And by foresight necessitate the will. 
  In Theseus this appears; whose youthful joy
  Was beasts of chase in forests to destroy: 
  This gentle knight, inspired by jolly May,
  Forsook his easy couch at early day,
  And to the wood and wilds pursued his way. 
  Beside him rode Hippolita the queen,
  And Emily attired in lively green,
  With horns, and hounds, and all the tuneful cry,
  To hunt a royal hart within the covert nigh:  230
  And as he follow’d Mars before, so now
  He serves the goddess of the silver bow. 
  The way that Theseus took was to the wood
  Where the two knights in cruel battle stood: 
  The lawn on which they fought, the appointed place
  In which the uncoupled hounds began the chase. 
  Thither forth-right he rode to rouse the prey,
  That, shaded by the fern, in harbour lay;
  And thence dislodged, was wont to leave the wood
  For open fields, and cross the crystal flood. 240
  Approach’d, and looking underneath the sun,
  He saw proud Arcite, and fierce Palamon,
  In mortal battle doubling blow on blow,
  Like lightning flamed their falchions to and fro,
  And shot a dreadful gleam; so strong they strook,
  There seem’d less force required to fell an oak: 
  He gazed with wonder on their equal might,
  Look’d eager on, but knew not either knight: 
  Resolved to learn, he spurr’d his fiery steed
  With goring rowels to provoke his speed. 250
  The minute ended that began the race,
  So soon he was betwixt them on the place;
  And, with his sword unsheath’d, 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? 
  Unask’d the royal grant; no marshal by,
  As knightly rites require; nor judge to try? 260
  Then Palamon, with scarce recover’d 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; encumber’d with the charge,
  We long to set the imprison’d 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, oh, kill me first, and cure my woe; 270
  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 return’d