The Duke has lost Hippolyta; each took A several land. This is a solemn rite They owe bloomed May, and the Athenians pay it To th’ heart of ceremony. O Queen Emilia, Fresher than May, sweeter Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all Th’ enameled knacks o’ th’ mead or garden—yea, We challenge too the bank of any nymph That makes the stream seem flowers; thou, O jewel O’ th’ wood, o’ th’ world, hast likewise blessed a pace With thy sole presence. In thy rumination That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between And chop on some cold thought! Thrice blessed chance To drop on such a mistress, expectation Most guiltless on ’t. Tell me, O Lady Fortune, Next after Emily my sovereign, how far I may be proud. She takes strong note of me, Hath made me near her, and this beauteous morn, The prim’st of all the year, presents me with A brace of horses; two such steeds might well Be by a pair of kings backed, in a field That their crowns’ titles tried. Alas, alas, Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner, thou So little dream’st upon my fortune that Thou think’st thyself the happier thing, to be So near Emilia; me thou deem’st at Thebes, And therein wretched, although free. But if Thou knew’st my mistress breathed on me, and that I eared her language, lived in her eye, O coz, What passion would enclose thee! Enter Palamon as out of a bush, with his shackles; he bends his fist at Arcite.

Arcite Monologue from The Two Noble Kinsmen

Rehearse Arcite's monologue