PERITHOUS.
When he speakes, his tongue
Sounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments
Are as a man would wish ’em, strong and cleane,
He weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold;
His age some five and twenty.
MESSENGER.
Ther’s another,
A little man, but of a tough soule, seeming
As great as any: fairer promises
In such a Body yet I never look’d on.
PERITHOUS.
O, he that’s freckle fac’d?
MESSENGER.
The same, my Lord;
Are they not sweet ones?
PERITHOUS.
Yes, they are well.
MESSENGER.
Me thinkes,
Being so few, and well disposd, they show
Great, and fine art in nature: he’s white hair’d,
Not wanton white, but such a manly colour
Next to an aborne; tough, and nimble set,
Which showes an active soule; his armes are brawny,
Linde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece
Gently they swell, like women new conceav’d,
Which speakes him prone to labour, never fainting
Vnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still,
But when he stirs, a Tiger; he’s gray eyd,
Which yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe
To spy advantages, and where he finds ’em,
He’s swift to make ’em his: He do’s no wrongs,
Nor takes none; he’s round fac’d, and when he smiles
He showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier:
About his head he weares the winners oke,
And in it stucke the favour of his Lady:
His age, some six and thirtie. In his hand
He beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver.
THESEUS.
Are they all thus?
PERITHOUS.
They are all the sonnes of honour.
THESEUS.
Now, as I have a soule, I long to see’em.
Lady, you shall see men fight now.
HIPPOLITA.
I wish it,
But not the cause, my Lord; They would show
Bravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes;
Tis pitty Love should be so tyrannous:
O my soft harted Sister, what thinke you?
Weepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be.