ARCITE. Farewell, Sir.— Knights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices, True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you Expells the seedes of feare, and th’apprehension Which still is farther off it, Goe with me Before the god of our profession: There Require of him the hearts of Lyons, and The breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too, Yea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane, Else wish we to be Snayles: you know my prize Must be drag’d out of blood; force and great feate Must put my Garland on, where she stickes The Queene of Flowers: our intercession then Must be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron Brymd with the blood of men: give me your aide And bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.] Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd Greene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach) Comets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild Vnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe, The teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke With hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes The masond Turrets, that both mak’st and break’st The stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple, Yongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day With military skill, that to thy lawde I may advance my Streamer, and by thee, Be stil’d the Lord o’th day: give me, great Mars, Some token of thy pleasure. [Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a Battaile, whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.] O Great Corrector of enormous times, Shaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider Of dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood The earth when it is sicke, and curst the world O’th pluresie of people; I doe take Thy signes auspiciously, and in thy name To my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.] [Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.]