ARCITE.
I warrant you.
PALAMON.
My Caske now.
ARCITE.
Will you fight bare-armd?
PALAMON.
We shall be the nimbler.
ARCITE.
But use your Gauntlets though; those are o’th least,
Prethee take mine, good Cosen.
PALAMON.
Thanke you, Arcite.
How doe I looke? am I falne much away?
ARCITE.
Faith, very little; love has usd you kindly.
PALAMON.
Ile warrant thee, Ile strike home.
ARCITE.
Doe, and spare not;
Ile give you cause, sweet Cosen.
PALAMON.
Now to you, Sir:
Me thinkes this Armor’s very like that, Arcite,
Thou wor’st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.