The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 05 (of 12)Hazlitt, William
General
The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 05 (of 12)
Hazlitt, William
English essays -- 19th century
_Arc._ Let’s think this prison a holy sanctuary
To keep us from corruption of worse men!
We’re young, and yet desire the ways of honour:
That, liberty and common conversation,
The poison of pure spirits, might, like women,
Woo 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’re 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, cousin,
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, cousin Arcite) almost wanton
With my captivity; what a misery
It is to live abroad, and every where!
’Tis like a beast, methinks! I find the court here,
I’m sure a more content; and all those pleasures,
That woo the wills of men to vanity,
I see thro’ 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? Cousin Arcite,
Had not the loving Gods found this place for us,
We had died as they do, ill old men unwept,
And had their epitaphs, the people’s curses!
Shall I say more?
_Arc._ I would hear you still.
_Pal._ You shall.
Is there record of any two that lov’d
Better than we do, Arcite?
_Arc._ Sure there cannot.
_Pal._ I do not think it possible our friendship
Should ever leave us.
_Arc._ Till our deaths it cannot.’
Thus they ‘sing their bondage freely:’ but just then enters Æmilia, who
parts all this friendship between them, and turns them to deadliest
foes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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