[SCENE 3.]

Enter Katharine, her man Bowyer, and a Paynter.

Kath. See that the tent be ready furnished By this my father and those Lords are met, Mongst whom the noble Pembrooke, like the Sunne, Out-shines the borrowed glory of the rest. And well I may compare him to the Sunne, That but once lookt upon with his fayre shape Hath dazled my poore sences and left me blind. But, sirra, where's the man I bade you bring?

Bow. If you can judge of colours (madam) this is he. Paynter, stand forth.

Kath. An earnest cause (my friend) importunes me, Wherein I am to crave thy cunningst Arte.

Payn. Such as it is you may commaund, faire Princesse.

Kath. But are thy colours fresh, thy pensill smoothe? Thy hand unwavering, and thy head dislodg'd Of all unquiet harsh incumbrances? For thou must draw proportion of those parts Whose worth to tell my toung wants utterance.

Payn. Feare you not, Madam; I am well prepar'd.

Kat. Then hither strait with youthfull Ferdinand, Navar's stout sonne, there comes an English Knight, Pembrooke they call him, honourably borne. Him (when we are in conference) thou shalt marke And to the life set doune his counterfet. Nor is it needful I should shew him thee! The goodliest person in the traine, that's he.

Bow. Let me alone to give the Paynter destruction. I know him as well as the Begger knowes his dish[113]: he weares a white Scarfe in his hat and an Orange tawny feather upon his arme.

Kath. Foole, indirectly thou describ'st another, Thats Prince Navar: Pembrooke his plume is Azure A little intermixt with spotlesse white, Prefiguring the temper of the Sky With whose hye motion his great mind doth move.

Bow. Orange tawny and Azure, all's one, all is but feather; there is no difference I am sure but in colour.

Kath. Why, thats as much as may be, is it not?

Bow. Not so, Ile prove the contrary: You are fayre and I am foule; is it that all the difference betweene you and I? there's another thing in it if you marke it well.

Kath. I prythee peace and with thy ignorance Draw not the Paynter likewise into errour. Here take thy stand; thou knowst him by these markes I lately spake of. Seeme to excell thine Arte And I will study to requite thy paynes.

Enter Lewes, Ferdinand, Pembrooke, Rodoricke, and Flaunders.

Lew. Thus did the Greeks, when they begirt the walles Of strong-built Troy, sometimes with friendly cheeks Entertayne peace and spend their frollick houres In courtly feasting of each other foe. Welcome, young Ferdinand! I promise you It cheeres my spirit we doe embrace you here: And welcome too, brave Lord. We cannot say, As if we were in Paris we might say, Your viands shall be costly: but presume, Such as the Camp affords, weele have the best. Daughter, I prythee bid them welcome.

Kath. My Lord, I doe, That with the Congy of a bended knee, But this with my true hearts[114] loyalty. Lords, you are welcome by my father's leave.

Lew. Why, now thou dost content thy father Kate, When wholy unto merryment inclined Thou answerst with like simpathy of mind.

Ferd. But yet her looks are haggard and obscure, Which makes me doubtfull sheele not stoop to lure.

Lew. Princes, let's enter: come, Ile lead the way! The feast is mine, you are my ghests this day.

Ferd. Now, Pembrooke, shew thy friendships true effect; Obtayne her love, my life thou shalt protect.

[Exeunt Lew. Ferd. Rod. & Flaund.

Kath.—He stayes behind the rest. O happy houre! Worke on (sweet Paynter) to inrich mine eye With that which els procures my tragedy.

Pem. Fayre Madam, in this confluence of sweet joy, When every one resorts unto the feast, Me thinkes you should not thus retyre alone, As seeming your best fare were heavy mone.

Kath. I am not (Sir) alone, nor do I starve My appetite with any wil-full fast; I have a banquet of sweet pleasing thoughts That is more precious then the costliest feast.

Pem. But at your father's boord there sits a ghest To whom the cup of Ganimede will seeme But juice of Hemlocke, and the daintiest dish As much unsavory as the Pomice stone, Unlesse your presence season his delight.

Kath. I am sorry I want skill to serve his dyet; I have not bin instructed to such end.

Pem. But I will teach you (Madam) if you please.

Kath. Rather the party grieved first should shew Wherein we erre, els how can we discerne What is our fault or how we may amend?

Pem. That office he commits unto my toung.

Kath. Is he not able then to speake himselfe?

Pem. Yes, Madam, I have heard when Ferdinand, With whom in Padua I was conversant, So spake in the assembly of the learn'd, With such a grace and well composed phrase, As many thought grave Tullies eloquence Flowed like a hony River from his lips.

Kath. He wanteth then belike sufficient courage.

Pem. Never liv'd Knight lesse prejudic'd in that Then valiant Ferdinand, whom I have seene Couch his stiffe[115] Launce with such dexterity As if the god of battell had himselfe Entered the Lists, and preassing to the midst Of steele-composed troops like lightning fly Till he had made a passage with his sword.

Kath. So puissant in his fortitude with men, And daunted with a silly womans looks! How can that be?

Pem. Yes, when you weygh the force Of your resistlesse and controwling beauty. It is your beauty, were his power and spirit Ten times more hauty-ventrous then it is, Compels it stoope in homage to your foot As trembling Lambs when they to Lions couch.

Kath. 'Twas well he chose so good an Orator To plead the imperfections of his cause.

Pem. I should have that opinion of my selfe If for my sake your Grace would favour him.

Kath. Yes, for your sake we have endur'd his name, And for your sake we tolerate his suite; But, when you cease to speake, then all that prayse You have attributed to his desert Seemes borrowed from your selfe; you are the man Whose eloquence compares with Ciceroes, You are the man whose knightly fortitude Lives in the world unprejudic'd of any, You vanquish beauty and inthrall the mind Of female weaknesse with no lesser awe Then Indian vassayles stoop unto their Lords. The name of Ferdinand you have mista'ne. Say tis your selfe, and then your whole discourse Observes the perfect method that it should.

Pem. Should I be false and trecherous to my friend? I am intreated but to speake for him.

Kath. But for your selfe would be more acceptable. Oh pardon me, nor let immodest stayne[116] Cleave to my brow: my love is chastely bred. Other then Pembrooke Katharine never vowes Shall be authoriz'd in her mayden thoughts.

Pem. Mistake me not, I say tis Ferdinand Dyes in affection to your Deity.

Kath. But in affection I survive to none But onely Pembrooke.

Pem. Will you be esteem'd A cruel murdresse of a loyall friend?

Kath. Will Pembrooke triumph in a womans fall?

Pem. You anger me. Respect young Ferdinand.

Kath. You please me not to speake of Ferdinand.

Pem. Nay, then, tis time to go or wrong my friend. Since, Madam, what I would I cannot doe, Mine honour here bids me leave off to woo. [Exit.

Kath. Stay, Pembrooke, Katharine will sue to thee; So shalt thou keepe thy fayth and loyalty.

Bow. Tary, sir, tary, we want the length of your nose: nay, if you will not heare, Ile be so bold as to follow your nose. Sir, tary, tary. [Exit.

Kath. He will not heare nor (too unkind) looke backe.

Payn. But, Madam, spight his heart you shall see this.

Kath. Give me his picture. Image far more kind Then is the substance whence thou art deriv'd, Which way soever I divert my selfe Thou seemst to follow with a loving eye. Thee will I therefore hold within my armes As some small comfort to increasing harmes.

Enter Ferd.

Ferd.—What meanes my second selfe by this long stay? I cannot rest till I be certified What good or bad successe my suite returnes. But he is gone, and in faire Katharines hand I see his picture. What may this pretend?

Kath. Thou hast done well indeed, in every part Thou shewst complete and cunning workmanship; His eye, his lip, his cheeke are rightly fram'd, But one thing thou hast grossly over-slipt: Where is his stubborne unrelenting heart That lurkes in secret as his master doth, Disdayning to regard or pity me.

Payn. Madam, his heart must be imagined By the description of the outward parts.

Kath. O no, for then it would be tractable, Mild and applausive as the others be.

Ferd. No Prince but Pembrooke dwels in Katharines eye.

[Kath] Whose that disturbs our pleasing solitude?

Ferd. Know you not me? my name is Ferdinand, Whose faithfull love Lord Pembrooke late commenct.

Kath. Speake then for Pembrooke as he did for you Or els your bootlesse suite will soon be cold.

Ferd. Why he was Orator in my behalfe. If I should speake for him, as he for me, Then should I breathe forth passions[117] not mine owne.— I, I, tis so; the villaine in my name Hath purchas'd her affection for himselfe, And therefore was he absent from the feast, And therefore shuns my sight and leaves behind This counterfet to keep him still in mind. Tis so, tis so; base Traytor, for this wronge My sword shall cut out thy perfidious toung. [Exit.

Enter Bowyer.

Bow. I have runne till I sweat, sweat till my shirt cleaves to my backe, cryed till I am hoarse, and am hoarse till I cannot cry; and yet he will not come backe.

Kath. No matter, fellow, I have here a pledge Which I will zealously devote me to.— There's thy reward: withdraw, my father comes.

[Exit Painter.

Enter Lewes.

Lew. Where are these Lords? the one hath sate with me And suddenly is risen from the boord, The other came not at all. Daughter, saw you The Prince or Pembrooke which way they are gone?

Kath. Backe to their Tents, my Lord, as I suppose.

Lew. Back to their tents and take no leave of us? Nay, then I feare their meaning was too smoothe And some black Treason cover'd in their smiles. Which we will seeke immediately to prevent.

[Exeunt.

Actus Secundus.