Ferd. Has then my shaddow and supposed death Brought that to passe my living substance could not?
Pem. It hath, and never Lady more enamour'd
Then now is Katharine of her Ferdinand.
I told her, and no more then truth I told,
A cunning Carver had cut out thy shape.
And whole proportion in white alablaster,
Which I intended here should be set up.
She earnestly entreated she might have
A sight of it and dayly be permitted
To deck thy tombe and statue with sweet flowers:
Shee's but even now departed to that end,
And will (I know) be quickly here agayne.
Now, for assurance I dissemble not,
Instead of thy resemblance cut in stone
Kneele here, thyself, and heare her pitious mone.
Ferd. Content! I hold your counsell for the best; Weele once conclude our sorrowes with a jest.
Pem. Soft there's a cushen: nay, and you must be bare And hold your hands up, as the maner is.
Ferd. What if I held a book as if I pray'd?
Pem. Twere best of all; and, now I think upon'
Here is a booke: so, keepe your countenance;
You must imagine now you are transformed.
Yonder she comes; in any case stir not.
Enter Katharine.
Kath. I feare I have detracted time too long
In my determinde service to my Love;
But Ile redeeme my fault with double care.
See where his statue is set up: kind knight,
For ever Katharine will record thy truth.
Pem. How say you, Madam; ist not very like him!
Kath. As like as if it were himselfe indeed.
And would to God my prayers might be heard,
That, as the image of Pigmalion once,
Life might descend into this sencelesse stone:
But that was faynd, as my desire is fond;
Relentlesse Death withholds my Ferdinand,
And no intreaty may recover him.
In token, then, I do repent my scorne
That I was cruell to so kind a friend,
Thou, the presenter of his absent person,
Receive these sweets; thy temples be adornd
With this fresh garland; thy white ivory hand
Boast of this ring, which, if thou wert alive,
Should bind our faythes up in a nuptiall knot:
But, for thou canst not be reviv'd agayne,
He dwell with thee in death, and, as my spirit
Mounts to the happy mansion of thy spirit,
So, to accompany thy shaddow here,
Ile turne my body to a shaddow, too,
And, kneeling thus, confront thy silent lookes
With my sad looks. This is the Instrument:
Now, Ferdinand, behold thy Katharine comes.