Enter sir Bartram with Eustas and others, booted. I. iii.
S. Bar. But tell me louely Eustas as thou lou’st me,
Among the many pleasures we haue past,
Which is the rifest in thy memorie, 560
To draw thee ouer to thine auncient friend?
Eu. What makes Sir Bartram thus inquisitiue?
Tell me good knight, am I welcome or no?
Sir Bar. By sweet S. Andrew and may sale I sweare,
As welcom is my honest Dick to me,
As mornings sun, or as the watry moone,
In merkist night, when we the borders track.
I tell thee Dick, thy sight hath cleerd my thoughts,
Of many banefull troubles that there woond.
Welcome to sir Bartram as his life: 570
Tell me bonny Dicke, hast got a wife?
Eust. A wife God shield sir Bartram, that were ill
To leaue my wife and wander thus astray:
But time and good aduise ere many yeares,
May chance to make my fancie bend that way,
What newes in Scotland? therefore came I hither:
To see your Country, and to chat togither.
Sir Bar. Why man our Countries blyth, our king is well.
Our Queene so, so, the Nobles well, and worse
And weele are they that were about the king, 580
But better are the Country Gentlemen.
And I may tell thee Eustace, in our liues,
We old men neuer saw so wondrous change:
But leaue this trattle, and tell me what newes,
In louely England with our honest friends?
Eust. The king, the Court, and all our noble frends
Are well, and God in mercy keepe them so.
The Northren Lords and Ladies here abouts,
That knowes I came to see your Queen and Court,
Commends them to my honest friend sir Bartram, 590
And many others that I haue not seene:
Among the rest, the Countesse Elinor from Carlile
Where we merry oft haue bene,
Greets well my Lord, and hath directed me,
By message this faire Ladies face to see.
Sir Bar. I tell thee Eustace, lest mine old eyes daze,
This is our Scottish moone and euenings pride:
This is the blemish of your English Bride:
Who sailes by her, are sure of winde at will.
Her face is dangerous, her sight is ill: 600
And yet in sooth sweet Dicke, it may be said,
The king hath folly, their’s vertue in the mayd.
Eust. But knows my friend this portrait, be aduisd?
Sir Bar. Is it not Ida the Countesse of Arains daughters?