PALAMON. No, no; we’ll use no horses: I perceive You would fain be at that fight. ARCITE. I am indifferent. PALAMON. Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle Through far enough. ARCITE. I warrant you. PALAMON. My casque now. ARCITE. Will you fight bare-armed? PALAMON. We shall be the nimbler. ARCITE. But use your gauntlets though. Those are o’ th’ least; Prithee take mine, good cousin. PALAMON. Thank you, Arcite. How do I look? Am I fall’n much away? ARCITE. Faith, very little; love has used you kindly. PALAMON. I’ll warrant thee, I’ll strike home. ARCITE. Do, and spare not. I’ll give you cause, sweet cousin. PALAMON. Now to you, sir. [_He begins to arm Arcite._] Methinks this armour’s very like that, Arcite, Thou wor’st that day the three kings fell, but lighter. ARCITE. That was a very good one; and that day, I well remember, you outdid me, cousin; I never saw such valour. When you charged Upon the left wing of the enemy, I spurred hard to come up, and under me I had a right good horse. PALAMON. You had indeed; A bright bay, I remember. ARCITE. Yes, but all Was vainly laboured in me; you outwent me, Nor could my wishes reach you. Yet a little I did by imitation. PALAMON. More by virtue; You are modest, cousin. ARCITE. When I saw you charge first, Me thought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder Break from the troop. PALAMON. But still before that flew The lightning of your valour. Stay a little; Is not this piece too strait? ARCITE. No, no, ’tis well. PALAMON. I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword. A bruise would be dishonour. ARCITE. Now I am perfect. PALAMON. Stand off, then. ARCITE. Take my sword; I hold it better. PALAMON. I thank ye, no; keep it; your life lies on it. Here’s one; if it but hold, I ask no more For all my hopes. My cause and honour guard me! ARCITE. And me my love! [_They bow several ways, then advance and stand._] Is there aught else to say? PALAMON. This only, and no more. Thou art mine aunt’s son. And that blood we desire to shed is mutual, In me thine, and in thee mine. My sword Is in my hand, and if thou killest me, The gods and I forgive thee. If there be A place prepared for those that sleep in honour, I wish his weary soul that falls may win it. Fight bravely, cousin; give me thy noble hand. ARCITE. Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more Come near thee with such friendship. PALAMON. I commend thee. ARCITE. If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward, For none but such dare die in these just trials. Once more farewell, my cousin. PALAMON. Farewell, Arcite. [_They fight. Horns within. They stand_.] ARCITE. Lo, cousin, lo, our folly has undone us. PALAMON. Why?