Scaena 3. (Same as Scene I.) [Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.]

       ARCITE.

       I should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter

       Palamon.]

       PALAMON.

       Arcite?

       ARCITE.

       The same: I have brought you foode and files.

       Come forth and feare not, here’s no Theseus.

       PALAMON.

       Nor none so honest, Arcite.

       ARCITE.

       That’s no matter,

       Wee’l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage;

       You shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke;

       I know you are faint: then ile talke further with you.

       PALAMON.

       Arcite, thou mightst now poyson me.

       ARCITE.

       I might,

       But I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now

       No more of these vaine parlies; let us not,

       Having our ancient reputation with us,

       Make talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c.

       PALAMON.

       Doe.

       ARCITE.

       Pray, sit downe then; and let me entreate you,

       By all the honesty and honour in you,

       No mention of this woman: t’will disturbe us;

       We shall have time enough.

       PALAMON.

       Well, Sir, Ile pledge you.

       ARCITE.

       Drinke a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man.

       Doe not you feele it thaw you?

       PALAMON.

       Stay, Ile tell you after a draught or two more.

       ARCITE.

       Spare it not, the Duke has more, Cuz: Eate now.

       PALAMON.

       Yes.

       ARCITE.

       I am glad you have so good a stomach.

       PALAMON.

       I am gladder I have so good meate too’t.

       ARCITE.

       Is’t not mad lodging here in the wild woods, Cosen?

       PALAMON.

       Yes, for them that have wilde Consciences.

       ARCITE.

       How tasts your vittails? your hunger needs no sawce, I see.

       PALAMON.

       Not much;

       But if it did, yours is too tart, sweete Cosen: what is this?

       ARCITE.

       Venison.

       PALAMON.

       Tis a lusty meate:

       Giue me more wine; here, Arcite, to the wenches

       We have known in our daies. The Lord Stewards daughter,

       Doe you remember her?

       ARCITE.

       After you, Cuz.

       PALAMON.

       She lov’d a black-haird man.

       ARCITE.

       She did so; well, Sir.

       PALAMON.

       And I have heard some call him Arcite, and—

       ARCITE.

       Out with’t, faith.

       PALAMON.

       She met him in an Arbour:

       What did she there, Cuz? play o’th virginals?

       ARCITE.

       Something she did, Sir.

       PALAMON.

       Made her groane a moneth for’t, or 2. or 3. or 10.

       ARCITE.

       The Marshals Sister

       Had her share too, as I remember, Cosen,

       Else there be tales abroade; you’l pledge her?

       PALAMON.

       Yes.

       ARCITE.

       A pretty broune wench t’is. There was a time

       When yong men went a hunting, and a wood,

       And a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:—heigh ho!

       PALAMON.

       For Emily, upon my life! Foole,

       Away with this straind mirth; I say againe,

       That sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen,

       Dar’st thou breake first?

       ARCITE.

       You are wide.

       PALAMON.

       By heaven and earth, ther’s nothing in thee honest.

       ARCITE.

       Then Ile leave you: you are a Beast now.

       PALAMON.

       As thou makst me, Traytour.

       ARCITE.

       Ther’s all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes:

       Ile come againe some two howres hence, and bring

       That that shall quiet all,

       PALAMON.

       A Sword and Armour?

       ARCITE.

       Feare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell.

       Get off your Trinkets; you shall want nought.

       PALAMON.

       Sir, ha—

       ARCITE.

       Ile heare no more. [Exit.]

       PALAMON.

       If he keepe touch, he dies for’t. [Exit.]