Palamon and Arcite eBook

  Of his own income and his annual rent. 
  This well employed, he purchased friends and fame,
  But cautiously concealed from whence it came. 
  Thus for three years he lived with large increase
  In arms of honour, and esteem in peace;
  To Theseus’ person he was ever near,
  And Theseus for his virtues held him dear.

BOOK II.

  While Arcite lives in bliss, the story turns
  Where hopeless Palamon in prison mourns. 
  For six long years immured, the captive knight
  Had dragged his chains, and scarcely seen the light: 
  Lost liberty and love at once he bore;
  His prison pained him much, his passion more: 
  Nor dares he hope his fetters to remove,
  Nor ever wishes to be free from love. 
  But when the sixth revolving year was run,
  And May within the Twins received the sun,
  Were it by Chance, or forceful Destiny,
  Which forms in causes first whate’er shall be,
  Assisted by a friend one moonless night,
  This Palamon from prison took his flight: 
  A pleasant beverage he prepared before
  Of wine and honey mixed, with added store
  Of opium; to his keeper this he brought,
  Who swallowed unaware the sleepy draught,
  And snored secure till morn, his senses bound
  In slumber, and in long oblivion drowned. 
  Short was the night, and careful Palamon
  Sought the next covert ere the rising sun. 
  A thick-spread forest near the city lay,
  To this with lengthened strides he took his way,
  (For far he could not fly, and feared the day.)

  Safe from pursuit, he meant to shun the light,
  Till the brown shadows of the friendly night
  To Thebes might favour his intended flight. 
  When to his country come, his next design
  Was all the Theban race in arms to join,
  And war on Theseus, till he lost his life,
  Or won the beauteous Emily to wife. 
  Thus while his thoughts the lingering day beguile,
  To gentle Arcite let us turn our style;
  Who little dreamt how nigh he was to care,
  Till treacherous fortune caught him in the snare. 
  The morning-lark, the messenger of day,
  Saluted in her song the morning gray;
  And soon the sun arose with beams so bright,
  That all the horizon laughed to see the joyous sight;
  He with his tepid rays the rose renews,
  And licks the dropping leaves, and dries the dews;
  When Arcite left his bed, resolved to pay
  Observance to the month of merry May,
  Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode,
  That scarcely prints the turf on which he trod: 
  At ease he seemed, and prancing o’er the plains,
  Turned only to the grove his horse’s reins,
  The grove I named before, and, lighting there,
  A woodbind garland sought to crown his hair;
  Then turned his face against the rising day,
  And raised his voice to welcome in the