Pir.. Hold, hoa: It is a cursed haste you made
If you have done so quickly: noble Palamon,
The gods will shew their glory in a life
That thou art yet to lead.
Pal. Can that be,
When Venus I have said is false? How do things fare?
Pir. Arise great Sir, and give the tidings ear
That are most early sweet, and bitter.
Pal. What
Hath wak't us from our dream?
Pir. List then: your Cosin
Mounted upon a Steed that Emily
Did first bestow on him, a black one, owing
Not a hayr worth of white, which some will say
Weakens his price, and many will not buy
His goodness with this note: Which superstition
Hear finds allowance: On this horse is Arcite
Trotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins
Did rather tell, than trample; For the horse
Would make his length a mile, if't pleas'd his Rider
To put pride in him: as he thus went counting
The flinty pavement, dancing as t'were to'th' Musick
His own hoofs made; (For as they say from iron
Came Musicks origen) what envious Flint,
Cold as old Saturne, and like him possest
With fire malevolent, darted a Spark,
Or what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,
I comment not; The hot horse, hot as fire,
Took Toy at this, and fell to what disorder
His power could give his will, bounds, comes on end,
Forgets school dooing, being therein train'd,
And of kind mannage, pig-like he whines
At the sharp Rowell, which he frets at rather
Than any jot obeyes; Seeks all foul means
Of boystrous and rough Jad'rie, to dis-seat
His Lord, that kept it bravely: When nought serv'd,
When neither Curb would crack, girth break, nor diff'ring plunges
Dis-root his Rider whence he grew, but that
He kept him 'tween his legs, on his hind hoofs on end he stands
That Arcites legs being higher than his head
Seem'd with strange art to hang: His victors wreath
Even then fell off his head: And presently
Backward the jade comes o'er, and his full poyze
Becomes the Riders load: Yet is he living,
But such a vessell 'tis that floats but for
The surge that next approaches: He much desires
To have some speech with you: Loe he appears.
Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Arcite, in a chair.
Pal. O miserable end of our alliance
The gods are mightie Arcite, if thy heart,
Thy worthie, manly heart be yet unbroken:
Give me thy last words, I'm Palamon,
One that yet loves thee dying.
Arc. Take Emilia
And with her, all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand,
Farewell: I have told my last hour; I was false,
Yet never treacherous: Forgive me Cosen:
One kiss from fair Emilia: 'Tis done:
Take her: I die.
Pal. Thy brave soul seek Elizium.
Emil. I'll close thine eyes, Prince; Blessed souls be with thee
Thou art a right good man, and while I live,
This day I give to tears.