_Per._ Produce. [_Musick Dance._ _Intrate filii_, Come forth, and foot it. Knock for Schoolm. Enter The Dance. _Ladies, if we have been merry_ _And have pleas'd thee with a derry,_ _And a derry, and a down_ _Say the Schoolmaster's no Clown._ _Duke, if we have pleas'd thee too_ _And have done as good Boys should doe_ _Give us but a tree or twaine_ _For a Maypole, and again_ _Ere another year run out_ _We'll make thee laugh and all this rout._ _Thes._ Take 20. _Domine_; how does my sweet heart? _Hip._ Never so pleas'd Sir. _Emil._ 'Twas an excellent dance, and for a preface I never heard a better. _Thes._ Schoolmaster, I thank you, One see'em all rewarded. _Per._ And heer's something to paint your Pole withall. _Thes._ Now to our sports again. _Sch._ May the Stag thou huntst stand long, And thy dogs be swift and strong: May they kill him without lets, And the Ladies eat his dowsets: Come we are all made. [_Wind Horns._ _Dii Deæq_; _Omnes_, ye have danc'd rarely wenches. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna_ [6]. _Enter Palamon from the Bush._ _Pal._ About this hour my Cosen gave his faith To visit me again, and with him bring Two Swords, and two good Armors; If he fail He's neither man, nor Soldier; When he left me I did not think a week could have restor'd My lost strength to me, I was grown so low, And Crest-fal'n with my wants: I thank thee _Arcite_, Thou art yet a fair Foe; And I feel my self With this refreshing, able once again To out-dure danger: To delay it longer Would make the world think when it comes to hearing, That I lay fatting like a Swine, to fight And not a Soldier: Therefore this blest morning Shall be the last; And that Sword he refuses, If it but hold, I kill him with; 'tis Justice: So love, and Fortune for me: O good morrow. _Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords._ _Arc._ Good morrow noble kinsman. _Pal._ I have put you To too much pains Sir. _Arc._ That too much fair Cosen, Is but a debt to honor, and my duty. _Pal._ Would you were so in all Sir; I could wish ye As kind a kinsman, as you force me find A beneficiall foe, that my embraces Might thank ye, not my blows. _Arc._ I shall think either Well done, a noble recompence. _Pal._ Then I shall quit you.