PALAMON. Sir, I have seene you move in such a place, which well Might justifie your manhood; you were calld A good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke’s not faire, If any day it rayne: Their valiant temper Men loose when they encline to trecherie, And then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly Were they not tyde. ARCITE. Kinsman, you might as well Speake this and act it in your Glasse, as to His eare which now disdaines you. PALAMON. Come up to me, Quit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword, Though it be rustie, and the charity Of one meale lend me; Come before me then, A good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say That Emily is thine: I will forgive The trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life, If then thou carry’t, and brave soules in shades That have dyde manly, which will seeke of me Some newes from earth, they shall get none but this, That thou art brave and noble. ARCITE. Be content: Againe betake you to your hawthorne house; With counsaile of the night, I will be here With wholesome viands; these impediments Will I file off; you shall have garments and Perfumes to kill the smell o’th prison; after, When you shall stretch your selfe and say but, ‘Arcite, I am in plight,’ there shall be at your choyce Both Sword and Armour. PALAMON. Oh you heavens, dares any So noble beare a guilty busines! none But onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite In this kinde is so bold. ARCITE. Sweete Palamon. PALAMON. I doe embrace you and your offer,—for Your offer doo’t I onely, Sir; your person, Without hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.] More then my Swords edge ont. ARCITE. You heare the Hornes; Enter your Musite least this match between’s Be crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell. Ile bring you every needfull thing: I pray you, Take comfort and be strong. PALAMON. Pray hold your promise; And doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine You love me not, be rough with me, and powre This oile out of your language; by this ayre, I could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach Not reconcild by reason. ARCITE. Plainely spoken, Yet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.] My horse, I chide him not; content and anger In me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call The scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse I have an office there. PALAMON. Sir, your attendance Cannot please heaven, and I know your office Vnjustly is atcheev’d. ARCITE. If a good title, I am perswaded this question sicke between’s By bleeding must be cur’d. I am a Suitour, That to your Sword you will bequeath this plea And talke of it no more. PALAMON. But this one word: You are going now to gaze upon my Mistris, For note you, mine she is— ARCITE. Nay, then. PALAMON. Nay, pray you, You talke of feeding me to breed me strength: You are going now to looke upon a Sun That strengthens what it lookes on; there You have a vantage ore me, but enjoy’t till I may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.] Scaena 2. (Another Part of the forest.)