[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.