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.
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 streameThat 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 sightThat I have tane a tree to bee a manAnd 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 willOr 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 powersThat 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 spiritAnd beare no longer with this haire-braynd man.Yet (Ferdinand) resolve me of the causeThat moves thee to this unkind enterprise,And if I satisfie thee not in wordsThis double wound shall please thee with my bloud;Nay, with my sword Ile make a score of woundsRather 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 showThou 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 KatherineAnd 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 brestThat I may tell him he is misse-inform'dAnd 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 wealthIn which my Bucks and Does are Citizens;The Hunters Lodge the Court from whence is sentSentence 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 remayneIle 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 helpeHe may recover to his former state.How is the other? I doe feel soft breathBreake from between his lips. Oh for some aydTo beare them to the Forrest to my Lodge,But as I am Ile try my utmost strengthTo 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 handsTo 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 eyeMe thinks I see a glymmering light breake forth,Which, wanting strength, is like a twilight glimse.If there be any hope to save his lifeIle 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 trunckeI 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 instinctTells 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 haveTill fates do limit her a common grave.
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 flightHovers my heart; you beare away my soule.Turne, turne agayn, and give this earthly frameEssentiall 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 hidUnder that envious cloud, it took the placeOf a darke ground to show a lovelyer face.That Leprosie in her seemd perfect beautyAnd she did guild her imperfections o'reWith vertue, which no foule calumnious breathCould ever soyle: true vertues dye is suchThat 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 soundIs 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 redWhich 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 universeShall not contayne him: through the bounded worldIle 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 ayreAnd 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 handsAnd Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand.Theire quarrell is uncertain and their bodiesBy 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 tentsRevell away the time and yield your personTo the knowne malice of your enemies,Whilst in your owne tents rapine and foule lustGraspes 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 LadyExclaime 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 unjustHath 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 commenstThis deed of death on Pembrook & our son,And now, to cover it, suggest and fayneOur 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 headOrelookes 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 selfeShall echo with the clangor. Both our childrenWeele race from our remembrance, and advanceNo other thought but how to plague proud France.Conjoyne with Burbon! e're three suns shall setIn the vast kingdome of Oceanus,In a pitcht field weele meet the king of FraunceAnd 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 floudSwelling above her banks, shall drowne this landWhilst 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 wordsAnd for revenge whets keene the two Kings swords.
[Exit.
Actus Quartus.
Enter Pembrooke armde and the Forrester.
Pem. I thank thee, Forrester, whose rough grown walks,Wild in aspect, afford more courtesyThen 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 placeWhere causlesse hate drew bloud from Ferdinand.Behold the grasse: a purple registerStill 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 ArchitectIn sorrowes building. Once more let sufficeI quite your painfull travell but with thanks.Now leave me to my selfe, for here I vowTo spend the remnant of my haples dayes.No knight nor Prince shall ever passe this wayBefore his tongue acknowledgeFerdinandThe faythfullst lover and the lovingst friendThe world contaynes. Ile have his Sepulcher,As yet but naked and ungarnished,E're many dayes hang richer with the spoylesAnd vanquisht Trophyes of proud passengersThen was the Romans wealthy Capitoll.So, gentle Forrester, bequeath thy prayersIn 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 embraceThis empty Monument of my lost friend.Oh! wer't so happy to enshrine his bonesHow blest shouldPembrookebe! but they are torneBy the fierce savadge Woolfe whose filthy maweIs made an unfit grave to bury him.But, if (without offence) I may desire it,I wish his soule from Paradise may seeHow 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 forceDepryv'd his life, shall with repentant serviceMake treble satisfaction to his soule.Fortune, thou dost me wrong to suffer meSo long uncombatted: I prythee sendSome stubborne knight, some passenger,Whose stout controuling stomack will refuseTo 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 nameAnd no disposer of my Christian hopes.But, soft; I know that face: oh, I! tis sheWas unjust cause of all my misery.
Kath. Long have I wandred with unquiet mindTo 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 tellWithin 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 plotWhere cursed Ferdinand did kill my love.What knight is this? Ile question him: perhapsHe 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 fightWas 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 allyedAnd neerely knit in friendship from my youth,By me lyes buried heere: a braver knightAnd 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 tombeIn his memoriall, but my selfe have sworneContinuall residence within this wood;And for the love I bare him weare these armesThat whatsoever knight, adventurer, or other,Making his journey this way and refusingTo 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 knowNor greatly care, since he did wrong my friendAnd 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 mouthesSeem'd to complayne his timelesse overthrow,And had before bin inward with his vertues;To thinke that nature should indure such wrackeAnd at one time so many precious giftsPerish 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 deathWhen 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 remorceCreeps to my heart, perswades me he was true,Loving and vertuous, but my selfe unkindCoyly to scorne the proffer of his mind.
Pem. O that in Justice of her former hateShe 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 thingSo 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 itAnd so was Pembrooke for effecting it.No bloudy Scythian or inhumane TurkeBut would ha trembled to ha toucht his skinOr 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 earthWhere she did set her foot; and when he suedFor 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 notThe 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'dHis hurt was mortall and no way but death,At every grone he cald upon her nameAs if that sound were present remedy;And when insulting death drew short his breathAnd now was ready to close up his eyes,Farewell, quoth he, where e're I find a shrineMy 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 disdaineFor 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 pilgrimageTo 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 lostThe 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 counterfeytI would reward him with a mynt of gold.
Pem. If such a pleasure you receyve by this,I tell you, Madam, I shall shortly haveHis 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 flowersAnd once a day come straw them at his feet,And once a day pay tribute of choyce thanksTo 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 stateBut 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 heereThough 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 lifeTo entertayne a Pilgrims payneful habit.But on what strange adventure stayes this KnightWithin 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 placeWhere I was shipwrackt of a brothers name?Oh let me spend a loving sigh for himAnd sacrifice a sisters holy rites.For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peaceUntill thy body glorified from heavenBecome 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 AquitayneAnd came acquaynted with these private walks,It was my happy chance to meet an HermitWhose skill in Phisike warrants present cureAnd pure refining of your poysoned bloud.Ile bring you thither: afterward selectDelicious 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 bethinkHow great a tyde of miseries breakes in.First, thou art taxed with the losse of himWhom equall with thy selfe thou holdest Deare;Next, Bellamira is become a Leper,Whose absence Philip carefully laments;Then trecherous Burbon joynes himselfe with FraunceAnd 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 friendBy 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 cryPeccavisay 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 subduedMust 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 priseAnd 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 sighesOr sad lamenting teares might have the powerLike Balme to quicken thy benummed joynts:Then would I drowne this marble e're I wentAnd 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 yetThe Tragick manner of his haples end.Thou mayst as well have murdred FerdinandAs 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 henceWhere 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 nameOf Ferdinand with any villany,Ile cut it out or stop his throate with bloudAnd 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 plaineThou 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 fieldAs 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 meeAnd 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 saidAs 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 prejudiceThe 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, intanglesNot only Pembrooke but the Court of France;Navar and his associats are all toucht.Time looke upon us and at last determineThese heart-dissevering tumults with a peace.
Enter Ferdinand.
Ferd. Since, Ferdinand, by gracious providenceThou art recovered of thy mortall wounds,With the new life thy body is revivdeRevive 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 meIn 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 increaseWas the most loyall friend and valiant Knight;Which thou must likewise ratifie with meAnd hang thy shield up to adorne his HearseOr venture Combate for denying it.
Ferd. His name, I pray thee.
Pem. Ferdinand.
Ferd.—What's heAcquainted with my name? belike some oneLov'd Pembroke, and supposing (wrongfully)Me slaine by him, to satisfie for thatObserves 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 fameAs far as costly Pearle the coursest Pebble,—An English Knight cald Pembroke: were his bonesInterred heere, I would confesse of himMuch more than thou requir'st, and be contentTo hang both shield and sword upon his Hearse.
Pem. How comes this stranger by my name? BelikeHe was affected unto Ferdinand,And for his sake (hearing he did me wrong)Covets to make amends, or meanes to proveIf I imbrace him with unfayned love.He shall not doubt of that.—Once more I sayTwas Ferdinand was the renowned KnightOf 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 whichI 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 sawThy picture here, but by heavens providence,Or how I know not, she so doats on itAs 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'dThen 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 haveA sight of it and dayly be permittedTo 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 stoneKneele 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 longIn 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 scorneThat I was cruell to so kind a friend,Thou, the presenter of his absent person,Receive these sweets; thy temples be adorndWith this fresh garland; thy white ivory handBoast 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 spiritMounts 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 lookesWith my sad looks. This is the Instrument:Now, Ferdinand, behold thy Katharine comes.
Ferd. And she is welcome unto Ferdinand.
Pem. Ile play the dark for both and say Amen. Nay, muse not, madam: tis no sencelesse Image, But the true essence of your wished Love.
Kath. I am asham'd to looke him in the face.
Ferd. Hide not those splendant lights: hereafter be A constant wife; it shall suffice for me.
Kath. Heaven cast her off if Katharine prove not so.
Pem. Of that no more: now let us haste from henceTo quiet the dissension lately sprungBetweene your parents. Philip, likewise goneTo be reveng'd on Burbons trechery,Perhaps may stand in need of friendly ayd.To him and them our vowes must next be payd.
Ferd. What Pembrook counsels we consent unto.
[Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Enter Rodoricke and Philip.
Rod. Now whilest our Armies wearied with the heatThat the bright sunne casts from his midday throne,Abstayne from bloudy intercourse of war,He lead thee, Philip, unto Burbons Tent.
Phil. Rodoricke, thou highly favourest me in this And doubt not, if my complot take effect, Ile make thee Duke of Burbon.
Enter Lewes, Flaunders, and Burbon.
Rod. Stay your speach; Heere comes King Lewis.
Phil. They can not know me, I am so disguisde.
Bur. Follow my counsayle and immediately Begin the Battayle.
Lew. Why, the heat's [so] great It burnes [us] in our Armour as we march.
Flaun. It burnes the enemy as well as wee.
Bur. It warmes our Souldiers spirits and makes them fire,I had rather dye then, when my bloud is hot,Be awde by counsell till it freeze like Ice:He is no Souldier that for feare of heatWill suffer victory to fly the field.
Rod. My Lord of Burbon, ye are more hot then wise.
Bur. Rodorick, me thinkes you are very peremptory.
Rod. It is in zeale of the generall good.Go to your Tent, refresh your unscorcht[144] lymmes;There draw your battels modell, and as sooneAs the coole winds have fand the burning SunneAnd made it tractable for travaylers,Arme you and mount upon your barbed Steed,Lead foorth your Souldiers and in good arrayCharge bravely on the Army of our foe.
Lew. The Duke of Orleance hath counseld well.Ile in and recreate me in my tent.Farewell, my Lord: when you resolve to fight,Proclayme your meaning by a Canons mouthAnd with a volley I will answere you.
[Exeunt Lewes and Flauuders.
Bur. If you will needs retyre, farewell, my Lord.Ha, Rodoricke, are not we fine PolyticiansThat have so quaintly wrought the king of FraunceUnto our faction that he threatens warreAgainst the almost reconcilde Navar?
Rod. But this is nothing to the actes weele do.Come, come, my Lord, you trifle time with words:Sit downe, sit downe, and make your warlike plot.—But wherefore stand these murderous Glaves so nye?
Phil.—Touch them not, Roderick; prythee let them stand.
Bur. Some paper, pen, and incke.
Enter Peter.
Pet. My Lord.
Bur. Post to the Master Gunner And bid him plant his demy culverings Against the kings pavilion.
Peter. Presently.
Bur. But first bring pen and incke and paper straight.
[Peter sets pen, ink, &c., before Burbon, and exit[145]
Rodoricke, thou shalt assist mee in this plot.
Rod. Do it your selfe, my Lord; I have a chargeOf souldiers that are very mutinous,And long I dare not stay for feare my absenceBe cause of their revolt unto Navar.
Bur. Then to your Souldiers: I will to my plot.
Phil.—Away, my Lord, leave me unto the Duke.
Rod.—Kill you the Duke (and after Ile kill thee). [Exit Rod.
Bur. This pen is stabbed and it will not write: The incke that's in the standage[146] doth looke blacke, This in my pen is turnd as red as bloud.
Phil. The reason that the platforme[147] you would make Must by this hand be written with thy bloud.
Bur. Zounds, what art thou that threatens Burbon so?
Phil. One that's as desperat-carelesse of his life As thou art timorous and fearst to dye.
Bur. Comest thou to kill me?
Phil. If I should say no, This weapon would condemne me, which I seyz'd Of purpose, Burbon, to bereave thy life.
Bur. Why, fond man, mad man, know'st thou what thou doest?
Phil. I know it, Burbon, and I know besides What thou wouldst say to daunt my resolution.
Bur. What would I say?
Phil. Why, that this place is death,As being thy Tent, environ'd with thy slaves,Where if I kill thee tis impossibleTo scape with life: this, Burbon, thou wouldst say.But Philip is not be mov'd with words.
Bur. Philip!
Phil. I, Philip, Bellamiraes Love,Whose beauty, villayne, thou hast poysoned;For which I have vow'd thy death, and thou shall dye.Therefore betake you to what fence you will;Amongst this bundle chuse one weapon forthAnd like a worthy Duke prepare thy selfeIn knightly manner to defend thy life;For I will fight with thee and kill thee, too,Or thou shalt give an end unto my life.But if thou call unto thy slaves for helpe,Burbon, my sword shall nayle thee to the wall.And thinke Prince Philip is a Prince indeedTo give thee this advantage for thy life.
Bur. Boy, I will scourge your insolence with death.
Phil. Come on.Fight, and kill Burbon.
Bur. Oh, I am slayne.
[Enter Rodorick.]
Rod. Murder! murder! Burbon the Duke is slayne!
Phil. Peace, Roderick, I am Philip thy deare friend.
Rod. Thou art a counterfet, I know thee not.
Phil. Didst not thou guide me unto Burbons Tent?
Rod. I guide thee to the Tent? I know thee not. What! murder! ho! will no man heare my voyce?
Enter Peter and 2 or 3 souldiers.
Pet. Yes, here are those [that] can heare well ynough. Where is the murdered and the murderer?
Rod. Peter, behold thy masters breathlesse truncke, And there's Prince Philip that hath murdered him.
Pet. To avoyd prolixity Ile kill him; yet first give me leave to weepe for my master.
Rod. First seyze the murderer and after weepe.
Phil. He that first ventures to attach my life Let him be sure he hath a life to spare, For I will send one breathlesse to the grave.
Pet. You that have nyne lives assault the gentleman.
Rod. What, peasants! dare you not attach the slave?Ile rayse the whole Campe but Ile apprehend him.Alarum, drummes! Souldiers, incircle him,And eyther apprehend or slay the wretch.
Enter Pembrooke and Ferdinand.
Pem. Tis princely Philip. Helpe to rescue him.
Rod. What slaves are these that dare oppose themselves In rescue of a murderer 'gainst an Host?
Ferd. Such as will make thee, Roderick, fly for life.
Pet. Zounds, men are mortall; to avoyd prolixity, My lord of Orleance, your best course is flying, And therein I will be your follower.
Rod. Fly before three, and be thus strong? 'Twere madnesse.
Pem. We trifle time; let's drive them from the Tent.
Alarum and drive away Peter and Rodoricke.
Pem. Live, worthy Philip; Pembrooke bids thee live,That did suspect this complot at the tombeWhen in the honour of Prince FerdinandYou did resigne your shield.
Phil. Th[e] Earle of Pembrooke!
Ferd. And Ferdinand that loves thee as his soule.
Phil. Two lives I owe my starres beside mine owneIn sending me two friends of such import.Durst you adventure thorow the enemies CampeAnd put your lives in danger to save mine?
Pem. The rumour of the Duke of Burbons deathHath so possest the Campe with admirationThat they regardlesse suffer all to passe.Only this Roderick wakens them a little,But cannot weane them from their wondring minds.
Phil. That Roderick is a perfect villayne turn'd;For though he guided me unto his TentAnd gave his liking that the Duke should dye,Yet how the villayne cryed to murder me!But come: in this confusion let's be gone,Tis dangerous to abide in Burbons Tent.Rodoricke, thou art the next must taste of death;That taske once done, we shall with little payneOur angry fathers reconcile agayne.
[Exeunt.