Arc. No, no, 'tis well.
Pal. I would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword,
A bruise would be dishonor.
Arc. Now I'm perfect.
Pal. Stand off then.
Arc. Take my Sword, I hold it better.
Pal. I thank ye: No, keep it, your life lyes on it,
Here's one, if it but hold, I aske no more,
For all my hopes: My Cause and honor guard me.
[They bow severall wayes: then advance and stand.
Arc. And me my love: Is there ought else to say?
Pal. This only, 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 sleep in honor,
I wish his wearie soul, that falls may win it:
Fight bravely Cosen, give me thy noble hand.
Arc. Here Palamon: This hand shall never more
Come near thee with such friendship.