EMILIA. Arcite is gently visagd; yet his eye Is like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage Are bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon Has a most menacing aspect: his brow Is grav’d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on; Yet sometime tis not so, but alters to The quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye Will dwell upon his object. Mellencholly Becomes him nobly; So do’s Arcites mirth, But Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth, So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad, And sadnes, merry; those darker humours that Sticke misbecomingly on others, on them Live in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a charge.] Harke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite The Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me, And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to The spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty Enough for such a chance; if I were by, I might doe hurt, for they would glance their eies Toward my Seat, and in that motion might Omit a ward, or forfeit an offence Which crav’d that very time: it is much better I am not there; oh better never borne Then minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within, crying ‘a Palamon’.] What is the chance? [Enter Servant.] SERVANT. The Crie’s ‘a Palamon’. EMILIA. Then he has won! Twas ever likely; He lookd all grace and successe, and he is Doubtlesse the prim’st of men: I pre’thee, run And tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, ‘a Palamon.’] SERVANT. Still Palamon. EMILIA. Run and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost; Vpon my right side still I wore thy picture, Palamons 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 lyes; Palamon Had the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and Cornets.] This burst of clamour Is sure th’end o’th Combat. [Enter Servant.] SERVANT. They saide that Palamon had Arcites body Within an inch o’th Pyramid, that the cry Was generall ‘a Palamon’: But, anon, Th’Assistants made a brave redemption, and The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are Hand to hand at it. EMILIA. Were they metamorphisd Both into one! oh why? there were no woman Worth so composd a Man: their single share, Their noblenes peculier to them, gives The prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within, Arcite, Arcite.] To any Lady breathing—More exulting? Palamon still? SERVANT. Nay, now the sound is Arcite. EMILIA. I pre’thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and cry, ‘Arcite, victory!’] Set both thine eares to’th busines. SERVANT. The cry is ‘Arcite’, and ‘victory’, harke: ‘Arcite, victory!’ The Combats consummation is proclaim’d By the wind Instruments.