Pal. Oh you heavens, dare any
So noble bear a guilty business! none
But only Arcite, therefore none but Arcite
In this kind is so bold.
Arc. Sweet Palamon.
Pal. I doe embrace you, and your offer, for
Your offer do't I only, Sir your person
Without hypocrisy I may not wish [Wind horns of Cornets.
More than my Swords edge ont.
Arc. You hear the Horns;
Enter your Musick least this match between's
Be crost e'r met, give me your hand, farewell.
I'll bring you every needfull thing: I pray you
Take comfort and be strong.
Pal. Pray hold your promise;
And doe the deed with a bent brow, most certain
You love me not, be rough with me, and pour
This oil ot of your language; by this ayr
I could for each word, give a Cuff: my stomach
Not reconcil'd by reason.
Arc. Plainly spoken,
Yet pardon me hard language, when I spur [Wind horns.
My horse, I chide him not; content, and anger
In me have but one face. Hark Sir, they call
The scatter'd to the Banket; you must guess
I have an office there.
Pal. Sir your attendance
Cannot please heaven, and I know your office
Unjustly is atcheiv'd.
Arc. If a good title,
I'm persuaded this question sick between's,
By bleeding must be cur'd. I'm a Suitor,
That to your Sword you will bequeath this plea,
And talk of it no more.
Pal. But this one word:
You are going now to gaze upon my Mistris,
For note you, mine she is.
Arc. Nay then.