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.
[SCENE 2.]
Enter Burbon, Navar, Philip, Bellamira, Rodoricke, and attendants.
Bur. Navar, you sprinckle me with foule reproch And dimme the luster of our royall name With colours of dishonour.
Nav. Heare me, Burbon.