William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

ARCITE.

You care not for a Grand guard?

PALAMON.

No, no; wee’l use no horses: I perceave

You would faine be at that Fight.

ARCITE.

I am indifferent.

PALAMON.

Faith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle

Through far enough.

ARCITE.

I warrant you.

PALAMON.

My Caske now.

ARCITE.

Will you fight bare-armd?

PALAMON.

We shall be the nimbler.

ARCITE.

But use your Gauntlets though; those are o’th least,

Prethee take mine, good Cosen.

PALAMON.

Thanke you, Arcite.

How doe I looke? am I falne much away?

ARCITE.

Faith, very little; love has usd you kindly.

PALAMON.

Ile warrant thee, Ile strike home.

ARCITE.

Doe, and spare not;

Ile give you cause, sweet Cosen.

PALAMON.

Now to you, Sir:

Me thinkes this Armor’s very like that, Arcite,

Thou wor’st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.

ARCITE.

That was a very good one; and that day,

I well remember, you outdid me, Cosen.

I never saw such valour: when you chargd

Vpon the left wing of the Enemie,

I spurd hard to come up, and under me

I had a right good horse.

PALAMON.

You had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember.

ARCITE.

Yes, but all

Was vainely labour’d in me; you outwent me,

Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little

I did by imitation.

PALAMON.

More by vertue;

You are modest, Cosen.

ARCITE.

When I saw you charge first,

Me thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder

Breake from the Troope.

PALAMON.

But still before that flew

The lightning of your valour. Stay a little,

Is not this peece too streight?

ARCITE.

No, no, tis well.

PALAMON.

I would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword,

A bruise would be dishonour.

ARCITE.

Now I am perfect.

PALAMON.

Stand off, then.

ARCITE.

Take my Sword, I hold it better.

PALAMON.

I thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it.

Here’s one; if it but hold, I aske no more

For all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow

severall wayes: then advance and stand.]

ARCITE.

And me my love! Is there ought else to say?

PALAMON.

This onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son,

And that blood we desire to shed is mutuall;

In me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword

Is in my hand, and if thou killst me,

The gods and I forgive thee; If there be

A place prepar’d for those that sleepe in honour,

I wish his wearie soule that falls may win it:

Fight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand.

ARCITE.

Here, Palamon: This hand shall never more

Come neare 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 Tryalls.

Once more farewell, my Cosen.

PALAMON.

Farewell, Arcite. [Fight.]

[Hornes within: they stand.]

ARCITE.

Loe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us.

PALAMON.

Why?

ARCITE.

This is the Duke, a hunting as I told you.

If we be found, we are wretched. O retire

For honours sake, and safety presently

Into your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde

Too many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen,

If you be seene you perish instantly

For breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me,

For my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us,

And say we had a noble difference,

But base disposers of it.

PALAMON.

No, no, Cosen,

I will no more be hidden, nor put off

This great adventure to a second Tryall:

I know your cunning, and I know your cause;

He that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe

Vpon thy present guard—

ARCITE.

You are not mad?

PALAMON.

Or I will make th’advantage of this howre

Mine owne, and what to come shall threaten me,

I feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen,

I love Emilia, and in that ile bury

Thee, and all crosses else.

ARCITE.

Then, come what can come,

Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well

Die, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me,

The law will have the honour of our ends.

Have at thy life.

PALAMON.

Looke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.]

[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.]

THESEUS.

What ignorant and mad malicious Traitors,

Are you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes

Are making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed,

Without my leave, and Officers of Armes?

By Castor, both shall dye.

PALAMON.

Hold thy word, Theseus.

We are certainly both Traitors, both despisers

Of thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon,

That cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison;

Thinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite,

A bolder Traytor never trod thy ground,

A Falser neu’r seem’d friend: This is the man

Was begd and banish’d; this is he contemnes thee

And what thou dar’st doe, and in this disguise

Against thy owne Edict followes thy Sister,

That fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia,

Whose servant, (if there be a right in seeing,

And first bequeathing of the soule to) justly

I am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his.

This treacherie, like a most trusty Lover,

I call’d him now to answer; if thou bee’st,

As thou art spoken, great and vertuous,

The true descider of all injuries,

Say, ‘Fight againe,’ and thou shalt see me, Theseus,

Doe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie.

Then take my life; Ile wooe thee too’t.

PERITHOUS.

O heaven,

What more then man is this!

THESEUS.

I have sworne.

ARCITE.

We seeke not

Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me

A thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it,

And no more mov’d: where this man calls me Traitor,

Let me say thus much: if in love be Treason,

In service of so excellent a Beutie,

As I love most, and in that faith will perish,

As I have brought my life here to confirme it,

As I have serv’d her truest, worthiest,

As I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it,

So let me be most Traitor, and ye please me.

For scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady

Why she is faire, and why her eyes command me

Stay here to love her; and if she say ‘Traytor,’

I am a villaine fit to lye unburied.

PALAMON.

Thou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus,

If unto neither thou shew mercy; stop

(As thou art just) thy noble eare against us.

As thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule

Whose 12. strong labours crowne his memory,

Lets die together, at one instant, Duke,

Onely a little let him fall before me,

That I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.

THESEUS.

I grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen

Has ten times more offended; for I gave him

More mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses

Being no more then his. None here speake for ‘em,

For, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever.

HIPPOLITA.

Alas the pitty! now or never, Sister,

Speake, not to be denide; That face of yours

Will beare the curses else of after ages

For these lost Cosens.

EMILIA.

In my face, deare Sister,

I finde no anger to ‘em, nor no ruyn;

The misadventure of their owne eyes kill ‘em;

Yet that I will be woman, and have pitty,

My knees shall grow to’th ground but Ile get mercie.

Helpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous