HIPPOLITA.
You must goe.
EMILIA.
In faith, I will not.
THESEUS.
Why, the knights must kindle
Their valour at your eye: know, of this war
You are the Treasure, and must needes be by
To give the Service pay.
EMILIA.
Sir, pardon me;
The tytle of a kingdome may be tride
Out of it selfe.
THESEUS.
Well, well, then, at your pleasure;
Those that remaine with you could wish their office
To any of their Enemies.
HIPPOLITA.
Farewell, Sister;
I am like to know your husband fore your selfe
By some small start of time: he whom the gods
Doe of the two know best, I pray them he
Be made your Lot.
[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]
EMILIA.
Arcite is gently visagd; yet his eye
Is like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon
In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage
Are bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon
Has a most menacing aspect: his brow
Is grav’d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on;
Yet sometime tis not so, but alters to
The quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object. Mellencholly
Becomes him nobly; So do’s Arcites mirth,
But Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth,
So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,
And sadnes, merry; those darker humours that
Sticke misbecomingly on others, on them
Live in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a
charge.]
Harke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite
The Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me,
And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to
The spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty
Enough for such a chance; if I were by,
I might doe hurt, for they would glance their eies
Toward my Seat, and in that motion might
Omit a ward, or forfeit an offence
Which crav’d that very time: it is much better
I am not there; oh better never borne
Then minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within, crying ‘a Palamon’.] What is the chance?
[Enter Servant.]
SERVANT.
The Crie’s ‘a Palamon’.