[Another cry and shout within, and cornets.]
This burst of clamour
Is sure th’ end o’ th’ combat.
Enter Servant.
SERVANT.
They said that Palamon had Arcite’s body
Within an inch o’ th’ pyramid, that the cry
Was general “À Palamon.” But anon,
Th’ assistants made a brave redemption, and
The two bold titlers at this instant are
Hand to hand at it.
EMILIA.
Were they metamorphosed
Both into one—O, why? There were no woman
Worth so composed a man! Their single share,
Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives
The prejudice of disparity, value’s shortness,
To any lady breathing.
[Cornets. Cry within, “Arcite, Arcite.”]
More exulting?
“Palamon” still?
SERVANT.
Nay, now the sound is “Arcite.”
EMILIA.
I prithee, lay attention to the cry;
Set both thine ears to th’ business.
[Cornets. A great shout and cry “Arcite, victory!”]