e their crownes and them
captiue.
Hieronimo, this makes contents mine eie,
Although I sound well not the misterie.
HIERO. The first arm'd knight that hung his scutchin vp
He takes the scutchin ahd giues it to
the KING.
Was English Robert, Earle of Glocester,
Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,
Arriued with fiue and twenty thousand men
In Portingale, and, by successe of warre,
Enforced the king, then but a Sarasin,
To beare the yoake of the English monarchie.
KING. My lord of Portingale, by this you see
That which may comfort both your king and you,
And make your late discomfort seeme the lesse.
But say, Hieronimo: what was the next?
HIERO. The second knight that hung his scutchin vp
He doth as he did before.
Was Edmond, Earle of Kent in Albion.
When English Richard wore the diadem,
He came likewise and razed Lisbon walles,
And tooke the king of Portingale in fight,--
For which, and other suche seruice done,
He after was created Duke of Yorke.
KING. This is another speciall argument
That Portingale may daine to beare our yoake,
When it by little England hath beene yoakt.
But now, Hieronimo, what were the last?
HIERO. The third and last, not least in our account,
Dooing as before.
Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman,
Braue Iohn of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster,
As by his scuthcin plainely may appeare:
He with a puissant armie came to Spaine
And tooke our Kinge of Castille prisoner.
EMBASS. This is an argument for our viceroy
That Spaine may not insult for her successe,
Since English warriours likewise conquered Spaine
And made them bow their knees to Albion.
KING. Hieronimo, I drinke to thee for this deuice,
Which hath pleasde both the embassador and me:
Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou loue the king!
Takes the cup of HORATIO.
My lord, I feare we sit but ouer-long,
Vnlesse our dainties were more delicate,--
But welcome are to you the best we haue.
Now let vs in, that you may be dispatcht;
I think our councell is already set.
Exeunt omnes.
[CHORUS.]
ANDREA. Come we for this from depth of vnder ground,--
To see him feast that gaue me my deaths wound?
These pleasant sig
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