_Arc._ My Coz, my Coz, you have been well advertis'd How much I dare, y'ave seen me use my Sword Against th' advice of fear: sure of another You would not hear me doubted, but your silence Should break out, though i'th' Sanctuary. _Pal._ Sir, I have seen you move in such a place, which well Might justifie your manhood, you were call'd A good knight and a bold; But the whole week's not fair If any day it rayn: Their valiant temper Men loose when they encline to trecherie, And then they fight like coupel'd Beeres, would fly Were they not ty'd. _Arc._ Kinsman, you might as well Speak this, and act it in your Glass, as to His ear, which now disdains you. _Pal._ Come up to me, Quit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword Though it be rustie, and the charity Of one meal lend me; Come before me then, A good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say That _Emily_ is thine, I will forgive The trespass thou hast done [me, yea] my life If then thou carry't, and brave souls in shades That have di'd manly, which will seek of me Some news from earth, they shall get none but this, That thou art brave, and noble. _Arc._ Be content, Again betake you to your hawthorn house, With counsel of the night, I will be here With wholesome viands; these impediments Will I file off, you shall have garments, and Perfumes to kill the smell o'th' prison, after When you shall stretch your self, and say but _Arcite_ [I am] in plight, there shall be at your choice Both Sword, and Armor. _Pal._ Oh you heavens, dare any So noble bear a guilty business! none But only _Arcite_, therefore none but _Arcite_ In this kind is so bold. _Arc._ Sweet _Palamon_. _Pal._ I doe embrace you, and your offer, for Your offer do't I only, Sir your person Without hypocrisy I may not wish [_Wind horns of Cornets._ More than my Swords edge ont. _Arc._ You hear the Horns; Enter your Musick least this match between's Be crost e'r met, give me your hand, farewell. I'll bring you every needfull thing: I pray you Take comfort and be strong. _Pal._ Pray hold your promise; And doe the deed with a bent brow, most certain You love me not, be rough with me, and pour This oil o[u]t of your language; by this ayr I could for each word, give a Cuff: my stomach Not reconcil'd by reason. _Arc._ Plainly spoken, Yet pardon me hard language, when I spur [_Wind horns._ My horse, I chide him not; content, and anger In me have but one face. Hark Sir, they call The scatter'd to the Banket; you must guess I have an office there. _Pal._ Sir your attendance Cannot please heaven, and I know your office Unjustly is atcheiv'd.