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(Vnlesse we feare that Apes can Tutor’s) to

       Be Masters of our manners: what neede I

       Affect anothers gate, which is not catching

       Where there is faith, or to be fond upon

       Anothers way of speech, when by mine owne

       I may be reasonably conceiv’d; sav’d too,

       Speaking it truly? why am I bound

       By any generous bond to follow him

       Followes his Taylor, haply so long untill

       The follow’d make pursuit? or let me know,

       Why mine owne Barber is unblest, with him

       My poore Chinne too, for tis not Cizard iust

       To such a Favorites glasse: What Cannon is there

       That does command my Rapier from my hip

       To dangle’t in my hand, or to go tip toe

       Before the streete be foule? Either I am

       The forehorse in the Teame, or I am none

       That draw i’th sequent trace: these poore sleight sores

       Neede not a plantin; That which rips my bosome

       Almost to’th heart’s—

       ARCITE.

       Our Vncle Creon.

       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.

       PERITHOUS.

       Though I know

       His Ocean needes not my poore drops, yet they

       Must yeild their tribute there. My precious Maide,

       Those best affections, that the heavens infuse

       In their best temperd peices, keepe enthroand

       In your deare heart.

       EMILIA.

       Thanckes, Sir. Remember me

       To our all royall Brother, for whose speede

       The great Bellona ile sollicite; and

       Since in our terrene State petitions are not

       Without giftes understood, Ile offer to her

       What I shall be advised she likes: our hearts

       Are in his Army, in his Tent.

       HIPPOLITA.

       In’s bosome:

       We have bin Soldiers, and wee cannot weepe

      

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