PIRITHOUS.
These are men!
ARCITE.
No, never, Duke. ’Tis worse to me than begging
To take my life so basely. Though I think
I never shall enjoy her, yet I’ll preserve
The honour of affection, and die for her,
Make death a devil.
THESEUS.
What may be done? For now I feel compassion.
PIRITHOUS.
Let it not fall again, sir.
THESEUS.
Say, Emilia,
If one of them were dead, as one must, are you
Content to take th’ other to your husband?
They cannot both enjoy you. They are princes
As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble
As ever fame yet spoke of. Look upon ’em,
And, if you can love, end this difference;
I give consent.—Are you content too, princes?
BOTH.
With all our souls.
THESEUS.
He that she refuses
Must die, then.
BOTH.
Any death thou canst invent, Duke.
PALAMON.
If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,
And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes.
ARCITE.
If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,
And soldiers sing my epitaph.