For thee, sweet month! the groves green liveries wear,
  If not the first, the fairest of the year: 
  For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours,
  And Nature’s ready pencil paints the flowers: 
  When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun
  The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on. 
  So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight,
  Nor goats with venom’d teeth thy tendrils bite, 60
  As thou shalt guide my wandering feet to find
  The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind.

    His vows address’d, within the grove he stray’d,
  Till Fate, or Fortune, near the place convey’d
  His steps where, secret, Palamon was laid. 
  Full little thought of him the gentle knight,
  Who, flying death, had there conceal’d his flight,
  In brakes and brambles hid, and shunning mortal sight: 
  And less he knew him for his hated foe,
  But fear’d him as a man he did not know. 70
  But as it has been said of ancient years,
  That fields are full of eyes, and woods have ears;
  For this the wise are ever on their guard,
  For, unforeseen, they say, is unprepared. 
  Uncautious Arcite thought himself alone,
  And less than all suspected Palamon,
  Who, listening, heard him, while he search’d the grove,
  And loudly sung his roundelay of love: 
  But on the sudden stopp’d, and silent stood,
  As lovers often muse, and change their mood; 80
  Now high as heaven, and then as low as hell;
  Now up, now down, as buckets in a well: 
  For Venus, like her day, will change her cheer,
  And seldom shall we see a Friday clear. 
  Thus Arcite having sung, with alter’d hue
  Sunk on the ground, and from his bosom drew
  A desperate sigh, accusing Heaven and Fate,
  And angry Juno’s unrelenting hate. 
  Cursed be the day when first I did appear;
  Let it be blotted from the calendar, 90
  Lest it pollute the month, and poison all the year! 
  Still will the jealous queen pursue our race? 
  Cadmus is dead, the Theban city was: 
  Yet ceases not her hate:  for all who come
  From Cadmus are involved in Cadmus’ doom. 
  I suffer for my blood:  unjust decree! 
  That punishes another’s crime on me. 
  In mean estate I serve my mortal foe,
  The man who caused my country’s overthrow. 
  This is not all; for Juno, to my shame, 100
  Has forced me to forsake my former name;
  Arcite I was, Philostratus I am. 
  That side of heaven is all my enemy: 
  Mars ruin’d Thebes:  his mother ruin’d me. 
  Of all the royal race remains but one
  Besides myself, the unhappy Palamon,
  Whom Theseus holds in bonds, and will not free;
  Without a crime, except his kin to me. 
  Yet these, and all the rest, I could endure;