Per. Yet, a great deal short
Methinks, of him that's first with Palamon.
Thes. Pray speak him friend.
Per. I ghess he is a Prince too,
And if it may be, greater; for his show
Has all the ornament of honor in't:
He's somewhat bigger than the Knight he spoke of,
But of a face far sweeter; his complexion
Is (as a ripe Grape) ruddy: he has felt
Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter
To make this cause his own: in's face appears
All the fair hopes of what he undertakes,
And when he's angry, then a setled valour
(Not tainted with extreams) runs through his body,
And guides his arm to brave things: Fear he cannot,
He shews no such soft temper, his head's yellow,
Hard hair'd, and curl'd, thick twin'd, like Ivy tops,
No[t] to undoe with thunder; in his face
The Livery of the warlike Maid appears,
Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blest him.
And in his rowling eyes sits victory,
As if she ever meant to correct his valour:
His Nose stands high, a Character of honor,
His red Lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies.
Emil. Must these men die too?
Per. When he speaks, his tongue
Sounds like a Trumpet; all his lineaments
Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and clean,
He wears a well-steel'd Axe, the staffe of Gold,
His age some five and twenty.
Mess. There's another,
A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming
As great as any, fairer promises
In such a Body yet I never look'd on.
Per. Oh he that's freckle fac'd?
Mess. The same my Lord,
Are they not sweet ones?
Per. Yes, they are well.
Mess. Methinks,
Being so few, and well dispos'd, they shew
Great, and fine Art in nature, he's white hair'd,
Not wanton white, but such a manly colour
Next to an aborn, tough, and nimble set,
Which shows an active soul: his arms are brawny
Lin'd with strong sinews: to the shoulder-piece,
Gently they swell, like Women new conceiv'd,
Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting
Under the weight of Arms, stout-hearted still,
But when he stirs, a Tiger; he's grey ey'd,
Which yields compassion where he conquers: sharp
To spie advantages, and where he finds 'em,
He's swift to make 'em his: He does no wrongs,
Nor takes none; he's round fac'd, and when he smiles
He shows a Lover, when he frowns, a Soldier:
About his head he wears the winners oak,
And in it stuck the favour of his Lady:
His age, some six and thirty. In his hand
He bears a Charging Staffe, emboss'd with Silver.