Chapter 18

_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.