God. Hold, Thoulouse, let it lay.—
I do impeach Bohemond of Tarentum of base wiles,
And treachery most foul, to knighthood’s cause—
Boh. Why then take you the glove.—
God. In mine own cause I do accept the challenge.—
[Takes up the glove.]
Alex. Is our league dissolv’d, and shall the holy cause
For which embattled Europe is in arms,
Be idly given to the scorn of men,
To gratify our passions and vile feuds?—
But speak Lorraine, for you have heretofore
Been held the mediator in these jars—
Upon what quarrel do you thus arraign
Bohemond of Tarentum?—
God. A gorgeous canopy, a present from
The gov’nor of Armenia I have lost—
By what base means, Bohemond best can tell.—
Boh. True he can tell—and briefly thus it is—
I won the silken bauble in a fight,
And claim it as my spoil.—You basely stole
God.
The treasure of a friend—Pancrates had
The conduct of the present to my camp;
You coward-like surprised him on the way,
And robb’d him of my prize.—Well be it so—
Boh. (Contemptuously)
I stole it, and will keep it—
You may keep the glove.—
Alex. Christians, forbear, the Infidels will laugh,
To know a silken toy has broke our league,
And sav’d the Sepulchre—It must not be,
My friends, that private discord shall cut short
The work we have begun—Bohemond, no—
Restore the treasure to its rightful Lord,
And my pavilion shall replace the spoil.—