Page 1396 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Just such another, wanton Ganymede [15]
Set Jove afire with, and enforced the god
Snatch up the goodly boy, and set him by him,
A shining constellation. What a brow,

Of what a spacious majesty, he carries,
Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter, [20]
Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and honour,
Methinks, from hence, as from a promontory

Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing
To all the under world the loves and fights
Of gods and such men near ’em. Palamon [25]
Is but his foil; to him, a mere dull shadow.

He’s swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy
As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,
No stirring in him, no alacrity,
Of all this sprightly sharpness not a smile. [30]

Yet these that we count errors may become him;
Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.
O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?
I am a fool; my reason is lost in me,

I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly [35]
That women ought to beat me. On my knees
I ask thy pardon; Palamon, thou art alone
And only beautiful, and these the eyes,

These the bright lamps of beauty, that command
And threaten love, and what young maid dare cross ’em? [40]
What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,
Has this brown manly face! O love, this only

From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite;
Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,
And this the noble body. I am sotted, [45]
Utterly lost; my virgin’s faith has fled me.

For if my brother but even now had asked me
Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite;
Now if my sister, more for Palamon.
Stand both together. Now come ask me, brother − [50]

Alas, I know not! Ask me now, sweet sister;
I may go look. What a mere child is fancy,