Lew. Why pause our drums? our trumpets beat as loud! Till the bright ayre be made a purple cloud.

Phil. Pause, gracious father.

Ferd. Noble father, pause. Let Ferdinand thy sonne so far prevayle That peace, not war, may end this difference.

Bel. For Bellamiraes sake abstayne from war.

Phil. Philip thy sonne humbly desires a peace: Let not my father sheathe his warlike sword Within the bowels of his Countrymen.

Kath. Thy daughter Katharina prayes the like.

Nav. From whence proceeds this sudden sound of peace? Comes it from me? what? from my Ferdinand, From Bellamira my sweet second selfe?

Lew. Or rather comes it, Lewes, from thy soule, Thy Philip the true image of thy selfe, Thy Katharina thy heart's chiefest joy?

Rod. Princes, you aske you know not what your selves.

Pem. Rodorick, they aske a sweet and pleasing boone.

Rod. Why, they aske peace and we are set for war.

Fer. Tis a bad peace exceeds not a just war.

Phil. We will not rise from this submissive ground Till we obtayne, if not a peace, a truce.

Fer. Nor shall our feet be guilty of new steps Till I obtayne a truce from murdering war.

Lew. Shew me some reason (sonne) for this demand.

Nav. Shew me some reason (children) for this prayer.

Fer. I love the daughter of thine enemy: Fayre Katherina hath inthrald my heart.

Phil. I love the daughter of thine enemy: Fayre Bellamira hath inthrald my heart.

Pem. Is love the cause? then wherefore wage we war? What matter ist who weares both Diadems, When the succession lives in eythers heyre? If Ferdinand be crown'd king of Navar, Fayre Katherina shalbe crownd his Queene: If Philip weare the Diadem of France, Fayre Bellamira, made his lovely Queene, Swayes half the Scepter. See what heaven can doe,— Provide for peace even in the jawes of war!

Kath. How sweetly doth the Earle of Pembrooke speake! Now, trust me, I am ravisht with his voyce.

Lew. What says Navar? What, is [i]t war or peace?

Na. A truce for three moneths, so it please your Highnes, During which time our children shall have leave With Drum and Trumpet to surveigh the Campe, To court our daughters and to feast themselves As fits the sonnes of honourable foes. And if it prove a match betweene them both, There end all difference: Ile bequeath my Crowne As a rich offering to their nuptiall Rites.

Lew. Here, strike the truce upon my kingly hand, Which is as surely ratified in this As by the testimonial of a world. So now for three moneths space all warres surcease: Our thoughts are wholy fixt on love and peace. [Exe.

Manent Rodorick and Burbon.

Rod. Zounds, here's a truce made up by miracle!

Burb. Ile crosse it by a wily stratageme.

Rod. What stratageme?

Bur. By love to Bellamira. O could I dive into the Prince's heart By any insinuation ne're so base, How easily might I effect my plot To make the kingdome of Navarre mine owne. 'Twere but a dram or so unto the sonne, And a small thing would send the old man hence. What, noble Rodorick? to gayne a Crowne A Duke would doe much.

Rod. More then poyson two. But you, my Lord, forget your selfe too farre. Know you to whom you have disclosde your heart?

Bur. Why, to the Duke of Orleance.

Rod. The deare friend Of Lewes the French King.

Burb. King me no Kings. Although we seeme to be of severall sides, Rodorick, we love together like true friends. This Truce gives ayme to our intention: Assist me (worthy Orleance) to effect First my desired love and next the Crowne.

Rod. Peter de Lions is your Lordships servant, A boone companion and a lusty knave. He is in love with Bellamiraes mayd, And by that love he may bestead your Highnesse More then your best friends in your best designes. Call him forth.

Burb. What! Peter!

Enter Peter.

Pet. Here, my Lord.

Burb. Why dost thou looke so wildly?

Pet. Not with drinke Nor yet with rage.

Rod. His lookes are wild with love.

Pet. With love, surreverence[110]? can there be a face In all the world patcht up with eyes and lips, A forhead and a payre of crimson cheeks, To make me doat on, to make me looke wild?

Rod. Come, come, tis knowne that you love Thomasin.

Pet. Zounds they that know that know my heart & all: I have not the power to deny it, tis most true.

Burb. And tis most true that I love Bellamira. Now, if thou art in favor of thy wench, Many a meeting thou mayst helpe me to And learne besides what sutors seeke her love And whom she most affects. These things once knowne Twere worth a Dukedome, Peter.

Pet. Sbloud, give me A Dukedome and Ile warrant you the knowledge Of these things ten times o're.

Rod. Theres Angels for thee, Peter, thinke on them And doe thy best to helpe thy master's love.— Well howsoever I smooth it to the Duke, My thoughts are bent on his destruction.

Pet. You have my heart In your purse; Ile doe anything for you.

Bur. And thou shalt want no gold; and so farwel.

[Exeunt.

Pet. I cannot chuse to farewell, and have the good Angels to comfort me; yet I am melancholy. Heeres gold to make me merry: O but (hey ho) heres love to make me sad. To avoyd prolixity I am crost with a Sutor that wants a piece of his toung, and that makes him come lisping home. They call him Cavaliero Bowyer; he will have no nay but the wench. By these hilts, such another swash-buckler lives not in the nyne quarters of the world. Why, he came over with the Earle of Pembrooke, and he limps and he limps & he devoures more French ground at two paces then will serve Thomasin at nineteene. If ever he speake French, to avoyd prolixity, he will murder the toung. Ile provide for him; theres but small choice. Either he shall renounce the wench or forsake his lame legs, his lisping toung and his life to: for by S. Denis I had rather dye in a ditch then be bobd[111] of my fayre Thomasin.

[Exit.



[SCENE 2.]

Enter at one dore Philip and Roderick, a drummer before them with his Drum at his back: at the other dore Ferdinand and Pembrooke with their Drummes.

Ferd. Whither goes royall Philip thus prepard?

Phil. On what adventure goes Prince Ferdinand?

Ferd. To conquer all the world, fayre Katharine, Whose beauty in mine eye surmounts it far. Vertue and love conducts me to your sister.

Phil. On the like voyage are my fortunes bound, I goe to winne thy sister.

Ferd. Some fayre Starre On our great hopes shine fayre and debonaire.

Pem. Amen, sayth Pembroke.

Rod. Amen, sayth Rodoricke,

Ferd. This way my Love dwels.

Phil. In this ayre breathes mine.

Both. Farewell.

Phil. Prince Ferdinand if these cross loves Enjoy a wisht success, peace here shall dwell.

Ferd. And we be friendly Brothers.

Phil. True.

Ferd. Farewell.

[Exeunt Philip and Rodoricke.

Pem. Pity such true love, which like blessed seed Sowne in such fertile soyle his princely brest, By the rough stormy brow and winters hate Of adverse parents should be timelesse nipt And dye e're it attayne maturity. For I have heard the Princesse whom he serves Is hotely courted by the Duke of Burbon, Who to effect his choyce hath in these warres Furnisht your father with a gallant power; His love may haply then disable Philip.

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.

Phil. Bellamira, my lives joy! Upon those pinnyons that support her flight Hovers my heart; you beare away my soule. Turne, turne agayn, and give this earthly frame Essentiall power, which for thine absence dyes. Thou art the sweet of sweets, the joy of joyes; For thee was Philip borne. O turne agayne, And Philip is the blessedest of men.

Lew. We are glad she's gone though we dissemble it. —Sonne, bridle this affection, cease these laments: She did not value them.

Nav. Lewis, she did, Till savage hate that shape disfigured.

Phil. O she was worthy to be Queene of heaven; Her beauty, e're it suffred violence, Was like the Sunne in his Meridian Throne, Too splendent for weake eyes to gaze upon. She was too bright before, till being hid Under that envious cloud, it took the place Of a darke ground to show a lovelyer face. That Leprosie in her seemd perfect beauty And she did guild her imperfections o're With vertue, which no foule calumnious breath Could ever soyle: true vertues dye is such That malice cannot stayne nor envy tuch. Then say not but her worth surmounts these woes.

Nav. She griev'd to tye you to a hated bed And therefore followed Burbon for revenge.

Phil. Bourbon! who names him? that same verball sound Is like a thunderclap to Philips eares, Frighting my very soule. Sure you said Burbon, And to that prodegie you joynd revenge, Revenge that like a shaddow followes him. 'Twas he that made me bankrout of all blisse, Sude the divorce of that pure white and red Which deckt my Bellamiraes lovely cheeks: And shall he scape unpunisht?

Lew. Joyne your hands And all with us sweare vengeance on the Duke.

Phil. Not for the world: who prosecutes his hate On Burbon injures me; I am his foe, And none but I will work his overthrow.

Lew. What meanes our sonne?

Phil. To hunt him for revenge. The darkest angle of this universe Shall not contayne him: through the bounded world Ile prosecute his flight with ceaslesse steps, And when long travell makes them dull or faynt, Bayting[138] them fresh with Bellamiraes wrongs, Like Eagles they shall cut the flaxen ayre And in an instant bring me where he is.

Lew. Where goes our sonne?

Phil. To hell, so that in that kingdome Fate would assertayne me to meet with Burbon. Where ever I confront him, this shall kill him.

Nav. Thou shalt have ayd to compasse thy revenge.

Phil. No ayd but this strong arme. Farewell, farewell! Since Bellamira hath forsooke her friend, I seeke destruction (Burbon) and mine ende. [Exit.

Lew. Stay him: this fury will betray thy life.

Nav. Poore king made wretched by thy daughters losse!

Lew. Poore king made wretched by thy desperat sonne!

Enter Messenger.

Mess. Spend not your woes too fast, but save some teares To dew the obsequies of your dead sonne.

Nav. What? Ferdinand?

Mess. Hee's slaine by Pembrokes hands And Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand. Theire quarrell is uncertain and their bodies By some uncivill hands convayed away, And no inquiry can discover them.

Nav. Our sonne slaine? Bellamira poysoned? Navarre, teare off these hayres and raging die.

Enter Rodoricke.

Lew. More Tragedies at hand? what newes brings Rodoricke?

Rod. Such as will make the hearers sencelesse truncks. Why doth your highnes in your foe-mens tents Revell away the time and yield your person To the knowne malice of your enemies, Whilst in your owne tents rapine and foule lust Graspes your fayre daughter to dishonour her?

Lew. Our daughter?

Rod. She is slily stolen from thence, Yet none knows whither save one Sentinell, Who doth report he heard a wretched Lady Exclaime false Ferdinand would ravish her.

Lew. That was my child, dishonor'd by thy sonne.

Nav. You wrong him, France.

Lew. Thou hast betrayed us, king, And traynd us to a loathed festivall, The mariage of thy staynd and leprous child, Whilst in our absence Ferdinand unjust Hath staind our daughters beautie with vild lust.

Flaun. If you remember, he & English Pembroke Last day forsooke your Campe as discontent.

Lew. That proov'd their loves were fayn'd, and of set malice He came to view our Campe, how he might act That deed of obloquy and scape with lyfe.

Nav. Tis Fraunce hath done the wrong: you have commenst This deed of death on Pembrook & our son, And now, to cover it, suggest and fayne Our guiltlesse sonne a guilty ravisher. But render me their bodies.

Lew. Where's our Child?

Nav. Seeke her.

Lew. Seeke Ferdinand.

Nav. Fraunce!

Lew. Petty king, For this our wrong looke to be underling.

Nav. What Drum is this?

Lew. Are we intrapt, Navar?

Rod. Feare not. On yonder hill, whose lofty head Orelookes the under-valleyes, Royall Burbon, Attended by ten thousand Souldiers, Craves peace and faire accord with mighty Fraunce.

Nav. Burbon that was the ruyne of my Child! Summon our forces straight and charge the slave.

Lew. What meanes the king of Fraunce?

Rod. To joyne with him.

Nav. What? with a Traytor and a murtherer?

Lew. He did a deed of merit and of fame, Poysoned the Sister of a ravisher, A Tarquin, an incestuous Tereus, And our poore Child the wronged Philomell. Arayne our Battailes straight and joyne with Burbon.

Nav. Heare what wee'le urge.

Lew. Speake then in warre and death: In other termes our rage will spend no breath.

Nav. And we will speake so lowd that heaven it selfe Shall echo with the clangor. Both our children Weele race from our remembrance, and advance No other thought but how to plague proud France. Conjoyne with Burbon! e're three suns shall set In the vast kingdome of Oceanus, In a pitcht field weele meet the king of Fraunce And that false traytor Duke.

Lew. Navar, thou dar'st not.

Nav. Now by Saynt Denis and our Grandsire's tombe Weele meet thee.

Lew. Welcome. O bring valiant men, Weel think on nought but graves & tombs till then.

[Exeunt.

Rod. Ha, ha! I laugh to see these kings at jarr. How civill discord, like a raging floud Swelling above her banks, shall drowne this land Whilst Rodoricke on her ruines builds his hopes. The king of Fraunce, through my suggestion, Thinks Katherine his daughter ravished, Who onely, winged with love, is fled the Campe. Pembrooke and Ferdinand, in mutual strife, Slayne by eche other doth confirme my words And for revenge whets keene the two Kings swords.

[Exit.



Actus Quartus.

[SCENE 1.]

Enter Pembrooke armde and the Forrester.

Pem. I thank thee, Forrester, whose rough grown walks, Wild in aspect, afford more courtesy Then places smoother for civility. My life, redeemd by thy industrious hand, Remaynes in love and duty bound to thee.

For. Fayre Knight, prevention of sad death by health More joyes my soule then thanks or rich reward. But is your armour easy? sits it well?

Pem. I never in my life was better fitted. This should be that unlucky fatall place Where causlesse hate drew bloud from Ferdinand. Behold the grasse: a purple register Still blusheth in remembrance of our fight. Why wither not these trees, those herbs and plants? And every neighbour branch droup out their grief? Poore soules, they do, and have wept out their sap. Yet I have paid no duety to my friend. Where is the Tombe I wild you to erect?

For. See, valiant knight, proportiond and set up As well as my poore skill would suffer mee: And heere his picture hangs.

Pem. You have done well: Yon hand I see's a perfect Architect In sorrowes building. Once more let suffice I quite your painfull travell but with thanks. Now leave me to my selfe, for here I vow To spend the remnant of my haples dayes. No knight nor Prince shall ever passe this way Before his tongue acknowledge Ferdinand The faythfullst lover and the lovingst friend The world contaynes. Ile have his Sepulcher, As yet but naked and ungarnished, E're many dayes hang richer with the spoyles And vanquisht Trophyes of proud passengers Then was the Romans wealthy Capitoll. So, gentle Forrester, bequeath thy prayers In my assistance: that is all I crave.

For. The God of power give power unto your arme That you may prove victorious-fortunate.

Pem. Farewell, kind host. [Exit Forester. And now let me embrace This empty Monument of my lost friend. Oh! wer't so happy to enshrine his bones How blest should Pembrooke be! but they are torne By the fierce savadge Woolfe whose filthy mawe Is made an unfit grave to bury him. But, if (without offence) I may desire it, I wish his soule from Paradise may see How well his name is kept in memorie. These eyes that saw him bleed have wept for him, This heart devisde his harme hath sigh'd for him, And now this hand, that with ungentle force Depryv'd his life, shall with repentant service Make treble satisfaction to his soule. Fortune, thou dost me wrong to suffer me So long uncombatted: I prythee send Some stubborne knight, some passenger, Whose stout controuling stomack will refuse To yield to my prescription but by force. I hate this idle rest of precious time.

Enter Kathar.

How now? derid'st thou my devotion, goddesse, Thou sendst a woman to incounter me? Henceforth Ile hold thee for a fayned name And no disposer of my Christian hopes. But, soft; I know that face: oh, I! tis she Was unjust cause of all my misery.

Kath. Long have I wandred with unquiet mind To find my Pembrook. That they fought, I heare; That they were wounded both to death, I heare; But whether cu'rde or dead I cannot heare, Nor lives there any (if deceasde) can tell Within what place their bodies are interr'd. Since therefore all my travell is in vayne, Here will I take a truce with former care. This cursed nook was that unlucky plot Where cursed Ferdinand did kill my love. What knight is this? Ile question him: perhaps He can resolve me where my Pembrooke is. —Joy and good fortune, sir, attend your state.

Pem. Your wishes come too late. What seeke you, Madam?

Kath. Tell me, sir knight, for so you seeme to be, Know you this dismall place you do frequent? Or have you heard of that unhappy fight Was here perform'd by Pembrook and his foe?

Pem. Yes, Madam, I have heard of it long since And to my grief knew both the gentlemen.

Kath. But can you tell me if they live or no, Or, dead, what hand hath given them buryall?

Pem. Rest you assured, Madam, they are dead: The one of them, to whom I was allyed And neerely knit in friendship from my youth, By me lyes buried heere: a braver knight And truer Lover never breathd in Fraunce.

Kath. O tell me, is it Pembrooke? if for him You have erected this fayre monument, Perpetuall honour I will do your state.

Pem. Not only, Madam, have I built this tombe In his memoriall, but my selfe have sworne Continuall residence within this wood; And for the love I bare him weare these armes That whatsoever knight, adventurer, or other, Making his journey this way and refusing To do knights homage to my breathlesse friend, By this assayling steele may be compeld.

Kath. Oh let me know your name, so kindly mov'd To dignifie my Pembrooke's high deserts.

Pem. You did not heare me say 'twas Pembrook, Madam. What is become of him I do not know Nor greatly care, since he did wrong my friend And first inkindled this dissensious brawle. This buryed here is noble Ferdinand, His fathers comfort and his Countryes hope. Oh, Madam, had you seene him as I did, Begirt with wounds that like so many mouthes Seem'd to complayne his timelesse overthrow, And had before bin inward with his vertues; To thinke that nature should indure such wracke And at one time so many precious gifts Perish by death, would have dissolv'd your heart. He was the very pride of fortitude, The house of vertue, and true friendship's mirrour. Looke on his picture: in the armes of death When he was ready to give up the ghost, I causde it to be drawne. If at that time, In that extremity of bitter pangs, He lookt so lovely, had so fresh a colour, So quick a moving eye, so red a lip, What was his beauty when he was in health? See with what courage he indur'd the combat, Smiling at death for all his tyranny. Had death bin ought but what he was, sterne death, He would have bin enamour'd with his looks.

Kath.—A certayne soft remorce Creeps to my heart, perswades me he was true, Loving and vertuous, but my selfe unkind Coyly to scorne the proffer of his mind.

Pem. O that in Justice of her former hate She now would hopelesse doat on Ferdinand. Ile do the best I can to bring her on: Despaire and madnesse fetch her off againe.— Madam, how say you? wast not a grevious thing So rich a Jem should lye rak't up in dust, So sweet a flower be withred in his prime?

Kath. Death was a villayne for attempting it And so was Pembrooke for effecting it. No bloudy Scythian or inhumane Turke But would ha trembled to ha toucht his skin Or spilt one drop of his Heroick bloud.

Pem. Had not that Lady then an yron heart, A rude ingratefull mind, a savadge spirit, That knew this vertuous honourable Knight, This gracious shape and unmatchd excellence, To be intangled with her fervent love, To serve her in all loyalty of heart, To reverence and adore her very name, To be content to kisse the lowly earth Where she did set her foot; and when he sued For grace, to scorne him, to deride his sighes, And hold his teares and torment in contempt? Of all that ever liv'd deserv'd she not The worlds reproch and times perpetuall blot?

Kath. Heard you him ever speak of such a one?

Pem. Oft times, but chiefly then when he perceyv'd His hurt was mortall and no way but death, At every grone he cald upon her name As if that sound were present remedy; And when insulting death drew short his breath And now was ready to close up his eyes, Farewell, quoth he, where e're I find a shrine My soule fly thou to beautious Katharine.

Kath. That ruthlesse mind, that iron savage heart, So greatly loved and so little loving, Breathes in this brest; 'twas I returnd disdaine For deepe affection, scorne for loyalty, And now compassionlesse shall pine my selfe. Oh, Ferdinand, forgive me, Ferdinand: Injoyne me any penance for that wrong, Say I shall tread a tedious pilgrimage To furtherest Palestine, and I will do it. But peace, fond woman! these exclaimes are vaine: Thy Ferdinand is dead and cannot heare, As thou wast sometimes deafe and wouldst not heare.

Pem. A just reward.—Come, Madam, have you done? Give me the picture I may hang it up.

Kath. Oh take it not away: since I have lost The substance, suffer me to keep the shaddow. Me thinks, so long as this is in my hand, I claspe my Ferdinand between mine armes; So long as I behold this lively forme, So long am I refreshed by his smiles, So long, me thinks, I heare him speak to me. Knew I the Paynter drew this counterfeyt I would reward him with a mynt of gold.

Pem. If such a pleasure you receyve by this, I tell you, Madam, I shall shortly have His whole proportion cut in Alabaster, Armd as he was when he encountred here, Which kneeling shall be set upon his tombe.

Kath. On that condition I will gather flowers And once a day come straw them at his feet, And once a day pay tribute of choyce thanks To you the furtherer of my happinesse: Till then I place the picture where it was.

Enter Clowne and Bellamira.

Clow. Come on, Madam; me thinks now a maske would do well. But I perceyve your drift, I smell your policy; you think a bold face hath no need of a black mask. Shall I tell you what you look like? A broyld herring or a tortur'de Image made of playster worke.

Bel. So, sirra, you may scoffe my misery.

Pem. Still haunted with these women! are men vanisht? Or what occasion leaves the Realme of Fraunce So voyd and empty of adventurous knights?

Clow. Out of peradventure, Madam, the ghost of Saint George is come out of England to see what hospitality S. Denis keeps in Fraunce.

Pem. Poore Bellamira, I lament thy state But I must still suppresse my discontent. —What are you, so deformed with lothsome spots? And what that Anticke keeps you company?

Clow. Anticke; thou lyest: and thou wert a knight of ginger-bread I am no Anticke. The whole parish where I was borne will sweare that since the raigne of Charlemain there was not a better face bred or brought up amongst them.

Pem. Away, ye russeting—

Kath. Have patience, Knight: how ever thus deform'd, This Lady is the daughter of Navar. Madam, it joyes me I have met you heere Though much laments me of your heavy plight. There needs no repetition of your wrong: I know the villayne Burbon did the deed, Whom my incensed brother will revenge.

Bel. For Philips sake I have been martyrd thus, And for his sake left King and Courtly life To entertayne a Pilgrims payneful habit. But on what strange adventure stayes this Knight Within this desolate forsaken wood?

Kath. For love of Ferdinand your princely brother Whose hearse he gards in honorable Armes.

Bel. Is this my brothers Hearse; is this the place Where I was shipwrackt of a brothers name? Oh let me spend a loving sigh for him And sacrifice a sisters holy rites. For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peace Untill thy body glorified from heaven Become immortal by thy soules returne.

Pem. Poore Bellamira, how I pity thee, Yet must forbeare to comfort thy distresse.

Clow. Is my yong Lord buried here? I say no more, but I pray God send him a joyful insurrection.

Kat. Inough, sweet Bellamira. These leprous spots tis time they were remov'd. Come, goe with me: since I left Aquitayne And came acquaynted with these private walks, It was my happy chance to meet an Hermit Whose skill in Phisike warrants present cure And pure refining of your poysoned bloud. Ile bring you thither: afterward select Delicious sweets to decke your brothers tombe. Come, sirra, follow us. [Exeunt.

Clow. Doe not think, Madam, that Ile forsake you. And so, sir, you that walk in pewter vessayle, like one of the worthyes, will you be rul'd by me?

Pem. Wherein?

Clow. To set a gyn for Woodcocks & catch your selfe first. [Exit.

Pem. Hence, beetle-head. And, Pembrook, now bethink How great a tyde of miseries breakes in. First, thou art taxed with the losse of him Whom equall with thy selfe thou holdest Deare; Next, Bellamira is become a Leper, Whose absence Philip carefully laments; Then trecherous Burbon joynes himselfe with Fraunce And both the Kings are angerly incenst; But last, which is some comfort to the rest, Disdaynfull Katharine wastes with fruiteless love: Would all so minded like mishap might prove. But by this signall there are knights at hand: I must provide their valours to withstand.

Enter Fraunce, Burbon, Rodoricke, Peter de Lions, at one dore; at the other Navar, Flaunders, Dicke Bowyer and Souldiers: Pembrooke betweene them.

Pem. Stay your intended march.

Lew. What Peere of France Or in the world, so haughty-resolute, Dare breathe the word of "stay" to mighty Fraunce?

Nav. Or what art thou presum'st to stay my course?

Pem. A knight I am and to adventures bound: This monument erected for my friend By me is garded. If you meane to passe, You must do homage or else fight with me.

Lew. Homage of me! Know I am King of France And in subjection to no earthly powers.

Nav. Thou knowst not what thou sayst to challenge us Of any such inferiour priviledge. What homage is it thou requir'st of us?

Pem. First to acknowledge him lyes buried here The faythfulst Lover and most valyant Knight That in this time drew sword or manag'd horse.

Bow. And what was he? Ascapart[139] or your countreyman Gargantua, that stuft every button of his coate with a load of hay? 'S hart, wee have met a fellow here's all mouth, hee speakes nothing but Monarch. Doest thou heare, King? give me leave to incounter this puckfist,[140] and if I doe not make him cry Peccavi say Dicke Bowyer's a powdered Mackrell.

Pet. My bloud beginnes to boyle; I could be pleasd To have this fellow by the eares but that Theres many of my betters heere in place.

Fland. King of Navarre, let Flanders cope with him.

Burb. Imperiall France, give Burbon leave to try The hazzard of a combat with this Boaster.

Pem. Dispatch, Navarre: one of you come forth To enterchange a warlike blow or two.

Lew. First let us know what penalty thou setst Upon thy selfe if thou be vanquished.

Pem. A recantation of my former wordes, A servitude to him that conquers me; But who soever is by me subdued Must leave his Shield to beautifie this shrine.

Bur. Let not, Navar, my Lord, rob us of honor. Say Burbon first shall breake a Launce with him.

Rod. Ascribe that priviledge, my Lord, to mee; And Roderick will have death or victory.

Lew. No, noble Roderick; Burbon shall begin, And as he speedes we will imploy your power.

Pem. Provide thee, Burbon, Ile not favour thee.

Bur. Be sure Ile shew thee like hostility.

Lew. Hold, the advantage is [up]on thy side; The Duke of Burbon shal hang up his shield.

Pem. Ide rather have his life then al your shelds. Who is next?

Bow. Zounds, I think he has a patten to take up all the shields ith countrey. Hang me, if thou wantst worke heeres for Navar, the earle of Pembrok and Cavaliero Bowier. [Fight.] A thousand pound to a Taylors bodkin this fellow has a familiar; but howsomever, thou mayst thank my lame legge. Theres my shield.

Lew. Now, Roderick, betake you to your taske. [Fight.

Rodor. My fortune's answerable to the rest.

Lew. Since all miscarrie, Fraunce will put his chaunce Upon the hazzard of the Dice for once.

Pem. You are an Honorable foe, my Lord: [Fight. By law of Armes you must hang up your shield.

Lew. I yeld to law and thy approved valour. King of Navar, will onely you sit out?

Nav. No, king of Fraunce: my bloud's as hot as thine And this my weapon shall confirme my words. [Fight.

Bow. Navar, downe too! 'S hart this fellow hath the tricke of it. If he be not a witch or some Devill let me be slickt into a Carbinado.[141]

Nav. Thou sonne of Chivalrie, let me now intreate To know his name for whome thou reapst this honor, Or what he was whose bodie's heere interde?

Pem. A valiant Knight, his name yong Ferdinand, Slayne by misfortune of a friendly hand.

Nav. Is it my sonne thou makst thy valours prise And striv[e]st to eternize with thy sword? Let me embrace thee. Not alone my shield, But I will leave my heart upon his shrine. My dearest Ferdinand, I would my sighes Or sad lamenting teares might have the power Like Balme to quicken thy benummed joynts: Then would I drowne this marble e're I went And heat it hote with vapour of my breath.

Lew. Navar, this now may testify thy wrong In false accusing me for his remove.

Nav. Thou maist be guilty still for ought I know; For though I find him dead I find not yet The Tragick manner of his haples end. Thou mayst as well have murdred Ferdinand As favour him hath poysond Bellamira.

Lew. Injurious king, it was base Ferdinand, On whom just heavens have shown just vengeance heere, Ravisht my Katharine and convayed her hence Where I shall never more behold her face.

Nav. Tis false, and wee'le mayntain it with our swords.

Lew. Tis true, and wee'le mayntain it with our swords.

Pem. By heaven, the toung prophanes the sacred name Of Ferdinand with any villany, Ile cut it out or stop his throate with bloud And so dam in his blasphemous upbraydes.

Nav. Content thee, knight; Ile ease thee of that labor. To morrow is expir'd the time of truce: Fraunce, on with thy Battalions to the plaine Thou wast prepar'd before to pitch upon. Ile meet thee there.

Lew. And I will meet with thee. Sound Drums and Trumpets: honord knight, farewell: Who shall survive next morn strange newes shall tel.

[Exeunt.

Pem. Thus heady rage, blind in her rash resolve, Drew Ferdinand and mee into the field As now it doth these hot incensed kings. Wer't not my vowes prohibit my desire, To stay the inconvenience of this fight, I would discover where their Daughters are, To shew the error they are shrouded in: But Time hath run a desperate course with mee And desperate let them runne to misery. Here comes a Straggler of their Army. Stand!

Enter Philip.

Phil. What voice is that presumes to byd me stand?

Pem. His that can force thee if thou wilt not stand.

Phil. By this bright ayre reflected on my sword, If the whole army of Navar had said As much to Philip, yet he would not stand. And thou but one, how dar'st thou prefer it, Knowing how sharp a Spurre doth pricke me on, The death of Burbon for my Bellamire?

Pem. Hang up thy shield, as other knights have done, Upon the Hearse of noble Ferdinand, And thou mayest freely passe without controule.

Phil. The Hearse of Ferdinand! I honor him: He was the brother of my dearest Love. What's this I see? my fathers batterd shield. The shield of Fraunce! of Flaunders! Burbons too? It can not then impeach or prejudice The name of Philip to consort with such, Especially being done for Ferdinand. There is my shield, and, Knight, but for my haste, I would expostulate of other things: But, after traytrous Burbon I have slayne, Knight, looke for me, Ile visit thee agayne. Now, Rodorick, keepe thy word, and I am blest, But if thou fayle Ile forward with the rest. [Exit.

Pem. Successful action sit upon thy sword![142] This net of sorrowes, I perceyve, intangles Not only Pembrooke but the Court of France; Navar and his associats are all toucht. Time looke upon us and at last determine These heart-dissevering tumults with a peace.

Enter Ferdinand.

Ferd. Since, Ferdinand, by gracious providence Thou art recovered of thy mortall wounds, With the new life thy body is revivde Revive the ancient passions of thy mind. Think on thy friend, on Pembrook take remorse, Whose honord life thy hasty hand cut off. This is the place, as I remember mee. Whats heere? a Tombe? who hath prevented me In my religious duty to my friend? Yon Knight, I doubt not, can resolve me.

Pem. What art thou? stand!

Ferd. A Knight, and fayne would know What sacred monument and Tombe this is.

Pem. His, whilst he liv'd, that of the worlds increase Was the most loyall friend and valiant Knight; Which thou must likewise ratifie with me And hang thy shield up to adorne his Hearse Or venture Combate for denying it.

Ferd. His name, I pray thee.

Pem. Ferdinand.

Ferd.—What's he Acquainted with my name? belike some one Lov'd Pembroke, and supposing (wrongfully) Me slaine by him, to satisfie for that Observes this honor in my memory. Be not thou, Ferdinand, ingratefull then, But stand for Pembroke as this Knight for thee.

Pem. What answer givest thou? shal I homage have?

Ferd. Not for his sake thou nam'st, not for Ferdinand. There liv'd a Knight exceld his petty fame As far as costly Pearle the coursest Pebble,— An English Knight cald Pembroke: were his bones Interred heere, I would confesse of him Much more than thou requir'st, and be content To hang both shield and sword upon his Hearse.

Pem. How comes this stranger by my name? Belike He was affected unto Ferdinand, And for his sake (hearing he did me wrong) Covets to make amends, or meanes to prove If I imbrace him with unfayned love. He shall not doubt of that.—Once more I say Twas Ferdinand was the renowned Knight Of all the world.

Ferd. But I deny that saying, Giving to Pembroke that preeminence.

Pem. For Ferdinand my valour will I try.

Ferd. In Pembrooks valour I will fight and die.

[Discover eche other in fighting.

Pem. Eyther I dreame or this is Ferdinand.

Ferd. My sight deludes me or stout Pembroke lyves.

Pem. Thrice happy hour[143]! I do embrace my friend.

Ferd. Welcome, oh welcome, Pembrok, to myne armes, Whom I imagined death had tane from me.

Pem. The like did I by Princely Ferdinand, But that he lives my soule confounds with joy.

Ferd. Tell me, deare friend, since our unlucky fight Have you heard ought of my disdainfull Love?

Pem. Of her and all the rest. Her Father lives: This is his shield and this is great Navars, This Rodoricks, [this] the Duke of Orleance, And this malicious Burbons: all the which I forc't from them to beautifie thy shrine. But tis of Katharine thou desir'st to heare: She likewise hath bin here; her flinty heart, So much before inclined to cruelty, Now waxeth tender: she no sooner saw Thy picture here, but by heavens providence, Or how I know not, she so doats on it As I supposde she would a dyed for love.

Ferd. Has then my shaddow and supposed death Brought that to passe my living substance could not?

Pem. It hath, and never Lady more enamour'd Then now is Katharine of her Ferdinand. I told her, and no more then truth I told, A cunning Carver had cut out thy shape. And whole proportion in white alablaster, Which I intended here should be set up. She earnestly entreated she might have A sight of it and dayly be permitted To deck thy tombe and statue with sweet flowers: Shee's but even now departed to that end, And will (I know) be quickly here agayne. Now, for assurance I dissemble not, Instead of thy resemblance cut in stone Kneele here, thyself, and heare her pitious mone.

Ferd. Content! I hold your counsell for the best; Weele once conclude our sorrowes with a jest.

Pem. Soft there's a cushen: nay, and you must be bare And hold your hands up, as the maner is.

Ferd. What if I held a book as if I pray'd?

Pem. Twere best of all; and, now I think upon' Here is a booke: so, keepe your countenance; You must imagine now you are transformed. Yonder she comes; in any case stir not.

Enter Katharine.

Kath. I feare I have detracted time too long In my determinde service to my Love; But Ile redeeme my fault with double care. See where his statue is set up: kind knight, For ever Katharine will record thy truth.

Pem. How say you, Madam; ist not very like him!

Kath. As like as if it were himselfe indeed. And would to God my prayers might be heard, That, as the image of Pigmalion once, Life might descend into this sencelesse stone: But that was faynd, as my desire is fond; Relentlesse Death withholds my Ferdinand, And no intreaty may recover him. In token, then, I do repent my scorne That I was cruell to so kind a friend, Thou, the presenter of his absent person, Receive these sweets; thy temples be adornd With this fresh garland; thy white ivory hand Boast of this ring, which, if thou wert alive, Should bind our faythes up in a nuptiall knot: But, for thou canst not be reviv'd agayne, He dwell with thee in death, and, as my spirit Mounts to the happy mansion of thy spirit, So, to accompany thy shaddow here, Ile turne my body to a shaddow, too, And, kneeling thus, confront thy silent lookes With my sad looks. This is the Instrument: Now, Ferdinand, behold thy Katharine comes.