbounded tyrant, whose successes
Makes heaven unfeared, and villainy assured
Beyond its power there’s nothing; almost puts [65]

Faith in a fever, and deifies alone
Voluble chance; who only attributes
The faculties of other instruments
To his own nerves and act; commands men service,

And what they win in’t, boot and glory; one [70]
That fears not to do harm; good, dares not. Let
The blood of mine that’s sib to him be sucked
From me with leeches! Let them break and fall

Off me with that corruption.

ARCITE
Clear-spirited cousin,
Let’s leave his court, that we may nothing share [75]