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use my Sword

       Against th’advice of feare: sure, of another

       You would not heare me doubted, but your silence

       Should breake out, though i’th Sanctuary.

       PALAMON.

       Sir,

       I have seene you move in such a place, which well

       Might justifie your manhood; you were calld

       A good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke’s not faire,

       If any day it rayne: Their valiant temper

       Men loose when they encline to trecherie,

       And then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly

       Were they not tyde.

       ARCITE.

       Kinsman, you might as well

       Speake this and act it in your Glasse, as to

       His eare which now disdaines you.

       PALAMON.

       Come up to me,

       Quit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword,

       Though it be rustie, and the charity

       Of one meale lend me; Come before me then,

       A good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say

       That Emily is thine: I will forgive

       The trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life,

       If then thou carry’t, and brave soules in shades

       That have dyde manly, which will seeke of me

       Some newes from earth, they shall get none but this,

       That thou art brave and noble.

       ARCITE.

       Be content:

       Againe betake you to your hawthorne house;

       With counsaile of the night, I will be here

       With wholesome viands; these impediments

       Will I file off; you shall have garments and

       Perfumes to kill the smell o’th prison; after,

       When you shall stretch your selfe and say but, ‘Arcite,

       I am in plight,’ there shall be at your choyce

       Both Sword and Armour.

       PALAMON.

       Oh you heavens, dares any

       So noble beare a guilty busines! none

       But onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite

       In this kinde is so bold.

       ARCITE.

       Sweete Palamon.

       PALAMON.

       I doe embrace you and your offer,—for

       Your offer doo’t I onely, Sir; your person,

       Without hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.]

       More then my Swords edge ont.

       ARCITE.

       You heare the Hornes;

       Enter your Musite least this match between’s

       Be crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell.

       Ile bring you every needfull thing: I pray you,

       Take comfort and be strong.

       PALAMON.

       Pray hold your promise;

       And doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine

       You love me not, be rough with me, and powre

       This oile out of your language; by this ayre,

       I could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach

       Not reconcild by reason.

       ARCITE.

       Plainely spoken,

       Yet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.]

       My horse, I chide him not; content and anger

       In me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call

       The scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse

       I have an office there.

       PALAMON.

       Sir, your attendance

       Cannot please heaven, and I know your office

       Vnjustly is atcheev’d.

       ARCITE.

       If a good title,

       I am perswaded this question sicke between’s

       By bleeding must be cur’d. I am a Suitour,

       That to your Sword you will bequeath this plea

       And talke of it no more.

       PALAMON.

       But this one word:

       You are going now to gaze upon my Mistris,

       For note you, mine she is—

       ARCITE.

       Nay, then.

       PALAMON.

       Nay, pray you,

       You talke of feeding me to breed me strength:

       You are going now to looke upon a Sun

       That strengthens what it lookes on; there

       You have a vantage ore me, but enjoy’t till

       I may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.]

      Scaena 2. (Another Part of the forest.)

       [Enter Iaylors daughter alone.]

       DAUGHTER.

       He has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone

       After his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning;

       No matter, would it were perpetuall night,

       And darkenes Lord o’th world. Harke, tis a woolfe:

       In me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing

       I care for nothing, and that’s Palamon.

       I wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so

       He had this File: what if I hallowd for him?

       I cannot hallow: if I whoop’d, what then?

       If he not answeard, I should call a wolfe,

       And doe him but that service. I have heard

       Strange howles this livelong night, why may’t not be

       They have made prey of him? he has no weapons,

       He cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives

       Might call fell things to listen, who have in them

       A sence to know a man unarmd, and can

       Smell where resistance is. Ile set it downe

       He’s torne to peeces; they howld many together

       And then they fed on him: So much for that,

       Be bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then?

       All’s char’d when he is gone. No, no, I lye,

       My Father’s to be hang’d for his escape;

       My selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much

       As to deny my act, but that I would not,

       Should I try death by dussons.—I am mop’t,

       Food tooke I none these two daies,

       Sipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes

       Save when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas,

      

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