PALAMON. He, A most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes Makes heaven unfeard, and villany assured Beyond its power there’s nothing, almost puts Faith in a feavour, and deifies alone Voluble chance; who onely attributes The faculties of other Instruments To his owne Nerves and act; Commands men service, And what they winne in’t, boot and glory; on(e) That feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let The blood of mine that’s sibbe to him be suckt From me with Leeches; Let them breake and fall Off me with that corruption. ARCITE. Cleere spirited Cozen, Lets leave his Court, that we may nothing share Of his lowd infamy: for our milke Will relish of the pasture, and we must Be vile or disobedient, not his kinesmen In blood, unlesse in quality. PALAMON. Nothing truer: I thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea’ft The eares of heav’nly Iustice: widdows cryes Descend againe into their throates, and have not [enter Valerius.] Due audience of the Gods.—Valerius! VALERIUS. The King cals for you; yet be leaden footed, Till his great rage be off him. Phebus, when He broke his whipstocke and exclaimd against The Horses of the Sun, but whisperd too The lowdenesse of his Fury. PALAMON. Small windes shake him: But whats the matter? VALERIUS. Theseus (who where he threates appals,) hath sent Deadly defyance to him, and pronounces Ruine to Thebs; who is at hand to seale The promise of his wrath. ARCITE. Let him approach; But that we feare the Gods in him, he brings not A jot of terrour to us; Yet what man Thirds his owne worth (the case is each of ours) When that his actions dregd with minde assurd Tis bad he goes about? PALAMON. Leave that unreasond. Our services stand now for Thebs, not Creon, Yet to be neutrall to him were dishonour; Rebellious to oppose: therefore we must With him stand to the mercy of our Fate, Who hath bounded our last minute. ARCITE. So we must. Ist sed this warres a foote? or it shall be, On faile of some condition? VALERIUS. Tis in motion The intelligence of state came in the instant With the defier. PALAMON. Lets to the king, who, were he A quarter carrier of that honour which His Enemy come in, the blood we venture Should be as for our health, which were not spent, Rather laide out for purchase: but, alas, Our hands advanc’d before our hearts, what will The fall o’th stroke doe damage? ARCITE. Let th’event, That never erring Arbitratour, tell us When we know all our selves, and let us follow The becking of our chance. [Exeunt.] Scaena 3. (Before the gates of Athens.) [Enter Pirithous, Hipolita, Emilia.] PERITHOUS. No further. HIPPOLITA. Sir, farewell; repeat my wishes To our great Lord, of whose succes I dare not Make any timerous question; yet I wish him Exces and overflow of power, and’t might be, To dure ill-dealing fortune: speede to him, Store never hurtes good Gouernours.