Thou hast the start now; thou shalt stay and see

Her bright eyes break each morning ’gainst thy window,

And let in life into thee; thou shalt feed

Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty,

That Nature never exceeded, nor never shall.

Good gods! what happiness has Palamon!

Twenty to one, he’ll come to speak to her,

And if she be as gentle as she’s fair,

I know she’s his; he has a tongue will tame

Tempests, and make the wild rocks wanton.

Come what can come,

The worst is death; I will not leave the kingdom.

I know mine own is but a heap of ruins,

And no redress there. If I go, he has her.

I am resolved another shape shall make me,

Or end my fortunes. Either way, I am happy;

I’ll see her, and be near her, or no more.

[II, iii, 1–33] The jailer’s daughter, enamoured of Palamon, is all too well aware of the impossible folly of the things she feels. Yet powerful emotions are driving her on: she will contrive his escape from prison in hope that she may thereby win his love:

Why should I love this gentleman? ’Tis odds

He never will affect me; I am base,

My father the mean keeper of his prison,

And he a prince. To marry him is hopeless;

To be his whore is witless. Out upon’t!

What pushes are we wenches driven to,

When fifteen once has found us! First, I saw him;

I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man;

He has as much to please a woman in him –

If he please to bestow it so – as ever

These eyes yet looked on. Next, I pitied him,

And so would any young wench, o’my conscience,

That ever dreamed, or vowed her maidenhead

To a young handsome man. Then I loved him,

Extremely loved him, infinitely loved him;

And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too;

But in my heart was Palamon, and there,

Lord, what a coil he keeps! To hear him

Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is!

And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken

Was never gentleman. When I come in

To bring him water in a morning, first

He bows his noble body, then salutes me, thus:

‘Fair, gentle maid, good morrow; may thy goodness

Get thee a happy husband.’ Once he kissed me;

I loved my lips the better ten days after–

Would he would do so every day! He grieves much,

And me as much to see his misery.

What should I do, to make him know I love him?

For I would fain enjoy him. Say I ventured

To set him free? What says the law then? Thus much

For law, or kindred! I will do it;

And this night, or tomorrow, he shall love me.

[III, iv] Lost in the woods in the dead of night, Palamon apparently dead, her dearest plans in disarray, her father’s trust betrayed, the jailer’s daughter is beginning to lose her grip completely: