The Two Noble Kinsmen 19

³EmiliaYet I may bind those wounds up, that must open
And bleed to death for my sake else: I’ll choose,
And end their strife: two such young handsome men
Shall never fall for me: their weeping mothers,
Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons,
Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,
What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise Nature,
With all her best endowments, all those beauties
She sows into the births of noble bodies,
Were here a mortal woman, and had in her
The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless
She would run mad for this man: what an eye⁠—
Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness,
Has this young prince! here Love himself sits smiling!⁠—
Just such another, wanton Ganymede
Set Jove a-fire with, and enforc’d 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,
Arch’d like the great-ey’d Juno’s, but far sweeter,
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
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;⁠—
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
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?
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 gipsy,
And this the noble body. I am sotted,
Utterly lost; my virgin’s faith has fled me,
For, if my brother but even now had ask’d me
Whether I lov’d, I had run mad for Arcite;
Now if my sister, more for Palamon.⁠—
Stand both together.⁠—Now, come, ask me, brother;⁠—
Alas, I know not!⁠—Ask me now, sweet sister;⁠—
I may go look!⁠—What a mere child is fancy,
That, having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,
Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!