ARCITE.
Will you fight bare-armed?
PALAMON.
We shall be the nimbler.
ARCITE.
But use your gauntlets though. Those are o’ th’ least;
Prithee take mine, good cousin.
PALAMON.
Thank you, Arcite.
How do I look? Am I fall’n much away?
ARCITE.
Faith, very little; love has used you kindly.
PALAMON.
I’ll warrant thee, I’ll strike home.
ARCITE.
Do, and spare not.
I’ll give you cause, sweet cousin.
PALAMON.
Now to you, sir.
[He begins to arm Arcite.]
Methinks this armour’s very like that, Arcite,
Thou wor’st that day the three kings fell, but lighter.