s
And once a day come straw them at his feet,
And once a day pay tribute of choyce thanks
To you the furtherer of my happinesse:
Till then I place the picture where it was.

_Enter Clowne and Bellamira_.

_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.

_Bel_. Is this my brothers Hearse; is this the place
Where I was shipwrackt of a brothers name?
Oh let me spend a loving sigh for him
And sacrifice a sisters holy rites.
For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peace
Untill thy body glorified from heaven
Become immortal by thy soules returne.

_Pem_. Poore Bellamira, how I pity thee,
Yet must forbeare to comfort thy distresse.

_Clow_. Is my yong Lord buried here? I say no more, but I pray God send
him a joyful insurrection.

_Kat_. Inough, sweet Bellamira.
These leprous spots tis time they were remov'd.
Come, goe with me: since I left