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could have restord

       My lost strength to me, I was growne so low,

       And Crest-falne with my wants: I thanke thee, Arcite,

       Thou art yet a faire Foe; and I feele my selfe

       With this refreshing, able once againe

       To out dure danger: To delay it longer

       Would make the world think, when it comes to hearing,

       That I lay fatting like a Swine to fight,

       And not a Souldier: Therefore, this blest morning

       Shall be the last; and that Sword he refuses,

       If it but hold, I kill him with; tis Iustice:

       So love, and Fortune for me!—O, good morrow.

       [Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords.]

       ARCITE.

       Good morrow, noble kinesman.

       PALAMON.

       I have put you to too much paines, Sir.

       ARCITE.

       That too much, faire Cosen,

       Is but a debt to honour, and my duty.

       PALAMON.

       Would you were so in all, Sir; I could wish ye

       As kinde a kinsman, as you force me finde

       A beneficiall foe, that my embraces

       Might thanke ye, not my blowes.

       ARCITE.

       I shall thinke either, well done,

       A noble recompence.

       PALAMON.

       Then I shall quit you.

       ARCITE.

       Defy me in these faire termes, and you show

       More then a Mistris to me, no more anger

       As you love any thing that’s honourable:

       We were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm’d

       And both upon our guards, then let our fury,

       Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,

       And then to whom the birthright of this Beauty

       Truely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes,

       Dispisings of our persons, and such powtings,

       Fitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene

       And quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir,

       Or if you feele your selfe not fitting yet

       And furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen,

       And ev’ry day discourse you into health,

       As I am spard: your person I am friends with,

       And I could wish I had not saide I lov’d her,

       Though I had dide; But loving such a Lady

       And justifying my Love, I must not fly from’t.

       PALAMON.

       Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy,

       That no man but thy Cosen’s fit to kill thee:

       I am well and lusty, choose your Armes.

       ARCITE.

       Choose you, Sir.

       PALAMON.

       Wilt thou exceede in all, or do’st thou doe it

       To make me spare thee?

       ARCITE.

       If you thinke so, Cosen,

       You are deceived, for as I am a Soldier,

       I will not spare you.

       PALAMON.

       That’s well said.

       ARCITE.

       You’l finde it.

       PALAMON.

       Then, as I am an honest man and love

       With all the justice of affection,

       Ile pay thee soundly. This ile take.

       ARCITE.

       That’s mine, then;

       Ile arme you first.

       PALAMON.

       Do: pray thee, tell me, Cosen,

       Where gotst thou this good Armour?

       ARCITE.

       Tis the Dukes,

       And to say true, I stole it; doe I pinch you?

       PALAMON.

       Noe.

       ARCITE.

       Is’t not too heavie?

       PALAMON.

       I have worne a lighter,

       But I shall make it serve.

       ARCITE.

       Ile buckl’t close.

       PALAMON.

       By any meanes.

       ARCITE.

       You care not for a Grand guard?

       PALAMON.

       No, no; wee’l use no horses: I perceave

       You would faine be at that Fight.

       ARCITE.

       I am indifferent.

       PALAMON.

       Faith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle

       Through far enough.

       ARCITE.

       I warrant you.

       PALAMON.

       My Caske now.

       ARCITE.

       Will you fight bare-armd?

       PALAMON.

       We shall be the nimbler.

       ARCITE.

       But use your Gauntlets though; those are o’th least,

       Prethee take mine, good Cosen.

       PALAMON.

       Thanke you, Arcite.

       How doe I looke? am I falne much away?

       ARCITE.

       Faith, very little; love has usd you kindly.

       PALAMON.

       Ile warrant thee, Ile strike home.

       ARCITE.

       Doe, and spare not;

       Ile give you cause, sweet Cosen.

       PALAMON.

       Now to you, Sir:

       Me thinkes this Armor’s very like that, Arcite,

       Thou wor’st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.

       ARCITE.

       That was a very good one; and that day,

       I well remember, you outdid me, Cosen.

       I never saw such valour: when you chargd

       Vpon the left wing of the Enemie,

       I spurd hard to come up, and under me

       I had a right good horse.

       PALAMON.

       You had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember.

       ARCITE.

       Yes, but all

       Was vainely labour’d in me; you

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