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Their valour at your eye: know, of this war

       You are the Treasure, and must needes be by

       To give the Service pay.

       EMILIA.

       Sir, pardon me;

       The tytle of a kingdome may be tride

       Out of it selfe.

       THESEUS.

       Well, well, then, at your pleasure;

       Those that remaine with you could wish their office

       To any of their Enemies.

       HIPPOLITA.

       Farewell, Sister;

       I am like to know your husband fore your selfe

       By some small start of time: he whom the gods

       Doe of the two know best, I pray them he

       Be made your Lot.

       [Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]

       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.

       EMILIA.

       Halfe sights saw

       That Arcite was no babe; god’s lyd, his richnes

       And costlines of spirit look’t through him, it could

       No more be hid in him then fire in flax,

       Then humble banckes can goe to law with waters,

       That drift windes force to raging: I did thinke

       Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not

       Why I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,

       When oft our fancies are. They are comming off:

       Alas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]

       [Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and

       attendants, &c.]

       THESEUS.

       Lo, where our Sister is in expectation,

       Yet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,

       The gods by their divine arbitrament

       Have given you this Knight; he is a good one

       As ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;

       Receive you her, you him; be plighted with

       A love that growes, as you decay.

       ARCITE.

       Emily,

       To buy you, I have lost what’s deerest to me,

       Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,

       As I doe rate your value.

       THESEUS.

       O loved Sister,

       He speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere

       Did spur a noble Steed: Surely, the gods

       Would have him die a Batchelour, least his race

       Should shew i’th world too godlike: His behaviour

      

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