Flourish. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous and some Attendants. EMILIA. I’ll no step further. PIRITHOUS. Will you lose this sight? EMILIA. I had rather see a wren hawk at a fly Than this decision. Every blow that falls Threats a brave life; each stroke laments The place whereon it falls, and sounds more like A bell than blade. I will stay here. It is enough my hearing shall be punished With what shall happen, ’gainst the which there is No deafing, but to hear; not taint mine eye With dread sights it may shun. PIRITHOUS. Sir, my good lord, Your sister will no further. THESEUS. O, she must. She shall see deeds of honour in their kind, Which sometime show well, penciled. Nature now Shall make and act the story, the belief Both sealed with eye and ear. You must be present; You are the victor’s meed, the price and garland To crown the question’s title. EMILIA. Pardon me; If I were there, I’d wink. THESEUS. You must be there; This trial is as ’twere i’ th’ night, and you The only star to shine. EMILIA. I am extinct. There is but envy in that light which shows The one the other. Darkness, which ever was The dam of horror, who does stand accursed Of many mortal millions, may even now, By casting her black mantle over both, That neither could find other, get herself Some part of a good name, and many a murder Set off whereto she’s guilty. HIPPOLYTA. You must go. EMILIA. In faith, I will not. THESEUS. Why, the knights must kindle Their valour at your eye. Know, of this war You are the treasure, and must needs be by To give the service pay. EMILIA. Sir, pardon me; The title of a kingdom may be tried Out of itself. THESEUS. Well, well, then, at your pleasure. Those that remain with you could wish their office To any of their enemies. HIPPOLYTA. Farewell, sister. I am like to know your husband ’fore yourself By some small start of time. He whom the gods Do of the two know best, I pray them he Be made your lot. [_Exeunt all but Emilia._] EMILIA. Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eye Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon Has a most menacing aspect; his brow Is graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on; Yet sometimes ’tis not so, but alters to The quality of his thoughts. Long time his eye Will dwell upon his object. Melancholy Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite’s mirth; But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth, So mingled as if mirth did make him sad And sadness merry. Those darker humours that Stick misbecomingly on others, on them Live in fair dwelling. [_Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge._]