PALAMON. No, no; wee’l use no horses: I perceave You would faine be at that Fight. ARCITE. I am indifferent. PALAMON. Faith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle Through far enough. ARCITE. I warrant you. PALAMON. My Caske now. ARCITE. Will you fight bare-armd? PALAMON. We shall be the nimbler. ARCITE. But use your Gauntlets though; those are o’th least, Prethee take mine, good Cosen. PALAMON. Thanke you, Arcite. How doe I looke? am I falne much away? ARCITE. Faith, very little; love has usd you kindly. PALAMON. Ile warrant thee, Ile strike home. ARCITE. Doe, and spare not; Ile give you cause, sweet Cosen. PALAMON. Now to you, Sir: Me thinkes this Armor’s very like that, Arcite, Thou wor’st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter. ARCITE. That was a very good one; and that day, I well remember, you outdid me, Cosen. I never saw such valour: when you chargd Vpon the left wing of the Enemie, I spurd hard to come up, and under me I had a right good horse. PALAMON. You had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember. ARCITE. Yes, but all Was vainely labour’d in me; you outwent me, Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little I did by imitation. PALAMON. More by vertue; You are modest, Cosen. ARCITE. When I saw you charge first, Me thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder Breake from the Troope. PALAMON. But still before that flew The lightning of your valour. Stay a little, Is not this peece too streight? 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 thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it. Here’s one; if it but hold, I aske no more For all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow severall wayes: then advance and stand.] ARCITE. And me my love! Is there ought else to say? PALAMON. This onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son, And that blood we desire to shed is mutuall; In me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword Is in my hand, and if thou killst me, The gods and I forgive thee; If there be A place prepar’d for those that sleepe in honour, I wish his wearie soule that falls may win it: Fight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand. ARCITE. Here, Palamon: This hand shall never more Come neare 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 Tryalls. Once more farewell, my Cosen. PALAMON. Farewell, Arcite. [Fight.] [Hornes within: they stand.] ARCITE. Loe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us. PALAMON. Why?