In short, it appears to me that the first part of this play was written in imitation of Shakespear’s manner; but I see no reason to suppose that it was his, but the common tradition, which is however by no means well established. The subsequent acts are confessedly Fletcher’s, and the imitations of Shakespear which occur there (not of Shakespear’s manner as differing from his, but as it was congenial to his own spirit and feeling of nature) are glorious in themselves, and exalt our idea of the great original which could give birth to such magnificent conceptions in another. The conversation of Palamon and Arcite in prison is of this description—the outline is evidently taken from that of Guiderius, Arviragus, and Bellarius in Cymbeline, but filled up with a rich profusion of graces that make it his own again. ‘_Pal._ How do you, noble cousin? _Arc._ How do you, Sir? _Pal._ Why, strong enough to laugh at misery, And bear the chance of war yet. We are prisoners, I fear for ever, cousin. _Arc._ I believe it; And to that destiny have patiently Laid up my hour to come. _Pal._ Oh, cousin Arcite, Where is Thebes now? where is our noble country? Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more Must we behold those comforts; never see The hardy youths strive for the games of honour, Hung with the painted favours of their ladies, Like tall ships under sail: then start amongst ’em, And as an east wind, leave ’em all behind us Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite, Even in the wagging of a wanton leg, Outstript the people’s praises, won the garlands, Ere they have time to wish ’em ours. Oh, never Shall we two exercise, like twins of honour, Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses, Like proud seas under us! Our good swords now (Better the red-eyed God of war ne’er wore) Ravish’d our sides, like age, must run to rust, And deck the temples of those Gods that hate us: These hands shall never draw ’em out like lightning, To blast whole armies more.