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       PALAMON.

       I thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it.

       Here’s one; if it but hold, I aske no more

       For all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow

       severall wayes: then advance and stand.]

       ARCITE.

       And me my love! Is there ought else to say?

       PALAMON.

       This onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son,

       And that blood we desire to shed is mutuall;

       In me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword

       Is in my hand, and if thou killst me,

       The gods and I forgive thee; If there be

       A place prepar’d for those that sleepe in honour,

       I wish his wearie soule that falls may win it:

       Fight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand.

       ARCITE.

       Here, Palamon: This hand shall never more

       Come neare thee with such friendship.

       PALAMON.

       I commend thee.

       ARCITE.

       If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,

       For none but such dare die in these just Tryalls.

       Once more farewell, my Cosen.

       PALAMON.

       Farewell, Arcite. [Fight.]

       [Hornes within: they stand.]

       ARCITE.

       Loe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us.

       PALAMON.

       Why?

       ARCITE.

       This is the Duke, a hunting as I told you.

       If we be found, we are wretched. O retire

       For honours sake, and safety presently

       Into your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde

       Too many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen,

       If you be seene you perish instantly

       For breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me,

       For my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us,

       And say we had a noble difference,

       But base disposers of it.

       PALAMON.

       No, no, Cosen,

       I will no more be hidden, nor put off

       This great adventure to a second Tryall:

       I know your cunning, and I know your cause;

       He that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe

       Vpon thy present guard—

       ARCITE.

       You are not mad?

       PALAMON.

       Or I will make th’advantage of this howre

       Mine owne, and what to come shall threaten me,

       I feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen,

       I love Emilia, and in that ile bury

       Thee, and all crosses else.

       ARCITE.

       Then, come what can come,

       Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well

       Die, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me,

       The law will have the honour of our ends.

       Have at thy life.

       PALAMON.

       Looke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.]

       [Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.]

       THESEUS.

       What ignorant and mad malicious Traitors,

       Are you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes

       Are making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed,

       Without my leave, and Officers of Armes?

       By Castor, both shall dye.

       PALAMON.

       Hold thy word, Theseus.

       We are certainly both Traitors, both despisers

       Of thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon,

       That cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison;

       Thinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite,

       A bolder Traytor never trod thy ground,

       A Falser neu’r seem’d friend: This is the man

       Was begd and banish’d; this is he contemnes thee

       And what thou dar’st doe, and in this disguise

       Against thy owne Edict followes thy Sister,

       That fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia,

       Whose servant, (if there be a right in seeing,

       And first bequeathing of the soule to) justly

       I am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his.

       This treacherie, like a most trusty Lover,

       I call’d him now to answer; if thou bee’st,

       As thou art spoken, great and vertuous,

       The true descider of all injuries,

       Say, ‘Fight againe,’ and thou shalt see me, Theseus,

       Doe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie.

       Then take my life; Ile wooe thee too’t.

       PERITHOUS.

       O heaven,

       What more then man is this!

       THESEUS.

       I have sworne.

       ARCITE.

       We seeke not

       Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me

       A thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it,

       And no more mov’d: where this man calls me Traitor,

       Let me say thus much: if in love be Treason,

       In service of so excellent a Beutie,

       As I love most, and in that faith will perish,

       As I have brought my life here to confirme it,

       As I have serv’d her truest, worthiest,

       As I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it,

       So let me be most Traitor, and ye please me.

       For scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady

       Why she is faire, and why her eyes command me

       Stay here to love her; and if she say ‘Traytor,’

       I am a villaine fit to lye unburied.

       PALAMON.

       Thou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus,

       If unto neither thou shew mercy; stop

       (As thou art just) thy noble eare against us.

       As thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule

       Whose 12. strong labours crowne his memory,

       Lets die together, at one instant, Duke,

       Onely a little let him fall before me,

       That I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.

      

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