SCENE III.—Sir Bartram's Castle.
Enter Sir Bartram, with Eustace, and others, booted.
Sir Bar. But tell me, lovely Eustace, as thou lov'st me,
Among the many pleasures we have pass'd,
Which is the rifest in thy memory,
To draw thee over to thine ancient friend?
Eust. What makes Sir Bartram thus inquisitive?
Tell me, good knight, am I welcome or no?
Sir Bar. By sweet Saint Andrew and may sale[254] I swear,
As welcome is my honest Dick to me
As morning's sun, or as the watery moon
In merkest night, when we the borders track.
I tell thee, Dick, thy sight hath clear'd my thoughts
Of many baneful troubles that there woon'd:[255]
Welcome to Sir Bartram as his life!
Tell me, bonny Dick: hast got a wife?
Eust. A wife! God shield, Sir Bartram, that were ill,
To leave my wife and wander thus astray:
But time and good advice, ere many years,
May chance to make my fancy bend that way.
What news in Scotland? therefore came I hither,
To see your country and to chat together.
Sir Bar. Why, man, our country's blithe, our king is well,
Our queen so-so, the nobles well and worse,
And weel are they that are about the king,
But better are the country gentlemen:
And I may tell thee, Eustace, in our lives
We old men never saw so wondrous change.
But leave this trattle, and tell me what news
In lovely England with our honest friends.
Eust. The king, the court, and all our noble friends
Are well; and God in mercy keep them so!
The northern lords and ladies hereabouts,
That know I came to see your queen and court,
Commend them to my honest friend Sir Bartram,—
And many others that I have not seen.
Among the rest, the Countess Elinor,
From Carlisle, where we merry oft have been,
Greets well my lord, and hath directed me,
By message, this fair lady's face to see.
[Shows a portrait.
Sir Bar. I tell thee, Eustace, 'less mine old eyes daze,
This is our Scottish moon and evening's pride;
This is the blemish of your English bride.
Who sail by her, are sure of wind at will;
Her face is dangerous, her sight is ill:
And yet, in sooth, sweet Dick, it may be said,
The king hath folly, there's virtue in the maid.
Eust. But knows my friend this portrait? be advis'd.
Sir Bar. Is it not Ida, the Countess of Arran's daughter's?
Eust. So was I told by Elinor of Carlisle:
But tell me, lovely Bartram: is the maid
Evil-inclin'd, misled, or concubine
Unto the king or any other lord?
Sir Bar. Should I be brief and true, than thus, my Dick:
All England's grounds yield not a blither lass,
Nor Europe can surpass her for her gifts
Of virtue, honour, beauty, and the rest:
But our fond king, not knowing sin in lust,
Makes love by endless means and precious gifts;
And men that see it dare not say't, my friend,
But we may wish that it were otherwise.
But I rid thee to view the picture still,
For by the person's sight there hangs some ill.
Eust. O, good Sir Bartram, you suspect I love
(Then were I mad) her whom I never saw.
But, howsoe'er, I fear not enticings:
Desire will give no place unto a king:
I'll see her whom the world admires so much,
That I may say with them, "There lives none such."
Sir Bar. Be Gad, and sall both see and talk with her;
And, when thou'st done, whate'er her beauty be,
I'll warrant thee her virtues may compare
With the proudest she that waits upon your queen.
Enter Servant.
Serv. My lady entreats your worship in to supper.
Sir Bar. Guid, bonny Dick, my wife will tell thee more:
Was never no man in her book before;
Be Gad, she's blithe, fair, lewely,[256] bonny, etc.[257]
[Exeunt.
CHORUS[258]
Enter Bohan and Oberon; to them a round of Fairies, or some pretty dance.
Boh. Be Gad, gramercies, little king, for this;
This sport is better in my exile life
Than ever the deceitful werld could yield.
Ober. I tell thee, Bohan, Oberon is king
Of quiet, pleasure, profit, and content,
Of wealth, of honour, and of all the world;
Tied to no place,—yet all are tied to one.
Live thou this life, exil'd from world and men,
And I will show thee wonders ere we part.
Boh. Then mark my story, and the strange doubts
That follow flatterers, lust, and lawless will,
And then say I have reason to forsake
The world and all that are within the same.
Go shroud us in our harbour, where we'll see
The pride of folly, as it ought to be. [Exeunt.