ARCITE.
And me my love!
[They bow several ways, then advance and stand.]
Is there aught else to say?
PALAMON.
This only, and no more. Thou art mine aunt’s son.
And that blood we desire to shed is mutual,
In me thine, and in thee mine. My sword
Is in my hand, and if thou killest me,
The gods and I forgive thee. If there be
A place prepared for those that sleep in honour,
I wish his weary soul that falls may win it.
Fight bravely, cousin; give me thy noble hand.
ARCITE.
Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more
Come near thee with such friendship.
PALAMON.
I commend thee.
ARCITE.
If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,
For none but such dare die in these just trials.
Once more farewell, my cousin.
PALAMON.
Farewell, Arcite.
[They fight. Horns within. They stand.]
ARCITE.
Lo, cousin, lo, our folly has undone us.