Ray. 
  I have known those, who foremost to advise,
  Were yet the last to venture on the battle.—­

Boh. 
  What means the Count of Thoulouse?—­

Ray.  Simply this;—­
  That some men thoughtlessly sit down to eat,
  Without having first obtained an appetite.—­

Boh. 
  By the Holy Sepulchre I swear,
  That knight must have some stomach who maintains,
  What you have just now utter’d—­

[Throws down his gauntlet.]
                                  There lays my guage—­
  If you will wear my glove, choose with what arms
  We shall decide this quarrel.—­

[Raymond advances to take up the glove.]

God. 
  Hold, Thoulouse, let it lay.—­
  I do impeach Bohemond of Tarentum of base wiles,
  And treachery most foul, to knighthood’s cause—­

Boh. 
  Why then take you the glove.—­

God. 
  In mine own cause I do accept the challenge.—­

[Takes up the glove.]

Alex. 
  Is our league dissolv’d, and shall the holy cause
  For which embattled Europe is in arms,
  Be idly given to the scorn of men,
  To gratify our passions and vile feuds?—­
  But speak Lorraine, for you have heretofore
  Been held the mediator in these jars—­
  Upon what quarrel do you thus arraign
  Bohemond of Tarentum?—­

God. 
  A gorgeous canopy, a present from
  The gov’nor of Armenia I have lost—­
  By what base means, Bohemond best can tell.—­

Boh. 
  True he can tell—­and briefly thus it is—­
  I won the silken bauble in a fight,
  And claim it as my spoil.—­

God. 
                             You basely stole
  The treasure of a friend—­Pancrates had
  The conduct of the present to my camp;
  You coward-like surprised him on the way,
  And robb’d him of my prize.—­

Boh. (Contemptuously) Well be it so—­
  I stole it, and will keep it—­
  You may keep the glove.—­

Alex. 
  Christians, forbear, the Infidels will laugh,
  To know a silken toy has broke our league,
  And sav’d the Sepulchre—­It must not be,
  My friends, that private discord shall cut short
  The work we have begun—­Bohemond, no—­
  Restore the treasure to its rightful Lord,
  And my pavilion shall replace the spoil.—­

Boh. 
  I do consent—­provided Godfrey will
  Return my glove to the brave Count of Thoulouse—­

Alex. 
  That’s nobly done Bohemond—­but the war
  ’Twixt you and Thoulouse, is a war of words—­
  Like two pert game cocks picking at a straw,
  You doubt each other’s courage—­then make proof
  Upon the Paynim forces if you please,
  Which is the braver man—­To-morrow’s field
  Will afford ample scope to try your blades
  Upon the common enemy of each,
  And leave unscathed his ally—­I propose,
  That he who first shall scale the citadel,
  And plant the Red-Cross banner on the walls,
  Shall be rewarded with the victor’s prize,
  And hold the government of Antioch—­
  What says the council?—­