And, with his sword unsheathed, on pain of life, Commands both combatants to cease their strife: Then, with imperious tone pursues his threat:-- What are you? Why in arms together met? How dares your pride presume against my laws, As in a listed field to fight your cause, Unasked the royal grant; no marshal by, As knightly rites require; nor judge to try?-- Then Palamon, with scarce recovered breath, Thus hasty spoke:--We both deserve the death, And both would die; for, look the world around, A pair so wretched is not to be found. Our life's a load; encumbered with the charge, We long to set the imprisoned soul at large. Now, as thou art a sovereign judge, decree } The rightful doom of death to him and me; } Let neither find thy grace, for grace is cruelty. } Me first, O kill me first, and cure my woe, Then sheath the sword of justice on my foe: Or kill him first; for when his name is heard, He foremost will receive his due reward. Arcite of Thebes is he, thy mortal foe, On whom thy grace did liberty bestow; But first contracted, that, if ever found, By day or night, upon the Athenian ground, His head should pay the forfeit; see returned The perjured knight, his oath and honour scorned: For this is he, who, with a borrowed name And proffer'd service, to thy palace came, Now called Philostratus; retained by thee, } A traitor trusted, and in high degree, } Aspiring to the bed of beauteous Emily. } My part remains;--from Thebes my birth I own, And call myself the unhappy Palamon. Think me not like that man, since no disgrace Can force me to renounce the honour of my race. Know me for what I am: I broke thy chain, Nor promised I thy prisoner to remain: The love of liberty with life is given, And life itself the inferior gift of heaven. Thus without crime I fled; but farther know, I, with this Arcite, am thy mortal foe: Then, give me death, since I thy life pursue; For safeguard of thyself, death is my due. More wouldst thou know, I love bright Emily, And for her sake, and in her sight, will die: But kill my rival too; for he no less } Deserves, and I thy righteous doom will bless, } Assured, that what I lose, he never shall possess.-- } To this replied the stern Athenian prince, And sourly smiled:--In owning your offence You judge yourself, and I but keep record In place of law, while you pronounce the word. Take your desert, the death you have decreed; I seal your doom, and ratify the deed: By Mars, the patron of my arms, you die.-- He said; dumb sorrow seized the standers by. The queen, above the rest, by nature good, (The pattern formed of perfect womanhood,) For tender pity wept: when she began, Through the bright choir the infectious virtue ran. All dropped their tears, even the contended maid,