PALAMON. By my short life, I am most glad on’t. ’Tis the latest thing I shall be glad of; prithee, tell her so. Commend me to her, and, to piece her portion, Tender her this. [_Gives him his purse._] FIRST KNIGHT. Nay let’s be offerers all. SECOND KNIGHT. Is it a maid? PALAMON. Verily, I think so. A right good creature, more to me deserving Then I can ’quite or speak of. ALL KNIGHTS. Commend us to her. [_They give their purses._] JAILER. The gods requite you all, and make her thankful. PALAMON. Adieu; and let my life be now as short As my leave-taking. [_Lays his head on the block._] FIRST KNIGHT. Lead, courageous cousin. SECOND AND THIRD KNIGHT. We’ll follow cheerfully. [_A great noise within crying “Run!” “Save!” “Hold!”_] Enter in haste a Messenger. MESSENGER. Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold! Enter Pirithous in haste. PIRITHOUS. Hold, ho! It is a cursed haste you made If you have done so quickly!—Noble Palamon, The gods will show their glory in a life That thou art yet to lead. PALAMON. Can that be, When Venus, I have said, is false? How do things fare? PIRITHOUS. Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear That are most dearly sweet and bitter. PALAMON. What Hath waked us from our dream? PIRITHOUS. List, then. Your cousin, Mounted upon a steed that Emily Did first bestow on him, a black one, owing Not a hair-worth of white, which some will say Weakens his price, and many will not buy His goodness with this note, which superstition Here finds allowance—on this horse is Arcite Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins Did rather tell than trample; for the horse Would make his length a mile, if ’t pleased his rider To put pride in him. As he thus went counting The flinty pavement, dancing, as ’twere, to th’ music His own hooves made—for, as they say, from iron Came music’s origin—what envious flint, Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessed With fire malevolent, darted a spark, Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made, I comment not; the hot horse, hot as fire, Took toy at this and fell to what disorder His power could give his will; bounds, comes on end, Forgets school-doing, being therein trained And of kind manage. Pig-like he whines At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means Of boist’rous and rough jad’ry to disseat His lord that kept it bravely. When naught served, When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff’ring plunges Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that He kept him ’tween his legs, on his hind hoofs On end he stands That Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head, Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreath Even then fell off his head and presently Backward the jade comes o’er, and his full poise Becomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living, But such a vessel ’tis that floats but for The surge that next approaches. He much desires To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite in a chair.