EMILIA.
Then he has won! Twas ever likely;
He lookd all grace and successe, and he is
Doubtlesse the prim’st of men: I pre’thee, run
And tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, ‘a
Palamon.’]
SERVANT.
Still Palamon.
EMILIA.
Run and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;
Vpon my right side still I wore thy picture,
Palamons on the left: why so, I know not;
I had no end in’t else, chance would have it so.
On the sinister side the heart lyes; Palamon
Had the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and Cornets.] This burst of clamour
Is sure th’end o’th Combat.
[Enter Servant.]
SERVANT.
They saide that Palamon had Arcites body
Within an inch o’th Pyramid, that the cry
Was generall ‘a Palamon’: But, anon,
Th’Assistants made a brave redemption, and
The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are
Hand to hand at it.
EMILIA.
Were they metamorphisd
Both into one! oh why? there were no woman
Worth so composd a Man: their single share,
Their noblenes peculier to them, gives
The prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within, Arcite, Arcite.]
To any Lady breathing—More exulting?
Palamon still?
SERVANT.
Nay, now the sound is Arcite.
EMILIA.
I pre’thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and cry, ‘Arcite, victory!’] Set both thine eares to’th busines.
SERVANT.
The cry is
‘Arcite’, and ‘victory’, harke: ‘Arcite, victory!’
The Combats consummation is proclaim’d
By the wind Instruments.
EMILIA.
Halfe sights saw
That Arcite was no babe; god’s lyd, his richnes
And costlines of spirit look’t through him, it could
No more be hid in him then fire in flax,
Then humble banckes can goe to law with waters,
That drift windes force to raging: I did thinke
Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not
Why I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,
When oft our fancies are. They are comming off:
Alas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]