Hark how yon spurs to spirit do incite The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity Enough for such a chance? If I were by, I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes Towards my seat, and in that motion might Omit a ward or forfeit an offence Which craved that very time. It is much better I am not there. [_Cornets. A great cry and noise within crying “À Palamon!”_] Oh better never born Than minister to such harm. Enter Servant. What is the chance? SERVANT. The cry’s “À Palamon.” EMILIA. Then he has won. ’Twas ever likely. He looked all grace and success, and he is Doubtless the prim’st of men. I prithee run And tell me how it goes. [_Shout and cornets, crying “À Palamon!”_] SERVANT. Still “Palamon.” EMILIA. Run and enquire. [_Exit Servant._] Poor servant, thou hast lost. Upon my right side still I wore thy picture, Palamon’s on the left. Why so, I know not. I had no end in ’t else; chance would have it so. On the sinister side the heart lies; Palamon Had the best-boding chance. [_Another cry and shout within, and cornets._] This burst of clamour Is sure th’ end o’ th’ combat. Enter Servant. SERVANT. They said that Palamon had Arcite’s body Within an inch o’ th’ pyramid, that the cry Was general “À Palamon.” But anon, Th’ assistants made a brave redemption, and The two bold titlers at this instant are Hand to hand at it. EMILIA. Were they metamorphosed Both into one—O, why? There were no woman Worth so composed a man! Their single share, Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives The prejudice of disparity, value’s shortness, To any lady breathing. [_Cornets. Cry within, “Arcite, Arcite.”_] More exulting? “Palamon” still? SERVANT. Nay, now the sound is “Arcite.” EMILIA. I prithee, lay attention to the cry; Set both thine ears to th’ business. [_Cornets. A great shout and cry “Arcite, victory!”_] SERVANT. The cry is “Arcite”, and “Victory!” Hark, “Arcite, victory!” The combat’s consummation is proclaimed By the wind instruments. EMILIA. Half-sights saw That Arcite was no babe. God’s lid, his richness And costliness of spirit looked through him; it could No more be hid in him than fire in flax, Than humble banks can go to law with waters That drift-winds force to raging. I did think Good Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew not Why I did think so. Our reasons are not prophets When oft our fancies are. They are coming off. Alas, poor Palamon! Cornets. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and Attendants. THESEUS. Lo, where our sister is in expectation, Yet quaking and unsettled.—Fairest Emily, The gods by their divine arbitrament Have given you this knight; he is a good one As ever struck at head. Give me your hands. Receive you her, you him; be plighted with A love that grows as you decay. ARCITE. Emily, To buy you, I have lost what’s dearest to me, Save what is bought; and yet I purchase cheaply, As I do rate your value.