I have worn a lighter;
But I shall make it serve.
No, no; we’ll use no horses: I perceive
You’d fain be at that fight.
Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle
Through far enough.
But use your gauntlets though: those are o’ the least;
Pr’ythee, take mine, good cousin.
Thank you, Arcite.
How do I look? am I fall’n much away?
Do, and spare not.
I’ll give you cause, sweet cousin.
Now to you, sir.
Methinks this armour’s very like that, Arcite,
Thou wor’st that day the three kings fell, but lighter.
That was a very good one; and that day,
I well remember, you outdid me, cousin;
I never saw such valour: when you charg’d
Upon the left wing of the enemy,
I spurr’d hard to come up, and under me
I had a right good horse.
You had indeed;
A bright bay, I remember.
Yes. But all
Was vainly labour’d in me; you outwent me,
Nor could my wishes reach you: yet a little
I did by imitation.
More by virtue;
You’re modest, cousin.
When I saw you charge first,
Methought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder
Break from the troop.
But still before that flew
The lightning of your valour. Stay a little:
Is not this piece too straight?
I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword;
A bruise would be dishonour.
I thank ye. No, keep it; your life lies on it:
Here’s one, if it but hold, I ask no more
For all my hopes. My cause and honour guard me!
This only, and no more. Thou art mine aunt’s son,
And that blood we desire to shed is mutual;
In me thine, and in thee mine: my sword
Is in my hand, and, if thou killest me,
The gods and I forgive thee: if there be
A place prepar’d for those that sleep in honour,
I wish his weary soul that falls may win it.
Fight bravely, cousin: give me thy noble hand.
Here, Palamon: this hand shall never more
Come near thee with such friendship.
If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward;
For none but such dare die in these just trials.
Once more, farewell, my cousin.
This is the duke, a-hunting as I told you;
If we be found, we’re wretched; O, retire,
For honour’s sake and safety, presently
Into your bush again, sir; we shall find
Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin,
If you be seen, you perish instantly
For breaking prison; and I, if you reveal me,
For my contempt: then all the world will scorn us,
And say we had a noble difference,
But base disposers of it.
No, no, cousin;
I will no more be hidden, nor put off
This great adventure to a second trial:
I know your cunning and I know your cause:
He that faints now, shame take him! Put thyself
Upon thy present guard—
Or I will make th’ advantage of this hour
Mine own; and what to come shall threaten me,
I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin,
I love Emilia; and in that I’ll bury
Thee, and all crosses else.
Then, come what can come,
Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well
Die, as discourse or sleep: only this fears me,
The law will have the honour of our ends.
Have at thy life!
What ignorant and mad malicious traitors
Are you, that, ’gainst the tenor of my laws,
Are making battle, thus like knights appointed,
Without my leave, and officers of arms?
By Castor, both shall die.
Hold thy word, Theseus:
We’re certainly both traitors, both despisers
Of thee and of thy goodness: I am Palamon,
That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison;
Think well what that deserves: and this is Arcite;
A bolder traitor never trod thy ground,
A falser ne’er seemed friend: this is the man
Was begg’d and banish’d: this is he contemns thee
And what thou dar’st do; and in this disguise,
Against thy own edict, follows thy sister,
That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia;
Whose servant—if there be a right in seeing,
And first bequeathing of the soul to—justly
I am; and, which is more, dares think her his.
This treachery, like a most trusty lover,
I call’d him now to answer: if thou be’st,
As thou art spoken, great and virtuous,
The true decider of all injuries,
Say “Fight again!” and thou shalt see me, Theseus,
Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy:
Then take my life; I’ll woo thee to’t.
O heaven,
What more than man is this!
We seek not
Thy breath of mercy, Theseus: ’tis to me
A thing as soon to die 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 beauty,
As I love most, and in that faith will perish,
As I have brought my life here to confirm it,
As I have serv’d her truest, worthiest,
As I dare kill this cousin that denies it,
So let me be most traitor, and ye please me.
For scorning thy edict, duke, ask that lady
Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me
Stay here to love her; and, if she say “traitor,”
I am a villain fit to lie unburied.
Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus,
If unto neither thou show mercy; stop,
As thou art just, thy noble ear
