_Arc._ Let's think this prison, Holy Sanctuary, To keep us from corruption of worse men, We are young, and yet desire the wayes of honour, That liberty and common conversation, The poison of pure spirits, might, like women, Wooe us to wander from. What worthy blessing Can be but our imaginations May make it ours? And here being thus together, We are an endless mine to one another; We are one anothers Wife, ever begetting New births of love; we are Father, Friends, Acquaintance, We are, in one another, Families, I am your Heir, and you are mine: This place Is our Inheritance: no hard oppressor Dare take this from us; here with a little patience We shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seek us: The hand of War hurts none here, nor the Seas Swallow their youth: were we at liberty, A Wife might part us lawfully, or business, Quarrels consume us: Envy of ill men Crave our acquaintance, I might sicken Cosin, Where you should never know it, and so perish Without your noble hand to close mine eyes, Or prayers to the gods; a thousand chances Were we from hence, would sever us. _Pal._ You have made me (I thank you Cosin _Arcite_) almost wanton With my Captivity: what a misery It is to live abroad! and every where: 'Tis like a Beast me thinks: I find the Court here, I 'm sure a more content, and all those pleasures That wooe the Wills of men to vanity, I see through now; and am sufficient To tell the world, 'tis but a gaudy shadow, That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him, What had we been old in the Court of _Creon_, Where sin is Justice, Lust, and Ignorance, The virtues of the great ones: Cosin _Arcite_ Had not the loving gods found this place for us We had di'd as they doe, ill old men unwept, And had their Epitaphs, the peoples Curses, Shall I say more? _Arc._ I would hear you still. _Pal._ Ye shall. Is there record of any two that lov'd Better than we two _Arcite_? _Arc._ Sure there cannot. _Pal._ I doe not think it possible our friendship Should ever leave us. _Arc._ Till our deaths it cannot. _Enter_ Emilia _and her Woman_. And after death our spirits shall be led To those that love eternally. Speak on Sir. This Garden has a world of pleasures in't. _Emil._ What Flower is this? _Wom._ 'Tis call'd _Narcissus_, Madam. _Emil._ That was a fair Boy certain, but a fool, To love himself, were there not Maids enough? _Arc._ Pray forward. _Pal._ Yes. _Emil._ Or were they all hard-hearted? _Wom._ They could not be to one so fair. _Emil._ Thou wouldst not. _Wom._ I think I should not, Madam. _Emil._ That's a good wench: But take heed to your kindness though. _Wom._ Why Madam? _Emil._ Men are mad things. _Arcite._ Will ye go forward, Cosin?