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 outwent me,
Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little
I did by imitation.
PALAMON.
More by vertue;
You are modest, Cosen.
ARCITE.
When I saw you charge first,
Me thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder
Breake from the Troope.
PALAMON.
But still before that flew
The lightning of your valour. Stay a little,
Is not this peece too streight?
ARCITE.
No, no, tis well.
PALAMON.
I would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword,
A bruise would be dishonour.
ARCITE.
Now I am perfect.
PALAMON.
Stand off, then.
ARCITE.
Take my Sword, I hold it better.
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
