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.