_Emil._ Would I might end first: What sins have I committed, chaste _Diana_, That my unspotted youth must now be soil'd With bloud of Princes? and my Chastity Be made the Altar, where the Lives of Lovers, Two greater, and two better never yet Made Mothers joy, must be the sacrifice To my unhappy Beauty? _Enter_ Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, _and Attendants_. _Thes._ Bring 'em in quickly, By any means I long to see 'em. Your two contending Lovers are return'd, And with them their fair Knights: Now my fair Sister, You must love one of them. _Emil._ I had rather both, So neither for my sake should fall untimely. _Enter Messenger._ Curtis. _Thes._ Who saw 'em? _Per._ I a while. _Gent._ And I. _Thes._ From whence come you, Sir? _Mess._ From the Knights. _Thes._ Pray speak You that have seen them, what they are. _Mess._ I will Sir, And truly what I think: six braver spirits Than those they have brought, (if we judge by the outside) I never saw, nor read of: he that stands In the first place with _Arcite_, by his seeming Should be a stout man, by his face a Prince, (His very looks so say him) his complexion, Nearer a brown, than black; stern, and yet noble, Which shews him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers: The circles of his eyes, shew fair within him, And as a heated Lion, so he looks: His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining Like Ravens wings: his shoulders broad, and strong, Arm'd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword Hung by a curious Bauldrick: when he frowns To seal his Will with, better o' my conscience Was never Soldiers friend. _Thes._ Thou hast well describ'd him. _Per._ Yet, a great deal short Methinks, of him that's first with _Palamon_. _Thes._ Pray speak him friend. _Per._ I ghess he is a Prince too, And if it may be, greater; for his show Has all the ornament of honor in't: He's somewhat bigger than the Knight he spoke of, But of a face far sweeter; his complexion Is (as a ripe Grape) ruddy: he has felt Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter To make this cause his own: in's face appears All the fair hopes of what he undertakes, And when he's angry, then a setled valour (Not tainted with extreams) runs through his body, And guides his arm to brave things: Fear he cannot, He shews no such soft temper, his head's yellow, Hard hair'd, and curl'd, thick twin'd, like Ivy tops, No[t] to undoe with thunder; in his face The Livery of the warlike Maid appears, Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blest him. And in his rowling eyes sits victory, As if she ever meant to correct his valour: His Nose stands high, a Character of honor, His red Lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies. _Emil._ Must these men die too?