Chapter VIII: Part 8

_Fer_. O no; my father doth affect the Prince: Besides, my sister's heart is so combin'd To his in perfect love that _Burbon's_ hate Nor all the world that knot can separate. Then sorrow not for him, but turne the streame Of gentle pity on thy wretched friend Within whose bosome love hath kindled fire So ardent that the flames will bury me. _Philip_ is throned in my sister's eyes, But in my love disdayne and hatred lyes.

_Pem_. Doth she not pay true kindnesse with the like?

_Fer_. As stepdames orphanes, night the cleer-fac't day, So doth she hate me and returne my woes Like a steeld Anvil backward on my selfe. She is all hate, yet such a lovely foe That I must kisse the sword that wounds me so.

_Pem_. Interre these thoughts, this is her fathers tent: Drum, give a friendly summons to the king.

_Fer_. Forbeare a while (deare _Pembroke_): by our vowes Which in the booke of heaven are registered, By all the rightes of friendship, by that love Thou bear'st thy native Country, I conjure thee This day to be the Trumpet of my worth; To speake the passions of thy grieved friend To _Katharine's_ ears, till those pure ivory gates, Pearst with the volley of thy battring words, Give way to my laments to touch her heart. For this have I extracted thee from many, Made thee my fellow Pilgrim to her shrine, Knowing thy thoughts from loves Religion free: When thy prayers fayle thy tongue may plead for me.

_Pem_. Must I be spokesman? _Pembrooke_ plead for love? Whose tounge tuned to the Instruments of war Never knew straine of fancy; on my breathe Affection never dwelt, but war and death! But if thou lov'dst to have thy soldiers fight, Or hearten the spent courages of men, _Pembrooke_ could use a stile invincible. Lov'dst thou a towne, Ide teach thee how to woo her With words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire,[112] Till with thy cannon battry she relent And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee. Or if not this, then mount thee on a steed Whose courage never awde an yron Bit, And thou shalt heare me hollow to the beast And with commanding accents master him. This courtship _Pembrooke_ knowes, but idle love, The sick-fac't object of an amorous brayne, Did never clothe mine eye-balls, never taught This toung, inurde to broyles and stratagems, The passionate language of a troubled heart: I am too blunt and rude for such nice service. Yet since my friend injoynes me to this taske, Take courage, Ile both speake, plead, woo for thee, And when I want fit words to move her mind Ile draw my sword and sweare she must be kind. Drummer, report our presence to the king.

_A parley and answered. Enter France, Flaunders
and attendants_.

_Lew_. Prince _Ferdinand_ and honourd English _Pembrooke_, Now by S. _Denis_ welcome! One runne straight And give our daughter notice of these ghests. What, man? we know you come prepar'd to woo, To woo, to winne: now by our sacred life We wish in soule our daughter were your wife. Our sonne is with your sister: faire hap wayt, For peace or war lives in your love or hate. Welcome once more: first weele go see your love, After to banquet and from thence to woo. Be merry then; weele share a friendly part, But you shall tryumph in our daughter's heart.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter_ Katharine, _her man_ Bowyer, _and a Paynter_.

_Kath_. See that the tent be ready furnished By this my father and those Lords are met, Mongst whom the noble _Pembrooke_, like the Sunne, Out-shines the borrowed glory of the rest. And well I may compare him to the Sunne, That but once lookt upon with his fayre shape Hath dazled my poore sences and left me blind. But, sirra, where's the man I bade you bring?

_Bow_. If you can judge of colours (madam) this is he. Paynter, stand forth.

_Kath_. An earnest cause (my friend) importunes me, Wherein I am to crave thy cunningst Arte.

_Payn_. Such as it is you may commaund, faire Princesse.

_Kath_. But are thy colours fresh, thy pensill smoothe? Thy hand unwavering, and thy head dislodg'd Of all unquiet harsh incumbrances? For thou must draw proportion of those parts Whose worth to tell my toung wants utterance.

_Payn_. Feare you not, Madam; I am well prepar'd.

_Kat_. Then hither strait with youthfull _Ferdinand_, _Navar's_ stout sonne, there comes an English Knight, _Pembrooke_ they call him, honourably borne. Him (when we are in conference) thou shalt marke And to the life set doune his counterfet. Nor is it needful I should shew him thee! The goodliest person in the traine, that's he.

_Bow_. Let me alone to give the Paynter destruction. I know him as well as the Begger knowes his dish[113]: he weares a white Scarfe in his hat and an Orange tawny feather upon his arme.

_Kath_. Foole, indirectly thou describ'st another, Thats Prince _Navar_: _Pembrooke_ his plume is Azure A little intermixt with spotlesse white, Prefiguring the temper of the Sky With whose hye motion his great mind doth move.

_Bow_. Orange tawny and Azure, all's one, all is but feather; there is no difference I am sure but in colour.

_Kath_. Why, thats as much as may be, is it not?

_Bow_. Not so, Ile prove the contrary: You are fayre and I am foule; is it that all the difference betweene you and I? there's another thing in it if you marke it well.

_Kath_. I prythee peace and with thy ignorance Draw not the Paynter likewise into errour. Here take thy stand; thou knowst him by these markes I lately spake of. Seeme to excell thine Arte And I will study to requite thy paynes.

_Enter Lewes, Ferdinand, Pembrooke, Rodoricke, and Flaunders_.

_Lew_. Thus did the Greeks, when they begirt the walles Of strong-built Troy, sometimes with friendly cheeks Entertayne peace and spend their frollick houres In courtly feasting of each other foe. Welcome, young _Ferdinand_! I promise you It cheeres my spirit we doe embrace you here: And welcome too, brave Lord. We cannot say, As if we were in Paris we might say, Your viands shall be costly: but presume, Such as the Camp affords, weele have the best. Daughter, I prythee bid them welcome.

_Kath_. My Lord, I doe, That with the Congy of a bended knee, But this with my true hearts[114] loyalty. Lords, you are welcome by my father's leave.

_Lew_. Why, now thou dost content thy father _Kate_, When wholy unto merryment inclined Thou answerst with like simpathy of mind.

_Ferd_. But yet her looks are haggard and obscure, Which makes me doubtfull sheele not stoop to lure.

_Lew_. Princes, let's enter: come, Ile lead the way! The feast is mine, you are my ghests this day.

_Ferd_. Now, _Pembrooke_, shew thy friendships true effect; Obtayne her love, my life thou shalt protect.

[_Exeunt Lew. Ferd. Rod. & Flaund_.

_Kath_.--He stayes behind the rest. O happy houre! Worke on (sweet Paynter) to inrich mine eye With that which els procures my tragedy.

_Pem_. Fayre Madam, in this confluence of sweet joy, When every one resorts unto the feast, Me thinkes you should not thus retyre alone, As seeming your best fare were heavy mone.

_Kath_. I am not (Sir) alone, nor do I starve My appetite with any wil-full fast; I have a banquet of sweet pleasing thoughts That is more precious then the costliest feast.

_Pem_. But at your father's boord there sits a ghest To whom the cup of _Ganimede_ will seeme But juice of Hemlocke, and the daintiest dish As much unsavory as the Pomice stone, Unlesse your presence season his delight.

_Kath_. I am sorry I want skill to serve his dyet; I have not bin instructed to such end.

_Pem_. But I will teach you (Madam) if you please.

_Kath_. Rather the party grieved first should shew Wherein we erre, els how can we discerne What is our fault or how we may amend?

_Pem_. That office he commits unto my toung.

_Kath_. Is he not able then to speake himselfe?

_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard when _Ferdinand_, With whom in _Padua_ I was conversant, So spake in the assembly of the learn'd, With such a grace and well composed phrase, As many thought grave _Tullies_ eloquence Flowed like a hony River from his lips.

_Kath_. He wanteth then belike sufficient courage.

_Pem_. Never liv'd Knight lesse prejudic'd in that Then valiant _Ferdinand_, whom I have seene Couch his stiffe[115] Launce with such dexterity As if the god of battell had himselfe Entered the Lists, and preassing to the midst Of steele-composed troops like lightning fly Till he had made a passage with his sword.

_Kath_. So puissant in his fortitude with men, And daunted with a silly womans looks! How can that be?

_Pem_. Yes, when you weygh the force Of your resistlesse and controwling beauty. It is your beauty, were his power and spirit Ten times more hauty-ventrous then it is, Compels it stoope in homage to your foot As trembling Lambs when they to Lions couch.

_Kath_. 'Twas well he chose so good an Orator To plead the imperfections of his cause.

_Pem_. I should have that opinion of my selfe If for my sake your Grace would favour him.

_Kath_. Yes, for your sake we have endur'd his name, And for your sake we tolerate his suite; But, when you cease to speake, then all that prayse You have attributed to his desert Seemes borrowed from your selfe; you are the man Whose eloquence compares with _Ciceroes_, You are the man whose knightly fortitude Lives in the world unprejudic'd of any, You vanquish beauty and inthrall the mind Of female weaknesse with no lesser awe Then Indian vassayles stoop unto their Lords. The name of _Ferdinand_ you have mista'ne. Say tis your selfe, and then your whole discourse Observes the perfect method that it should.

_Pem_. Should I be false and trecherous to my friend? I am intreated but to speake for him.

_Kath_. But for your selfe would be more acceptable. Oh pardon me, nor let immodest stayne[116] Cleave to my brow: my love is chastely bred. Other then _Pembrooke Katharine_ never vowes Shall be authoriz'd in her mayden thoughts.

_Pem_. Mistake me not, I say tis _Ferdinand_ Dyes in affection to your Deity.

_Kath_. But in affection I survive to none But onely _Pembrooke_.

_Pem_. Will you be esteem'd A cruel murdresse of a loyall friend?

_Kath_. Will _Pembrooke_ triumph in a womans fall?

_Pem_. You anger me. Respect young _Ferdinand_.

_Kath_. You please me not to speake of _Ferdinand_.

_Pem_. Nay, then, tis time to go or wrong my friend. Since, Madam, what I would I cannot doe, Mine honour here bids me leave off to woo. [_Exit_.

_Kath_. Stay, _Pembrooke_, Katharine will sue to thee; So shalt thou keepe thy fayth and loyalty.

_Bow_. Tary, sir, tary, we want the length of your nose: nay, if you will not heare, Ile be so bold as to follow your nose. Sir, tary, tary. [_Exit_.

_Kath_. He will not heare nor (too unkind) looke backe.

_Payn_. But, Madam, spight his heart you shall see this.

_Kath_. Give me his picture. Image far more kind Then is the substance whence thou art deriv'd, Which way soever I divert my selfe Thou seemst to follow with a loving eye. Thee will I therefore hold within my armes As some small comfort to increasing harmes.

_Enter Ferd_.

_Ferd_.--What meanes my second selfe by this long stay? I cannot rest till I be certified What good or bad successe my suite returnes. But he is gone, and in faire _Katharines_ hand I see his picture. What may this pretend?

_Kath_. Thou hast done well indeed, in every part Thou shewst complete and cunning workmanship; His eye, his lip, his cheeke are rightly fram'd, But one thing thou hast grossly over-slipt: Where is his stubborne unrelenting heart That lurkes in secret as his master doth, Disdayning to regard or pity me.

_Payn_. Madam, his heart must be imagined By the description of the outward parts.

_Kath_. O no, for then it would be tractable, Mild and applausive as the others be.

_Ferd_. No Prince but _Pembrooke_ dwels in _Katharines_ eye.

[_Kath_] Whose that disturbs our pleasing solitude?

_Ferd_. Know you not me? my name is _Ferdinand_, Whose faithfull love Lord _Pembrooke_ late commenct.

_Kath_. Speake then for _Pembrooke_ as he did for you Or els your bootlesse suite will soon be cold.

_Ferd_. Why he was Orator in my behalfe. If I should speake for him, as he for me, Then should I breathe forth passions[117] not mine owne.-- I, I, tis so; the villaine in my name Hath purchas'd her affection for himselfe, And therefore was he absent from the feast, And therefore shuns my sight and leaves behind This counterfet to keep him still in mind. Tis so, tis so; base Traytor, for this wronge My sword shall cut out thy perfidious toung. [_Exit_.

_Enter Bowyer_.

_Bow_. I have runne till I sweat, sweat till my shirt cleaves to my backe, cryed till I am hoarse, and am hoarse till I cannot cry; and yet he will not come backe.

_Kath_. No matter, fellow, I have here a pledge Which I will zealously devote me to.-- There's thy reward: withdraw, my father comes.

[_Exit Painter_.

_Enter Lewes_.

_Lew_. Where are these Lords? the one hath sate with me And suddenly is risen from the boord, The other came not at all. Daughter, saw you The Prince or _Pembrooke_ which way they are gone?

_Kath_. Backe to their Tents, my Lord, as I suppose.

_Lew_. Back to their tents and take no leave of us? Nay, then I feare their meaning was too smoothe And some black Treason cover'd in their smiles. Which we will seeke immediately to prevent.

[_Exeunt_.

_Actus Secundus_.

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter Dicke Bowyer and soldiers, with Drum and colours_.

_Bow_. Stand, give the word along, stand.

_Lieu_. Stand there!

_Bow_. Lieutenant.

_Lieu_. Captayne.

_Bow_. Is the watch set in the King's quarter yet.

_Lieu_. An houre agoe.

_Bow_. 'Zounds what foolish Canaanits were they to run in debt to their eyes for an houres sleepe sooner then they needed! Sergeant.

_Ser_. Anon, Sir.

_Bow_. Anon, Sir! s'hart the Rogue answers like a Drawer, but tis the tricke of most of these Sergeants, all clincum clancum. Gods dynes[118], I am an _Onyon_ if I had not rather serve formost in the forlorne hoope of a battell or runne poynt blancke against the mouth of a double charged Cannon then come under the arrests of some their pewter pessels. Zounds, tis hotter a great deale then hell mouth and _Dives_ burning in Sulphur: but thou art none of the genealogy of them. Where must we watch to night?

_Serg_. In the furthest Trenches that confront the enemies campe.

_Bow_. Thats the next way to have all our throats cut.

_Lieu_. That cannot be; you know, Captain, there's a peace toward.

_Bow_. A pox a peace, it keeps our Ancient whole, but s'hart our gaberdines go to wrack. But _futra_! tis well known since _Dick Bowyer_ came to France he hath shewed himselfe a gentleman and a Cavaliero and sets feare at's heeles. And I could scape (a pox on it) th'other thing, I might haps return safe and sound to England. But what remedy? al flesh is grasse and some of us must needes be scorcht in this hote Countrey. Lieutenant _Core_, prithee lead my Band to their quarter; and the rogues do not as they should, cram thy selfe, good _Core_, downe their throats and choak them. Who stands Sentronell to night, Sir?

_Sol_. That must I, Captayne.

_Bow_. You, _Rafe Nod_? zounds, soldiers, follow my discipline, say your prayers, you are all dead men, all dust and ashes, all wormes meat.

_Lieu_. How so, Captayne?

_Bow_. Doe you make him Sentronell? s'hart heele nod[119] presently: and he do not sleepe sitting upon the poynt of a Spanish needle, _Dicke Bowyer's_ a very shittle-cocke. _Nod_! zounds, he is one of the nine sleepers, a very Dormouse: & I had a pageant to present of the seven deadly Sinnes[120], he should play Slouth; and he did not sleepe when he should speake his part I am a Badger.

_Soul_. That's true; you have halfe the nature of a Badger, for one leg is shorter then another.

_Bow_. Zounds, you Rogue, doe not you know that? Ile tell you: s'hart and I lye, call me Jebuzite. Once as I was fighting in S. Georges fields, and blind Cupid seeing me and taking me for some valiant _Achilles_, he tooke his shaft and shot me right into the left heele; and ever since _Dick Bowyer_ hath beene lame. But my heart is as sound as a bell: heart of Oake, spirit, spirit! Lieutenant, discharge _Nod_ and let _Cricket_ stand Sentronell till I come.

_Lieu_. He shall, Captayne.

_Bow_. On afore! strike Drum, march soldiers, keep your place, Nod. Lusty, my harts, for the honour of England and our brave General the Earle of Pembrooke! [_Exeunt soldiers_.] So I have discharg'd my selfe of these. Hot shot![121] now to my love. Some may say the tale of Venus loving Mars is a fable, but he that is a true soldier and a Gent. as Dick Bowyer is, & he do not love some varlet or other, zounds he is worse then a gaping Oyster without liquor. There's a pretty sweet fac't mother[122] that waits on the princesse that I have some mind to; but a whorson _Architophel_, a parasite, a rogue, one whose face looks worse then a Tailors cushen of old shreds and colours, zounds like a weavers leg in an old ditch feeding horseleaches; & this trotter is my ryval & loves _Thomasin_: his name is _Peter de Lions_, but s'hart (I will not sweare neither) if I do not turne Rich. _Cor de Lion_ with him, if I do not teare out his heart and eate it with mustard, let him say Dick Bowyer's a Mackarell. Yonder hee comes with my property hand in hand. Zounds! I say nothing, but ile heare what they say and determine afterward.

_Enter Peter and Thomasin_.

_Pet_. Thomasin, you know me, I hate prolixity: in a word, my humour is thus, I love.

_Bow_.--And I do not spoyle that humor, so--

_Pet_. Your answere compendiously & avoyd prolixity.

_Tom_. Mary muffe[123]! by Jesu I scorne to humble the least part about me to give answere to such a trothing question: as I live it joults mine eares worse in hearing then the princes coach on a broken cawsey.

_Pet_. _Thomasin_, leave this pace & take me with you[124]. My Lord loves your Lady, yet I heare she is this night betrothed to the Prince of France: I love you & shall I lose you? No: I hate prolixity; in a word, the end is Ile mary you.

_Tho_. Prety, as God save me! What will Captaine Bowyer say to that if he should know it?

_Bow_.--A good Rogue, by Jesu!

_Pet_. Bowyer a Captayne? a Capon, a button mould, a lame haberdine[125], a red beard Sprat, a Yellowhammer, a bow case, a very Jackdaw with his toung slit.

_Bow_.--Zounds, what a Philistine is this! what a dictionary of proper names hath the Rogue got together! heart, his toung crawles as fast as the cheese doth in Germany. Ile pearce you for this, you Lobster.

_Pet_. Bowyer? _mordu! futra_[126] for him! and that sowre crab do but leere at thee I shall squeeze him to Vargis[127].

_Bow_. And you squeeze me I may haps grow saucy with you, you whorson burnd Pudding pye, you drye Parsnip. Kisse me, Thomasin. So, dare you stand to your word now and squeeze me.

_Pet_. Stumps, I challenge thee for this indignity. Bowyer, I will gyrd my selfe with thy guts. I am a souldiour and a Captayne.

_Bow_. Captayne? s'hart, and thou hast under thy charge any other then Pigmies I am a Gogmagog. Dost thou heare, sowgelder? and I do not with sixe Cranes (wel marshald) overrunne thee and thy hundred and fifty, say Dick Bowyer's a coward.

_Pet_. For that word draw.

_Tho_. Hold, Gentlemen.

_Bow_. Peace, good Thomasin, silence, sweet socket [sucket?]. Peter, dost see this sword? this sword kild Sarlaboys, that was one Rogue: now it shall kill thee, that's two Rogues. Whorson puttock[128], no garbage serve you but this? have at you!

_As they fight enters Pembrooke_.

_Pem_. Who's this at enmity within our Camps? What! Bowyer and the servant to great Burbon? Both sheathe your weapons: by our martiall law This act is death.

_Bow_. Ile be hangd then. Dost thou heare, noble Generall? Dicke Bowyer knowes what belongs to service: we did not draw of any malice, by this element of iron & steele, but to measure which of our swords were longest.--Ile save you for once, you Sarazen, because I see youle hang scurvily: but the next time--

_Pem_. Good Captayne Bowyer, let our English troops Keepe a strong watch to night: my throbbing heart, Like to a Scritchowle in the midnight houre, Bodes some black scene of mischiefe imminent.

_Bow_. Never feare, Generall: if Julius Caesar rise up against us, e're he do my Lord any wrong, zounds Ile be cut smaller then pot-hearbs. Ile to the trenches: come, Thomasin.--Leere not, Lobster, lest I thump that russeting[129] face of yours with my sword hilt till that it looke as pyde colourd as the Rainbow. By Jesu, Ile do it, and therefore follow me not. [_Exeunt_.

_Pem_. Why should this loade of griefe lye on my heart With such a ponderous waight? I know no cause, Unlesse it be by thinking on the wrong My friend receyves in the unmatched love Which Katherine beares me: yet my fayth is sound, And like a solid Rock shall check her teares. Katharine loves me; yet, for my friends delight, Pembrooke will hate her love and flye her sight.

[_Exit_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Burbon, Navar, Philip, Bellamira, Rodoricke, and attendants_.

_Bur_. Navar, you sprinckle me with foule reproch And dimme the luster of our royall name With colours of dishonour.

_Nav_. Heare me, Burbon.

_Bur_. What words can satisfy so great a wrong? Have you not, with consent of all your Lords, Promis'd your daughter to this generous prince?

_Nav_. Their true love forst us to it.

_Bur_. True love? 'tis faynd.

_Phil_. Ha, Burbon!

_Bel_. Gentle Philip--

_Phil_. With my sword Ile prove my love unfayned, thee a false Lord.

_Bur_. This like a Sanctuary frees thy toung And gives thee childish liberty of speech, Which els would fawne and crouch at Burbons frowne.

_Phil_. Now by St. Denis--

_Bur_. Ile not chat with boyes: Navar, to thee I speak. Thy daughters looks, Like the North Star to the Sea-tost Mariners, Hath brought me through all dangers, made me turne Our royall Palace to this stage of death, Our state and pleasure to a bloudy Campe, And with the strength and puissance of our force To lift thy falling and decayed state Even to her pristine glory. In thy quarrell, Burbon hath set himselfe against his king And soyl'd his greatnesse with a Traytors name, Now when our worth expected rich reward, Fayre Bellamira, wonder of her time, Must Philip have her?

_Phil_. Burbon, she is mine.

_Bur_. _Mortdew_! Ile be reveng'd, by heaven I will, Or I will pave these plaines with the dead bodies Of our deare subjects. We have sworne thy fall: That oathes thy death, our rage thy funerall.

_Nav_. Heare our excuse.

_Bur_. We will not credit ayre. --Peter, watch Rodorick: when the prince is gone Tell him Ide speake with him.

_Pet_.--Enough, tis done.

_Bur_. Navar, this setting Sun, which sees our wrong, Shall e're his morrowes beames gui[l]de the proud East, View _Himens_ rites turnd to a tragick feast. [_Exit Burbon_.

_Nav_. His anger beares him hence. Young prince of France, Since, to reduce our enmity to love And thereby like a fayre and lovely Bryde To mary peace to France, we are content To bring the sea-tost barke of your affects, Halfe shipwrackt with the tempest of these wars, To their desired port, as we agreed, Go to your father and informe him thus: If personally heele view our friendly Tents And seale these Articles of peace proposde, This night you shall be troth-plight to our child.

_Phil_. Were it to search the furthest Northern clime Where frosty Hyems with an ycie Mace Strikes dead all living things, Ide find it out, And borrowing fire from those fayre sunny eyne Thaw Winters frost and warme that dead cold clime: But this impose is nothing, honour'd King. Ile to my father and conduct him hither; For whilst my soule is parted from her sight This earth is hell, this day a tedious night. Come, Rodorick, you shall beare me company.

[_Exeunt Phil. Pet. & Rod_.

_Pet_. He shall not, for Ile stay him instantly.

_Nav_. 'Twere pity to keepe two such loves asunder. Daughter, you & your Ladies to your tent And deck you richly to receive the prince.

[_Exit Bella_.

_Enter Pemb., after him Ferd_.

My Lord of Pembrooke, happily returnd! How doth our sonne? See where he comes himselfe. Speake, boy: how spedst thou with fayre Katherine?

_Ferd_. I know not how.--Is trothlesse Pembrooke there?

_Nav_. Be not dismayd; at length sheele pity thee. Sonne, bid our Officers adorne our Court In her chiefe glory, for this happy night Shall set a period to this smarting war. Your sister shalbe troth-plight to Prince Philip, And France and we made friends about it then. Pembrooke, have you the charge to see our Captaines Prepare a martiall welcome to the King. Ile not be idle: since Navar was crownd Our heart with so much joy did ne're abound. [_Exit Navar_.

_Fer_. Nor mine with so much hate. Pembrooke, a word.

_Pem_. What wills your Grace?

_Fer_. That Pembrooke is a villayne. Looke not so strange: I speake it; not your friend; But hee that in his soule hath sworne thine end.

_Pem_. A villayne? and my death? I am amaz'd: Art thou awake, or is all this a dreame.

_Fer_. A dreame of death. Meet me to morrow morning, As thou art Pembrooke and a Gentleman, By yon fayre River side which parts our Camps. You know the place: come armde, and so farewell.

_Pem_. Deare friend.

_Fer_. Push! meet me.

_Pem_. Ferdinand, I will.

_Fer_. Revenge, smile on, thou shalt drink bloud thy fill.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Peter standing sentronell_.

_Pet_. This is my wayting night: tis for no good That I stand sentronell. Well, good or ill, I care not greatly, so I get the gold: Therefore, to avoyd prolixity, here walke I. Here comes the men that must reward my paine.

_Enter Burbon and Rodoricke_.

_Bur_. Have you the poyson?

_Rod_. And a strong one too. Heere's a preservative to save your hand: When Rodoricke fayles your Lordship, heaven shall fayle To illuminate the world with cheereful light.

_Bur_. Then here about should Peter wayt for me, For this is the Pavilion of the Princesse.

_Pet_. My Lord.

_Bur_. Peter.

_Pet_. Here is the key that opens to the Tent: I stole it from my sweet heart Thomasin. Enter without prolixity, woo and winne the Lady; But give me gold (my Lord) and Ile to Dice.

_Bur_. Hold, take thy fill.

_Pet_. And it shall goe as fast.

_Bur_. Now, gentle Peter, get thee unto rest. My businesse craves the absence of the world: None but my selfe and Rodoricke shall behold The secret complot that I doe intend.

_Pet_. I goe, my Lord. [_Exit_.

_Bur_. Now, blessed key, open unto my love, Doe more then loving lynes or words can doe. My letters have bin answerd with disdayne: Her father I have mov'd to gayne my love, But he is frosty in my fervent suite; And now perforce I will obtayne her love Or ease her puling hatred by revenge.

_Rod_. You stay too long: Ile help to turne the key.

_Discover her sitting in a chayre asleepe_.

_Bur_. What do I see? the majesty of heaven Sit in a mayden slumber on the earth? What, is my Bellamira turnd a goddesse? Within the table of her glorious face Methinks the pure extraction of all beauty Flowes in abundance to my love-sick eye. O, Rodoricke, she is admirably fayre; And sleeping if her beauty be so rare How will her eyes inchaunt me if she wake. Here, take the poyson; Ile not stayne her face For all the treasure of the Westerne Island.

_Rod_. I see no such admired perfection. Waken her, Burbon, and this loving charme, Which now hath led your sences prisoner, Will vanish, and her speach, full of reproofe, Beget a new phantasma all of hate. Thou wilt detest her when she shall deny thee.

_Bur_. Waken her Roderick, for I want the power.

_Rod_. I hope I am disguisde sufficiently That Bellamira cannot know my face.-- Madam, fayre Bellamira!

_Bel_. Here I am: Who calls on Bellamira?

_Bur_. I, fayre love; The Duke of Burbon that doth honor thee.

_Bel_. The Duke of Burbon in my Tent so late! Where is my Gard? what, Peter, Thomasin!

_Rod_. Step to her and restrayne her lest she call: Ile be a looker on and be unknowne.

_Bur_. What needs your Highnesse call for any Gard Since you are garded with a faythfull frend? Behold me, Madam, humbly on my knee Come to renew my suite: vouchsafe me love Or with this weapon take away my life. Much better 'twere a thousand times to dye Then live in torment of your scorching eye. You have inflam'd my hearte; oh quench that flame Or into cinders turne my haplesse truncke, Haplesse in being unbelov'd by you.

_Bel_. My Lord of Burbon, you presume too much On th' extremity of passion. Have I not answerd many an idle letter With full assurance that I cannot love? Have I not often _viva voce_ checkt Your courtly kindnes, frownd upon your smiles, Usde you unkindly, all to weane your love? And doe you still persever in your suite? I tell thee, Burbon, this bold part of thine, To breake into my Tent at dead of night, Deserves severe correction, and the more Because it brings mine honour into question. I charge thee, as thou art a Gentleman, Betake thee to thine own Pavilion, And let this answere satisfie for all: Burbon, I cannot nor I will not love thee.

_Bur_. Cannot nor will not? Zounds, Madam, but you must.

_Bel_. Must I?

_Bur_. And shall.

_Bel_ You will not force me to it?

_Bur_. Or force that sparkling beauty from your face. Looke not so fiercely nor cry out for helpe, For if you doe this makes you cry your last. Seing neyther words, kind letters, hearty sighes. Humble intreaty nor a world of payne Can move you to take pitty of my love, But Tyrant-like your beauty seeks my life; I will blot out that beauty with this juice. Thus, thus I wipe away my passions, Thus doe I heale the torments of my love, Thus doe I ransome my inthralled eye, And by depriving of the cause of life Kill th' effect, which was a world of sorrow. Farewell, foule Bellamira; I am pleasde In this revenge that no way could be easde. [_Exit_.

_Rod_.--Zounds, he has don't: now, Roderick, joy thy fill. Burbon is thine, the Dukedome is thine owne, For only he in the Inheritance Stood as an obstacle to let my clayme. This deed of his will take away his life: And then let me alone to enjoy his land. Ile steale away unseene, cause unsuspected; I would not for the world be once detected. [_Exit_.

_Bel_. Poyson my face! oh most inhuman wretche! Revenge more vile then to abbridge my life. What, Thomasin! What, brother Ferdinand! My kingly father! is there none that heares? Then Treason, treason! let that waken you, For capitall is this offence to me.

_Enter Navar, Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Thomasin_.

_Tho_. O Jesu! mistris, what ayles your face?

_Nav_. Her face!

_Ferd_. Tis spotted like a Panthers skin.

_Pem_. O were those spots as kindly beautiful Then were fayre Bellamira undeform'd.

_Nav_. O what divine power hath sent this Leprosy?

_Ferd_. Say, beautious Sister.

_Pem_. Speake, fayre Bellamira.

_Nav_. My sweet daughter, speake.

_Pem_. Her silence argues a tormented spirit.

_Ferd_.--Thy countenance argues a deceitfull soule.

_Enter Lewes, Philip, Rodoricke and Flaunders_.

_Lew_. Where is Navar?

_Phil_. Where is fayre Bellamira?

_Bel_. My Philip! oh give leave to fly his sight.

_Nav_. Stay, gentle daughter; heele not injure thee.

_Lew_. Heere are the Articles concluded on. I could not rest till I had signed them And brought them to your Highnesse. A moneth hence The mariage shall be fully solemnized, So please your Majesty and your fayre daughter. Are you content?

_Nav_. To live in discontent.

_Phil_. Methinks this royall presence hath dim lookes. Is it because they are in the armes of night, Which sets a leaden lustre in the eye? Or hath some accident occoasted [sic] them That troubles their aspect with melancholy? Is Navar well? is Ferdinando well? Is Pembrooke well? is Bellamira well? 0 where is Bellamira? tell me, Princes, For now my tongue hath strooke upon her name I feele a kind of killing extasie. Where is she? in her Tent?

_Bel_.--Deny me father. I would not see Prince Philip with this face.

_Phil_. Why speak you not? what, have I toucht the string Whereon the burden of your sorrow lyes? Father, look round about: see you my love? Rodoricke, look round about: see you my love?

_Lew_. I see her not.

_Rod_. Nor I.

_Phil_. I say not so: The garments that she weares mine eye should know. What Lady's this that hides her heavenly face? Here are no Basilisks with killing eyes: You need not hide your beauty: sweet, look up, Me thinks I have an interest in these lookes. What's here? a Leper amongst Noble men? What creatures thys? why stayes she in this place? Oh, tis no marvell though she hide her face, For tis infectious: let her leave the presence, Or Leprosie will cleave unto us all.

_Bel_. O let me leave the presence, gentle father, When Philip bids his Bellamira goe.

_Phil_. My Bellamira!

_Lew_. How? my sonnes belov'd!

_Phil_. Is this my love? was this your beauteous child?

_Nav_. My child.

_Ferd_. My sister.

_Pem_. Beauteous Bellamira.

_Nav_. Spotted.

_Ferd_. Disfigured.

_Pem_. Made a loathsome Leper.

_Rod_. How came this sudden alteration? For she was comely, lovely, beautiful, When the day left his Charriot to the night.

_Nav_. That heaven doth know, and onely Bellamira. Daughter, I charge thee, tell me how it came.

_Bell_. Burbon, oh Burbon,--

_Lew_. Did he doe the deed?

_Bell_. He came into my Tent at dead of night And rubd my face with an infectuous herbe Because I would not graunt unto his love. I cry'd for helpe, but none did succour me.

_Rod_.--I know he did and laugh to thinke on [i]t.

_Lew_. And he shall rue his treason.

_Phil_. Threaten not; Leave the revenge to me whom it concernes. Tis I am robd of a delicious looke, A heavenly sparkling brow, a starry eye, A countenance fayrer than Auroraes lookes When all the East is guilded with her blush. Tis I will be reveng'd, but not before I have espoused my lovely Bellamira.

_Lew_. Espoused her!

_Nav_. How? marry a face deform'd!

_Ferd_. A leprous creature!

_Pem_. An infectuous mayd!

_Rod_. One whose sores are perchance incureable!

_Phil_. Be they incureable, it is my Love, And for my sake she hath indur'd this wrong; And should I now forsake her thus distrest I could not merit a true Lovers name. To shew I love her I will marry her Before the moneth expire, nay in the morne: Delayes, perchance, may make her think I scorne.

_Bel_. Marry with me? fetch me a looking glasse That I may see how sweet a bride I am. Oh I detest my selfe. Deare, hate me, too: I am not to be maryed but to death. Though I were Empresse of the spacious world Ide lay my selfe and kingdome at thy feet. Live, noble Philip, joy some happy match; Tis my unworthinesse makes me deny thee.

_Phil_. Thinkst thou, because thy face is spotted, so Thou art not worthy of thy Philips love? Thy face to me was but a Mar[e]s[c]hall To lodge thy sacred person in my mind, Which long agoe is surely chambred there. And now what needs an outward Harbinger? I doe affect, not superficially: My love extendeth further than the skin. The inward Bellamira tis I seeke, And unto her will Philip be espousde.

_Nav_. Oh admirable love!

_Lew_. O my deare sonne, Thou makest me famous by thy loyalty.

_Rod_. I never heard the like.

_Pem_. Pen never writ A worthyer Story to posterity.

_Ferd_.--Pen never writ of a more treacherous friend Then, Pembrooke, thou hast prov'd to Ferdinand.

_Phil_. Sweet Love, prepare thee to be Philips Bryde; For heere I sweare, as I am royall borne, Ile marry thee before the mornings Sunne Hath runne the third part of his glorious course. Father, good night; deare friends, deare Love, good night: Mariage, I hope, will make my spirits more light. [_Exit_.

_Nav_. Good night, sweet son. King Lewes, stay with me; Be thou my comforter, Ile comfort thee.

[_Exeunt kings_.

_Ferd_. Pembrook, remember that thou faile me not. [_Exit_.

_Pem_. O God, what may these moody lookes intend? Me thinks, I should have better from my friend. [_Exit_.

_Bel_. Now, Bellamira, thou hast time to thinke Upon these troublous matters. Should I suffer So brave a Gentleman as Philip is To wed himselfe to my unworthy selfe, It would be counted vertue in the Prince But I were worthy of a world of blame. No, Philip, no; thou shalt not wrong thine honour Nor be impeacht by Bellamiraes spots. In some disguise Ile steale away to-night And ne're appeare more in my Philips sight.

[_Exit_.

_Actus Tertius_.

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter Dicke Bowyer_.

_Bow_. There is no toyle to this walkinge of the Round. S'hart, I have been stumbling up and downe all this night like a Brewers horse that has ne're a good eye in his head. Tis as darke as Pitch: I can resemble our Campe to nothing better then hell, save that in hell they are always waking and heere the villaynes are as drowsie as swyne. Lieutenant Nod! why you might have shot a double Cannon in his eare and never have wakt him. I jogd and I jogd, I showted and I showted, and yet the mungrel snorted, you might heare him to Dover: at last I dragd him by the heeles into a ditch of water and there left the Lobster crawling. A the tother side, Core being appoynted to stand sentynell upon the Wallounes quarter, s'hart the Loach gets me into a Sutlers bath and there sits mee drinking for Joanes best cap: but by this hand, and as Dicke Bowyer is a Soldier and a Cavaliero, he shall sit in the boults for it to morrow. My comfort is in these extremities that I brought Thomasin to her Ladies Tent, leaving her new-come Lover to picke strawes. But, soft: _qui vou la_?[130]

_Enter Ferdinand_.

_Ferd_. My name is Ferdinand.

_Bow_. Stand!

_Ferd_. Why, Captayne, thou dost knowe me well inough.

_Bow_. Know or not know, without the word you passe not.

_Ferd_. Soliman.

_Bow_. So, _allie, allie, Monseur_.

_Ferd_. First, tell me, sawest thou Pembrooke come this way?

_Bow_. I saw him not.

_Ferd_. Farewell. [_Exit_.

_Bow_. As much to you. Zounds, these French think to outface us with a card of ten[131]: but, and his beard were made of brasse, Dicke Bowyer will make him know the discipline of war. Here comes another.

_Enter Pembrooke_.

_Pem_. Who's there? Dick Bowyer?

_Bow_. Some call me so: what then?

_Pem_. Pembrooke salutes thee.

_Bow_. O good morrow, my Lord, good morrow.

_Pem_. I prythee, Captayne, sawst thou Ferdinand, Sonne to Navar, as thou didst walke the round.

_Bow_. Even now, my Lord, he past along this way.

_Pem_. Himselfe alone? or had he company?

_Bow_. Nay, questionlesse, he was alone, my Lord.

_Pem_. Couldst thou discerne his face? how did he looke?

_Bow_. Faith, scurvily, my Lord, like a greene cheese or the inside of a rotten Pumpian.[132]

_Pem_. There is Crownes for thee to drinke. [_Exit Pem_.

_Bow_. I thanke your Lordship. To see the difference betweene these French Curres and our English Cavaliers! There's as much bounty in them as there's Marchpane in a dish of Almond butter. I might have stood heere till my teeth chatter in my head e're the tother Launcepresado[133] would have sayd, Here, Captayn Bowyer, there's a Cardicue[134] to wash downe melancholy. But, had I knowne as much, I would have basted him till his bones had rattled in his skin.

_Enter Core and other Souldiers bringing in the Clowne_.

_All_. Come, sir, you shall answere your walking before our Captayne.

_Clow_. Well, sirs, take heed what you doe: I am a Princes man; if you stay me upon the kings hye way I can lay fellowship to your charge.

_Core_. But, sirra, we can lay Treason to thine for being without the word.

_Clow_. Without the word! O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why, I have call'd thee Villayne, him Rascall, this Slave, that Rogue; and am I still without the word.

_Core_. I, sir, the word that must serve your turne, the Watch-word.

_Clow_. Fayth, y'are like to watch this twelve moneth ere you have any other words at my hands.

_Bow_. How now, masters? what calfe are you dragging to the slaughter-house there, ha?

_Core_. A stragler and a spy, Captayne, I pray examine him.

_Bow_. So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at last: Ile talke with you anon. But, sirra, to you: From whence come you?

_Clow_. I came, Sir, from the king of Fraunces campe.

_Bow_. So, what's your name?

_Clow_. My name, sir, is Bow wow.

_Bow_. S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedge-hog mocks us. Bow wow, quotha? what kin art thou to the generation of Dogges?

_Clow_. No dog, sir: would you should know it, though I be encompast with curres.

_Bow_. Zounds, he calls us curres! hang the hotch-potch up in a fathom or two of match.

_Clow_. Not you, sir; I call not you so. I know you to be a very insufficient ill-spoken Gentleman.

_Bow_. Well, sirra, whom do you serve?

_Clow_. My master, sir, is the Lady Catherine, the French king's daughter. I have bin abroad about some businesse of hers, and am now going backe againe.

_Bow_. An honorable Lady, sir. Let him goe; tis against the law of armes to stay him.

_Clow_. Stand of. But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Lady may give you thanks.

_Bow_. My name's Dick Bowyer.

_Clow_. Then, master Dicke Bowyer, after my heartie commendations, adue! but as for the rest I shall, I say no more, I shall. [_Exit_.

_Bow_. How now, Core? how can you answer your being a tippling when you should stand Sentinel?

_Core_. Beleeve me, Captayne, I had but a whiffe or two; for I was passing dry.

_Bow_. Thou art alwayes dry: the whorson Maultworm has a throat like the burning Clyme or a Glassemakers Furnace. But your remove from thence has sav'd you from the boults. How now? what Water-Spanyell have we heere?

_Enter Nod_.

_Core_. Tis Lieutenant Nod.

_Nod_. Captayne, deride me not. I protest I came by this mischaunce by good service, by following a spy that came to discover our army.

_Bow_. O notable Rogue! did not I find thee asleepe and threw thee into a ditch?

_Nod_. Was't you? by this light, I took you for a spy.

_Bow_. Yet saw me not no more then a Molewarp. This is an egregious Rogue.

_Nod_. Yes, I saw you well ynough and I did but try how you would use me.

_Bow_. By this flesh and bloud many one that lyes in his grave was not halfe so sencelesse. But the Watch breakes up: every one to his quarter, away!

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Clowne_.

_Clow_. Tis true, they are gone together, and I am sent to watch Prince Ferdinand and the Earle of Pembrooke. This way they went, but they are got out of sight. I were very bad to be a hound, that have no better a sent. If they were hares as they are men, I should think them squatted. But, husht! here comes one of them.

_Enter Ferdinand_.

_Ferd_. The morne lookes red, red mornes doe threat a storme; That storme shall light on Pembrooke or my selfe. This is our meeting place; here runnes the streame That parts our camps; the time consorts the place; And (Pembrooke) if thy reputation hold, It is thy q. to enter.

_Enter Pembrooke_.

_Clow_. Heere comes the tother; this is lucke upon lucke. Now will I run and fetch my mistris the Lady Katharine to part their fray. [_Exit_.

_Pem_. Good end succeed my early heavynesse! Three times my feet, as loth to guide me hither, Have stumbled in a playne and even way. My sword forsooke his scabbard once or twice; Bloud from my nostrills thrice hath spowted forth, And such a dymnesse overrunnes my sight That I have tane a tree to bee a man And question'd with it about serious things. This is the place where I must meet my friend: Yonder he stands.--Good morrow, Ferdinand.

_Ferd_. Good morrow to thy death. Draw, Pembrooke, draw, The ground thou treadst upon must be thy grave.

_Pem_. Draw upon Ferdinand?

_Ferd_. I, upon me. Dally not, Pembrooke; I am bent to fight And that with thee for the best blood thou bearst.

_Pem_. You have some reason for this resolution.

_Ferd_. My will.

_Pem_. A sorry argument to kill your friend. I must have better reason then your will Or Ile not draw upon my Ferdinand. Our love is older then of one dayes growth; A yeres continuance hath united us. Have we not made an enterchange of othes, Sworne love to one another twenty times, Confirmd that friendship by society, Encreasde it with the simpathy of mind, Making one pleasure pleasure unto both? And shall this bond be broken upon will?

_Ferd_. Then youle not draw?

_Pem_. Yes, neerer to thy person In friendly sort to embrace thee, Ferdinand.

_Ferd_. Thou art a coward and thou dar'st not fight.

_Pem_. Thou knowst the contrary, for we have fought At every weapon to approve our skill.

_Ferd_. Goe to, you are a villayne and a coward, And by the royall bloud that gave me life Ile kill thee, Pembrooke, though thou do not draw.

_Pem_. Kill me? thou wilt not wrong thine honour so?

_Ferd_. Zounds but I will; &, traitor, take thou that.
[_Wounds him_.

_Pem_. Wound me so desperately? nay, then, Ile draw, Not to offend but to defend my selfe. Now I perceyve it is my blood thou seekst. Witnesse, you heavens and all you gracious powers That stand auspicious to this enterprise, That Pembrooke drawes forth an unwilling sword.

_Ferd_. Why, so; now manfully defend thy selfe.

_Pem_. Another wound? then Pembrook, rowse thy spirit And beare no longer with this haire-braynd man. Yet (Ferdinand) resolve me of the cause That moves thee to this unkind enterprise, And if I satisfie thee not in words This double wound shall please thee with my bloud; Nay, with my sword Ile make a score of wounds Rather then want of bloud divorce thy love.

_Ferd_. I hate thee deadly and I seeke thy life: What other reason, Pembrook, wouldst thou have? Prepare, prepare, in this conflict to show Thou art a knight and canst o'recome thy foe.

_Pem_. And if I spare thee not, impute the cause To thine owne rashnes and mine aking wounds.

_Fight, and hurt eche other; both fall downe as dead_.

_Ferd_. I hope I have slayne thee.

_Pem_. Oh I feare thy life. How fares my Ferdinand?

_Ferd_. What? liv'st thou yet? Then my fare is ill.

_Pem_. I am markt for death, I feele a generall fayntnesse through my lymmes; Expence of bloud will soone expend my life.

_Ferd_. The like debility my joynts doe feele.

_Pem_. Then we must both dye. In the latest of death Tell me, oh tell me, whence proceeds this hate?

_Ferd_. I feare not (Pembrooke) to discover now. Thou wert my Spokes-man unto Katherine And treacherously thou stol'st away her heart. Oh I can say no more, my spirits doe faynt: Pembrooke, farewell; I have reveng'd my wrong.

_Pem_. O yet a little longer, gracious time, Detayne his princely spirit in his brest That I may tell him he is misse-inform'd And purge my selfe unto my dying friend. But death hath layd his num-cold hand upon me: I am arrested to depart this life. Deare Ferdinand, although thou be my death, On thee Ile friendly breathe my latest breath.

_Enter Forrester_.

_For_. How full of pleasure is this Forrest life! My Parke I liken to a Common wealth In which my Bucks and Does are Citizens; The Hunters Lodge the Court from whence is sent Sentence of life or death as please the King; Onely our government's a tyranny[135] In that wee kill our subjects upon sport. But stay; what Gentlemen do heere lye slayne? If any sparke of life doe yet remayne Ile helpe to fanne it with a nymble hand. The organ of his hand doth play apace; He is not so far spent but that with helpe He may recover to his former state. How is the other? I doe feel soft breath Breake from between his lips. Oh for some ayd To beare them to the Forrest to my Lodge, But as I am Ile try my utmost strength To save their lives. First seene shall be the first: Patience and Ile returne and fetch the other. [_Exit_.

_Enter Fisherman_.

_Fisher_. My angle-rod is broke, my sport is done, But I will fetch my net to catch some fish; To lose both fish and pleasure is too much. Oh what contentment lives there in the brooke! What pretty traines are made by cunning hands To intrap the wily watry Citizens[136]! But what art thou that lyest on the ground? Sleepst thou or art thou slaine? hath breath his last? No sparke of life appeares, yet from his eye Me thinks I see a glymmering light breake forth, Which, wanting strength, is like a twilight glimse. If there be any hope to save his life Ile try my utmost cunning. To my house, Poore Gentleman, Ile beare thee as a ghest, And eyther cure thy wounds or make thy grave. [_Exit_.

_Enter Forrester, missing the other taken away,
speaks anything, and exit_.

_Enter Clowne and Katharine_.

_Clow_. Just in this circle I left the two Princes ready to draw; for I read the whole discourse of the Combate in their red eyes.

_Kath_. Heere lye their weapons and heere flowes their bloud.

_Clow_. Have they not slayne one another and buryed themselves?

_Kath_. Peace, foole; [i]t is too sure that they are slayne.

_Clow_. O Lord, then let mee turne my selfe into a Ballad and mourne for them?

_Kath_. Thou angrest me with jesting at my sorrow. Hence from my sight! my heart is full of griefe And it will breake, the burthen is so great.

_Clow_. Goe from your sight? then let me goe out of your company, for I had as leeve leave your sight as your company. Is this my reward for watching and watching? Oh, Mistris, doe not kill mee with unkindnesse[137]: I shall, I shall--

_Kath_. What shall you?

_Clow_. Weepe out mine eyes and fill the holes with salt water.

_Kath_. I prythee leave me; I am not displeasd, But fayne would vent my sorrowe from my heart. Hold, take my purse, spend that and leave my presence. Goe everywhere; enquire my Pembrooke out, And if thou bringst me to his breathlesse truncke I will reward thee with a treble gift.

_Clow_. Well, I were best bee going, now I am so fayrely offred. Mistris, your reward hath stopt my eares and entic'de my legs to be walking. Farewell, I will goe, God knows whither, to seeke and to finde both and neyther. Farewell, sweet Mistris. [_Exit_.

_Kath_. O Pembrooke, let me kneele unto thy bloud: And yet I know not whether't be thy bloud, Save that my soule by a divine instinct Tells me it is the treasure of thy veynes. If thou beest dead, thou mirrour of all men, I vow to dye with thee: this field, this grove, Shall be my receptacle till my last; My pillow shall be made a banke of mosse, And what I drinke the silver brooke shall yeeld. No other campe nor Court will Katharine have Till fates do limit her a common grave.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Fraunce, Navar, Philip, Flaunders, Thomasin, and attendants_.

_Nav_. Our daughter fled? when? whither? which way? how?

_Tho_. I know not.