The perjured knight, his oath and honour scorn’d. 
  For this is he, who, with a borrow’d name 280
  And proffer’d service, to thy palace came,
  Now call’d Philostratus:  retain’d 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 my chain,
  Nor promised I thy prisoner to remain:  290
  The love of liberty with life is given,
  And life itself the inferior gift of Heaven. 
  Thus without crime I fled; but further 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 would’st 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, 300
  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, 310
  (The pattern form’d of perfect womanhood)
  For tender pity wept:  when she began,
  Through the bright quire the infectious virtue ran. 
  All dropt their tears, even the contended maid;
  And thus among themselves they softly said: 
  What eyes can suffer this unworthy sight! 
  Two youths of royal blood, renown’d in fight,
  The mastership of Heaven in face and mind,
  And lovers, far beyond their faithless kind: 
  See their wide streaming wounds; they neither came 300
  For pride of empire, nor desire of fame: 
  Kings fight for kingdoms, madmen for applause;
  But love for love alone; that crowns the lover’s cause. 
  This thought, which ever bribes the beauteous kind,
  Such pity wrought in every lady’s mind,
  They left their steeds, and, prostrate on the place,
  From the fierce king implored the offenders’ grace.

    He paused a while, stood silent in his mood
  (For yet his rage was boiling in his blood);
  But soon his tender mind the impression felt, 330
  (As softest metals are not slow to melt,
  And pity soonest runs in softest minds): 
  Then reasons with himself; and first he finds
  His passion cast a mist before his sense,