Ser. The cry's a Palamon.
Emil. Then he has won: 'twas ever likely,
He look'd all grace and success, and he is
Doubtless the prim'st of men: I prethee run
And tell me how it goes. [Shout, and Cornets: crying a Palamon.
Ser. Still Palamon.
Emil. Run and enquire, poor Servant thou hast lost,
Upon my right side still I wore thy Picture,
Palamon's on the left, why so I know not,
I had no end in't; else chance would have it so. [Another cry and shout within, and Cornets.
On the sinister side the heart lies; Palamon
Had the best boding chance: this burst of clamor
Is sure th' end o'th' combat.
Enter Servant.
Ser. They said that Palamon had Arcites body
Within an inch o'th' Pyramid, that the cry
Was general a Palamon: but anon,
Th' Assistants made a brave redemption, and
The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are
Hand to hand at it.
Emil. Were they metamorphos'd
Both into one; oh why? there were no woman
Worth so compos'd a man: their single share,
[Their noblenes peculier to them, gives]
The prejudice of disparity values shortness [Cornets. Cry within, Arcite, Arcite.
To any Lady breathing—More exulting?
Palamon still?
Ser. Nay, now the sound is Arcite.
Emil. I prethee lay attention to the Cry. [Cornets. A great shout, and cry, Arcite, victory.
Set both thine ears to th' business.
Ser. The cry is
Arcite, and victory, hark Arcite, victory,
The Combats consummation is proclaim'd
By the wind Instruments.