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 needs be by
To give the service pay.
EMILIA.
Sir, pardon me;
The title of a kingdom may be tried
Out of itself.
THESEUS.
Well, well, then, at your pleasure.
Those that remain with you could wish their office
To any of their enemies.
HIPPOLYTA.
Farewell, sister.
I am like to know your husband ’fore yourself
By some small start of time. He whom the gods
Do of the two know best, I pray them he
Be made your lot.
[Exeunt all but Emilia.]
EMILIA.
Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eye
Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon
In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage
Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon
Has a most menacing aspect; his brow
Is graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on;
Yet sometimes ’tis not so, but alters to
The quality of his thoughts. Long time his eye
Will dwell upon his object. Melancholy
Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite’s mirth;
But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth,
So mingled as if mirth did make him sad
And sadness merry. Those darker humours that
Stick misbecomingly on others, on them
Live in fair dwelling.
[Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge.]
Hark how yon spurs to spirit do incite
The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me
And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to
The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity
Enough for such a chance? If I were by,
I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes
Towards my seat, and in that motion might
Omit a ward or forfeit an offence
Which craved that very time. It is much better
I am not there.
[Cornets. A great cry and noise within crying “À Palamon!”]