THESEUS.
Are you a Gentleman?
ARCITE.
My father said so;
And to those gentle uses gave me life.
THESEUS.
Are you his heire?
ARCITE.
His yongest, Sir.
THESEUS.
Your Father
Sure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you?
ARCITE.
A little of all noble Quallities:
I could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa’d
To a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise
My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me
Would say it was my best peece: last, and greatest,
I would be thought a Souldier.
THESEUS.
You are perfect.
PERITHOUS.
Vpon my soule, a proper man.
EMILIA.
He is so.
PERITHOUS.
How doe you like him, Ladie?