ARCITE.
Defy me in these faire termes, and you show
More then a Mistris to me, no more anger
As you love any thing that’s honourable:
We were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm’d
And both upon our guards, then let our fury,
Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,
And then to whom the birthright of this Beauty
Truely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes,
Dispisings of our persons, and such powtings,
Fitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene
And quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir,
Or if you feele your selfe not fitting yet
And furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen,
And ev’ry day discourse you into health,
As I am spard: your person I am friends with,
And I could wish I had not saide I lov’d her,
Though I had dide; But loving such a Lady
And justifying my Love, I must not fly from’t.
PALAMON.
Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy,
That no man but thy Cosen’s fit to kill thee:
I am well and lusty, choose your Armes.
ARCITE.
Choose you, Sir.
PALAMON.
Wilt thou exceede in all, or do’st thou doe it
To make me spare thee?
ARCITE.
If you thinke so, Cosen,
You are deceived, for as I am a Soldier,
I will not spare you.
PALAMON.
That’s well said.
ARCITE.
You’l finde it.
PALAMON.
Then, as I am an honest man and love
With all the justice of affection,
Ile pay thee soundly. This ile take.
ARCITE.
That’s mine, then;
Ile arme you first.
PALAMON.
Do: pray thee, tell me, Cosen,
Where gotst thou this good Armour?