Scaena 5. (An open place in Athens.) [Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Emilia: Arcite with a

      Garland, &c.]

       [This short florish of Cornets and Showtes within.]

       THESEUS.

       You have done worthily; I have not seene,

       Since Hercules, a man of tougher synewes;

       What ere you are, you run the best, and wrastle,

       That these times can allow.

       ARCITE.

       I am proud to please you.

       THESEUS.

       What Countrie bred you?

       ARCITE.

       This; but far off, Prince.

       THESEUS.

       Are you a Gentleman?

       ARCITE.

       My father said so;

       And to those gentle uses gave me life.

       THESEUS.

       Are you his heire?

       ARCITE.

       His yongest, Sir.

       THESEUS.

       Your Father

       Sure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you?

       ARCITE.

       A little of all noble Quallities:

       I could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa’d

       To a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise

       My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me

       Would say it was my best peece: last, and greatest,

       I would be thought a Souldier.

       THESEUS.

       You are perfect.

       PERITHOUS.

       Vpon my soule, a proper man.

       EMILIA.

       He is so.

       PERITHOUS.

       How doe you like him, Ladie?

       HIPPOLITA.

       I admire him;

       I have not seene so yong a man so noble

       (If he say true,) of his sort.

       EMILIA.

       Beleeve,

       His mother was a wondrous handsome woman;

       His face, me thinkes, goes that way.

       HIPPOLITA.

       But his Body

       And firie minde illustrate a brave Father.

       PERITHOUS.

       Marke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun,

       Breakes through his baser garments.

       HIPPOLITA.

       Hee’s well got, sure.

       THESEUS.

       What made you seeke this place, Sir?

       ARCITE.

       Noble Theseus,

       To purchase name, and doe my ablest service

       To such a well-found wonder as thy worth,

       For onely in thy Court, of all the world,

       Dwells faire-eyd honor.

       PERITHOUS.

       All his words are worthy.

       THESEUS.

       Sir, we are much endebted to your travell,

       Nor shall you loose your wish: Perithous,

       Dispose of this faire Gentleman.

       PERITHOUS.

       Thankes, Theseus.

       What ere you are y’ar mine, and I shall give you

       To a most noble service, to this Lady,

       This bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse;

       You have honourd hir faire birthday with your vertues,

       And as your due y’ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir.

       ARCITE.

       Sir, y’ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie,

       Thus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant

       (Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you,

       Command him die, he shall.

       EMILIA.

       That were too cruell.

       If you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see’t:

       Y’ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke

       Ile use you.

       PERITHOUS.

       Ile see you furnish’d, and because you say

       You are a horseman, I must needs intreat you

       This after noone to ride, but tis a rough one.

       ARCITE.

       I like him better, Prince, I shall not then

       Freeze in my Saddle.

       THESEUS.

       Sweet, you must be readie,

       And you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all,

       To morrow by the Sun, to doe observance

       To flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir,

       Vpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope

       He shall not goe a foote.

       EMILIA.

       That were a shame, Sir,

       While I have horses: take your choice, and what

       You want at any time, let me but know it;

       If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you

       You’l finde a loving Mistris.

       ARCITE.

       If I doe not,

       Let me finde that my Father ever hated,

       Disgrace and blowes.

       THESEUS.

       Go, leade the way; you have won it:

       It shall be so; you shall receave all dues

       Fit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else.

       Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant,

       That, if I were a woman, would be Master,

       But you are wise. [Florish.]

       EMILIA.

       I hope