Page 1347 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

ACT III IT

Scene I IT

Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as of people a-maying.
Enter Arcite alone.

ARCITE
The Duke has lost Hippolyta; each took
A several laund. This is a solemn rite

They owe bloomed May, and the Athenians pay it
To th’heart of ceremony. O queen Emilia,
Fresher than May, sweeter [5]
Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all
Th’enamelled knacks o’th’mead or garden − yea,

We challenge too the bank of any nymph
That makes the stream seem flowers − thou, O jewel
O’th’wood, o’th’world, hast likewise blessed a place [10]

With thy sole presence. In thy rumination
That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between
And chop on some cold thought! Thrice blessèd chance
To drop on such a mistress, expectation
Most guiltless on’t! Tell me, O Lady Fortune, [15]

Next after Emily my sovereign, 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 [20]
Be by a pair of kings backed, in a field
That their crowns’ titles tried. Alas, alas,
Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner, thou

So little dreamest upon my fortune that
Thou thinkest thyself the happier thing, to be [25]
So near Emilia; me thou deemest at Thebes,