_Arcite._ No _Palamon_, Those hopes are prisoners with us, here we are And here the graces of our youths must wither Like a too-timely Spring; here age must find us, And which is heaviest (_Palamon_) unmarried, The sweet embraces of a loving wife Loaden with kisses, arm'd with thousand _Cupids_ Shall never claspe our necks, no issue know us, No figures of our selves shall we ev'r see, To glad our age, and like young Eagles teach 'em Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say Remember what your Fathers were, and conquer. The fair-ey'd Maids, shall weep our banishments, And in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done To youth and nature; This is all our world; We shall know nothing here, but one another, Hear nothing, but the clock that tels our woes. The Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it: Summer shall come, and with her all delights; But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still. _Pal._ 'Tis too true _Arcite_. To our Theban hounds, That shook the aged Forrest with their ecchoes, No more now must we hollo, no more shake Our pointed Javelins, whilst the angry Swine Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages, Struck with our well-steel'd Darts: All valiant uses, (The food and nourishment of noble minds,) In us two here shall perish; we shall die (Which is the curse of honor) lastly, Children of grief, and Ignorance. _Arc._ Yet Cosin, Even from the bottom of these miseries From all that fortune can inflict upon us, I see two comforts rising, two meer blessings, If the gods please, to hold here a brave patience, And the enjoying of our griefs together. Whilst _Palamon_ is with me, let me perish If I think this our prison. _Pala._ Certainly, 'Tis a main goodness, Cosin, that our fortunes Were twin'd together; 'tis most true, two souls Put in two noble bodies, let 'em suffer The gaul of hazard, so they grow together, Will never sink, they must not, say they could, A willing man dies sleeping, and all's done. _Arc._ Shall we make worthy uses of this place That all men hate so much? _Pal._ How gentle Cosin?