PEMBROKE

The French and English make one warlike body, Whereof your Highness is the moving head: Or peace or war, as pleases you direct. Talk not of years, years limit not a Crown, There's no prescriptions to enthral a King: He finds it written in the Rolls of time, Nauar's a Kingdom solely absolute, And by collusion of the Kings of France, Because it lies so fitly upon France, The people speaking all one mother tongue, It hath been wrested for a Royalty, Untruly endue unto the Crown of France. That Pembroke speaks the truth, behold my sword, Which shall approve my words substantial. Rodorick, they ask a sweet and pleasing boon. Is love the cause? then wherefore wage we war? What matter is't who wears both Diadems, When the Succession lives in eithers heir? If Ferdinand be crowned King of Navarre, Fair Katharina shall be crowned his Queen: If Philip wear the Diadem of France, Fair Bellamira made his lovely Queen, Sways half the Sceptre. See what heaven can do, Provide for peace, even in the jaws of war! Amen, say Pembrocke. Pity such true love, which Like blessed seed, Sown in such fertile soil, his princely breast, By the rough stormy brow and winter's hate Of adverse parents should be timeless nipped, And die ever it attain maturity: For I have herd, the Princess whom he serves, Is hotly courted by the Duke of Burbon, Who to effect his choice, hath in these wars Furnished your father with a gallant power: His love may haply then disable Philips. Does she not pay true kindness with the Like? Inter these thoughts, this is her father's tent. Drum, give a friendly summons to the King. Must I be spokesman? Pembroke plead for love? Whose tongue tunde to the Instruments of war, Never knew strain of fancy on my breath: Affection never dwelled, but war and death. But if thou lou'dst to have thy soldiers fight, Or hearten the spent courages of men, Pembroke could use a style invincible. Lou'dst thou a town, I de teach thee how to woo her With words of thunder-bullets wrapped in fire, Till with thy Cannon battery she relent, And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee. Or if not this, then mount thee on a Steed, Whose courage never awed and iron Bit, And thou shalt hear me hollow to the beast, And with commanding accents master him: This Courtship Pembroke knows; but idle love, The slicke-fac't object of and amorous brain, Did never cloth mine eyeballs, never taught This tongue inurde to broils and stratagems, The passionate language of a troubled heart: I am too blunt and rude for such nice service. Yet since my friend enjoins me to this task, Take courage, isle both speak, plead, woo for thee, And when I want fit words to move her mind, I'll draw my sword, and swear she must be kind. Drummer report our presence to the King. Fair Madam, in this confluence of sweet joy, When every one resorts unto the feast, Me thinks you should not thus retire alone, As seeming, your best fare were heavy moan. But at your father's board there sits a guessed, To whom the cup of Ganymede will seem But juice of Hemlock, and the daintiest dish, As much unsavoury as the Pomice stone, Unless your presence season his delight. But I will teach you (Madam) if you please. That office he commits unto my tongue. Yes, Madam, I have herd when Ferdinand, With whom in Padua I was conversant, So spoke in the assembly of the learned, With such a grace and well composed phrase, As many thought graven Tully's eloquence Flowed Like a honey River from his lips. Never lived Knight less prejudiced in that, Then valiant Ferdinand, whom I have seen, Couch his staff Lance with such dexterity, As if the God of battle had himself Entered the Lists, and pressing to the amid Of steele-composed troops, Like lightning fly, Till he had made a passage with his sword. Yes, when you weigh the force Of your resistless and controlling beauty, It is your beauty: were his power and spirit Ten times more haughty venturous then it is, Compels it stoop in homage to your foot, As trembling Lambs, when they to Lions couch. I should have that opinion of my self, If for my sake your Grace would favour him. Should I be false and treacherous to my friend? I am entreated but to speak for him. Mistake me not, I say 'tis Ferdinand Dies in affection to your Deity. Will you be esteemed A cruel murdresse of a loyal friend? You anger me, respect young Ferdinand. Nay, then 'tis time to go, or wrong my friend. Since, Madam, what I would I cannot do, Mine honour here bids me leave off to woo. Who's this at enmity within our Camps? What, Bowyer, and the servant to great Burbon? Both sheathe your weapons: by our martial law, This act is death. Good Captain Bowyer, let our English troops Keep a strong watch to night: my throbbing heart, Like to a Scritchowle in the midnight hour, Bodes some black scene of mischief imminent. Why should this load of grief lie on my heart With such a ponderous weight? I know no cause, Unless it be by thinking on the wrong My friend receives in the unmatched love, Which Katharine bears me: yet my faith is found, And Like a solid Rock shall check her tears. Katharine loves me; yet for my friends delight, Pembroke will hate her love, and fly her sighed. What wills your Grace? A villain? and my death? I am amazed. Art thou awake? or is all this a dream? Dear friend. Ferdinand, I will. Her silence argues a tormented spirit. And infectuous maid! Oh God, what may these moody looks intend? Me thinks, I should have better from my friend. Who's there? Dick Bowyer? Pembroke salutes thee. I prithee, Captain, sawest thou Ferdinand, Son to Navarre, as thou didst walk the round? Himself alone? or had he company? Couldst thou discern his face? how did he look? There is Crowns for thee to drink. Good end succeed my early heauynesse: Three times my feet, as loath to guide me hither, Have stumbled in a plain and even way, My sword forsook his scabbard once or twice, Blood from my nostrils thrice hath spowted forth, And such a dimness ouerrunnes my sighed, That I have taken a tree to be a man, And questioned with it about serious things. This is the place where I must meet my friend. Yonder he stands. Good morrow, Ferdinand. Draw upon Ferdinand? You have some reason for this resolution. A sorry argument to kill your friend. I must have better reason then your will, Or isle not draw upon my Ferdinand: Our love is older then of one days growth, A years continuance hath united us. Have we not made and interchange of oaths, Sworn love to one another twenty times, Confirmed that friendship by society, Increased it with the sympathy of mind, Making one pleasure, pleasure unto both? And shall this bound be broken upon will? Yes, nearer to thy person, In friendly sort to embrace thee, Ferdinand. Thou knowest the contrary: for we have fought At every weapon, to approve our skill. Kill me? thou wilt not wrong thine honour so? Wound me so desperately? nay then isle draw, Not to offend, but to defend my self. Now I perceive it is my blood thou seekest: Witness you heavens, and all you gracious powers, That stand auspicious to this enterprise, That Pembroke draws forth and unwilling sword. Another wou ̄ worser? then Pembroke, rouse thy spirit, And bear no longer with this haire-braynd man. Yet (Ferdinand) resolve me of the cause, That moves thee to this unkind enterprise: And if I satisfy thee not in words, This double wound shall please thee with my blood. Nay, with my sword I'll make a score of wounds, Rather then want of blood divorce thy love. And if I spare thee not, impute the cause To thine own rashness, and mine aching wounds. O, I fear thy life: how fares my Ferdinand? I am marked for death, I feel a general faintness through my limbs: Expense of blood will soon expend my life. Then we must both die in the latest of death. Tell me, o tell me, whence proceeds this hate? O yet a little longer, gracious time, Detain his princely spirit in his breast, That I may tell him he is misse-inform'd, And purge my self unto my dying friend: But death hath laid his num-cold hand upon me: I am arrested to depart this life. Dear Ferdinand, although thou be my death, I than ̄ k thee, Forester, whose rough grown walks, Wild in aspect, afford more courtesy, Then places or for civility. My life redeemed by thy industrious hand, Remains in love and duty bound to thee. I never in my life was better sitted. This should be that unlucky fatal place, Where causeless hate drew blood from Ferdinand. Behold the grass, a purple register, Still blusheth in remembrance of our fight. Why wither not these trees? those her be and plants? And every neighbour branch drop out their grief? Poor souls, they do, and have wept out their sap, Yet I have paid no duty to my friend. Where is the Tomb I wild you to erect? Farewell, kind Host: & now let me embrace This empty Monument of my lost friend. O! were't so happy to enshrine his bones, How blessed should Pembroke be? but they are torn By the fierce savage Wolf, whose filthy maw Is made and unfit graven to bury him. But if (without offence) I may desire it, I wish his soul from Paradise may see, How well his name is kept in memory: These eyes that saw him bleed, have wept for him: This heart devised his harm, hath sighed for him: And now, this hand, that with ungentle force Depryu'd his life, shall with repentant service, Make Triple satisfaction to his soul Fortune, thou dost me wrong, to suffer me So long vncombatted: I prithee send Some stubborn Knight, some passenger, Whose stout controlling stomach will refuse To yield to my prescription, but by force I hate this idle rest of precious time. How now! deridest thou my devotion, goddess? Thou sendest a woman to encounter me. Henceforth isle hold thee for a feigned name, And no disposer of my Christian Hope's: But soft, I know that face: o! I, 'tis she Was unjust cause of all this misery. Your wishes come too late. What seek you, Madam? Yes, Madam, I have herd of it long since, And, to my grief, knew both the Gentlemen. Rest you assured, Madam, they are dead: The one of them to whom I was allied, And nearly kint in friendship from my youth, By me lies buried here: a braver Knight, And truer Lover never breathed in France. Not only, Madam, have I built this tomb In his memorial: but my self have sworn Continual residence within this Wood: And for the love I bore him, wear these arms, That whatsoever Knight, adventurer or other, Making his journey this way, and refusing To do Knights homage to my breathless friend, By this assailing steel may be compelled. You did not hear me say 'twas Pe ̄ brook, Madam What is become of him, I do not know, Nor greatly care, since he did wrong my friend, And first enkindled this dissensious brawl. This buried here, is noble Ferdinand, His father's comfort, and his Countries hope. O Madam! had you seen him as I did, Begirt with wounds, that Like so many months, Seemed to complain his timeless overthrow: And had before been inward with his virtues, To think that nature should endure such wrack, And at one time so many precious gifts Perish by death, would have dissolved your heart. He was the very pride of fortitude, The house of virtue, and true friendships mirror: Look on his picture, in the arms of death, When he was ready to give up the ghost, I caused it to be drawn: if at that time, In that extremity of bitter pangs, He looked so lovely, had so fresh a colour, So quick a moving eye, so read a lip, What was his beauty when he was in health? See with what courage he endured the combat, Smiling at death for all his tyranny. Had death been ought but what he was, stern death, He would have been enamoured with his look. Oh that in Justice of her former hate, She now would hopeless do ate on Ferdinand I'll do the best I can to bring her on: Despair and madness, fetch her off again, Madam, how say you? wast not a grievous thing, So rich a Jem, should lie raked up in dust? So sweet a flower, be withered in his prime? Had not that Lady then and iron heart? A rude ingrateful mind? a savage spirit? That knew this virtuous honourable Knight, This gracious shape, and unmatched excellence, To be entangled with her ferment love, To serve her in all loyalty of heart, To reverence and adore her very name, To be content to kiss the lowly earth, Where she did set her foot: and when he sued For grace, to scorn him, to deride his sighs And hold his tears and torment in contempt Of all that ever lived, deserved she not, The world's reproach, and times perpetual blot? Oft times: but chiefly then, when he perceived, His hurt was mortal, and no way but death. At every groan, he called upon her name, As if that found were present remedy? And when insulting death drew short his breath, And now was ready to close up his eyes: Farewell, quoth he, where ever I find a shrine, My soul fly thou to beauteous Katharine. If such a pleasure you receive by this, I tell you, Madam, I shall shortly have His whole proportion cut in Alabaster, Armed as he was when he encountered here, Which kneeling, shall be set upon his tomb. Still haunted with these women? are men vanished? Or what occasion leaves the Realm of France, So void and empty of adventurous Knights? Poor Bellamira, I lament thy state; But I must still suppress my discontent. What are you so deformed with loathsome spots? And what that Antic keeps you company? Poor Bellamira, how I pity thee Yet must forbear to comfort thy distress. Wherein? Hence, beetlehead. And Pembroke, now bethink How great a tied of Misery's breaks in. First, thou art taxed with the lose of him, Whom equal with thy self thou holdest deer: Next, Bellamira is become a Leper, Whose absence Philip carefully laments: Then treacherous Burbon joins himself with France, And both the Kings are angrily incensed: But last, which is some comfort to the rest, Disdainful Katharine wastes with fruitless love. Would all so minded Like mishap might prove. But by this signal there are Knights at hand, I must provide their valours to withstand. Stay your intended march. A Knight I am, and to adventures bound: This monument erected for my friend, By me is guarded: If you mean to pass, You must do homage, or else fight with me. First, to acknowledge him lies buried here, The faythfulst Lover, and most valyant Knight, That in this time drew sword, or managed horse. Dispatch, Navarre, one of you come forth, To interchange a warlike blow or two. A recantation of my former words, A servitude to him that conquers me: But who so ever is by me subdued, Must leave his Shield to beautify this shrine. Provide thee, Burbon, I'll not favour thee. Idem rather have his life, then all your shields: Who is next? You are and Honourable foe, my Lord: By law of Arms, you must hang up your shield. A valiant Knight, his name, young Ferdinand, Slain by misfortune of a friendly hand. By heaven, the tongue profanes the sacred name of Ferdinand with any villainy, I'll cut it out, or stop his throat with blood, And so dam in his blasphemous upbraids. Thus heady rage, blind in her rash resolve Drew Ferdinand and me into the field, As now it does these hight incensed kings. Were't not my vows prohibit my desire, To stay the inconvenience of this fight, I would discover where their Daughters are, To show the error they are shrouded in: But Time hath run a desperate course with me, And desperate let them run to misery: Here comes a Straggler of their Army Stand. His that can force thee, if thou wilt not stand. Hang up thy shield, as other knights have done, Upon the Hearse of noble Ferdinand, And thou mayest freely pass without control. Successful Actium fit upon thy sword: This net of sorrows, I perceive, intangles Not only Pembroke, but the Court of France. Navarre and his associates are all touched. Time look upon us, and at last determine, This heart-disseuering tumults with a peace. What art thou? stand. His, while he lived, that of the world's increase, Was the most loyal friend, and valiant Knight: Which thou must likewise ratify with me, And hang thy shield up to adorn his Hearse, Or venture Combat for denying it. Ferdinand. What answer givest thou? shall I homage have? How comes this stranger by my name? Belike He was affected unto Ferdinand: And for his sake (hearing he did me wrong) Covets to make amends, or means to prove If I embrace him with unfeigned love. He shall not doubt of that, once more I say, 'Twas Ferdinand was the renowned Knight Of all the world. For Ferdinand my valour will I try. Either I dream, or this is Ferdinand. Thrice happy honoured, I do embrace my friend. The Like did I by Princely Ferdinand: But that he lives, my soul confounds with joy. Of her and all the rest: Her father lives: This is his shield, and this is great Nauars: This Rodoricks, the Duke of Orleans, And this malicious Burbons: all the which I forced from them, to beautify thy shrine. But 'tis of Katharine thou desirest to hear: She likewise hath been here; her flinty heart, So much before inclined to cruelty, Now waxes tender: she no sooner saw Thy picture here; but by heavens providence, Or how I know not, she so dotes on it, As I supposed she would a died for love. It hath, and never Lady more enamoured, 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 Alabaster, Which I intended here should be set up. She earnestly entreated she might have A sighed of it, and daily be permitted To deck thy tomb and statue with sweet flowers. She's but even now departed to that end, And will (I know) be quickly here again. Now for assurance I dissemble not, Instead of thy resemblance cut in stone, Kneel here thy self, and hear her piteous moan. Soft, there's a cushe ̄ : nay, you must be bore, And hold your hands up, as the manner is. 'Twere best of all; and now I think vpon't, Here is a book: so, keep your countenance, You must imagine now you are transformed. Yonder she comes, in any case stir not. How say you, Madam, is't not very Like him? I'll play the clark for both, and say Amen. Nay, muse not, Madam, 'tis no senseless Image, But the true essence of your wished Love. Of that no more: now let us haste from hence, To quiet the dissension lately sprung Between your parents, Philip likewise gone, To be revenged on Burbons treachery, Perhaps may stand in needs of friendly aid: To him and them our vows must next be paid. 'Tis princely Philip, help to rescue him. We trifle time, let's driven them from the Tent. Live, worthy Philip, Pembroke bids thee live, That did suspect this complot at the tomb, When in the honour of Prince Ferdinand, You did resign your shield. The rumour of the Duke of Burbons death, Hath so possessed the Camp with admiration, That they regardless suffer all to pass: Only this, Rodorick wakens them a little; But cannot wean them from their wondering minds. He that steps forward with a murdering thought, Marries him self to death. France, cease the fight: They are Frenchmen you pursue, French men you should save. Dig not for Traitors love your subjects graven. Will you accept of peace? Nay, smile not, though our number's few, Our great hearts tell us, we shall conquer you. Alarm. and S. George. To stop your passage this way, great Navarre. I charge thee, by the duty of a King, Thy love to Justice, and thy subjects lives, You found retreat, and make a peace with France. Princes, agree: force Can ̄ not end this war, but policy. Therefore disperse your selves, and let our Squires, With Trumpets in their mouths found loud retreat, Where you perceive the fight most violent. The strangeness of which act will straight amaze, When they shall hear both peace and war denounced, And one self instant, they will soon retire. To know the issue, Princes, fallen to work: 'Tis work of charity, 'twould do me good, If we could end this battle without blood. The Like will Pembroke. Peace is a welcome guessed unto their hearts: But Rodoricke, Like a greedy envious churl, Fearing to spend his wealth, still keeps them back, 'Tis he exasperates the Princes hate: And when our Trumpets call them to retire, He with wars clangor sets them on again. Unless he be removed, our labour's lost. Do, and isle scour these ranks: if Pembroks eye Encounters his, he meets his Tragedy. Here's the Traitor, strike him down. Thou were't a party in all Burbons wrongs. Set discord betwixt these Kings, Villain, for this, our swords shall stop thy breath. Here Pembroke takes his stand: Come France and all the world, I will not start, Till Philips knightly sword pierce Rodoricks heart. Kings of Navarre and France, why do you thus With civil butchery wound this blessed land, Which Like a mother, from her melting eyes, Sheds crimson tears, to see you enemies? Lews of France, wherein hath great Navarre Dangerd your state, that you should prosecute War with her largest ruin? how hath France Sowed such inveterate hate within your breast, That to confound him, you will undergo The orphans curse, the widows tears & cries, Whose husbands in these wars have lost their lives? Ever you contend, discourse your grievances. That Traitor, for a deed so false, so foul, Hath answered it by this, even with his soul. France never had design in their two death's. Take truce a while with rage: hear what we'll urge This knight flew Burbon, this enforced you fly; Therefore you hate them, and for hate they die. Since then true virtue is disfigured, Desert trod down, and their heroic worth, In justice doomed on Traitors merits, Death: Behold these two, which thousands could not daunt, But your ungratitude, on bent knee, Yield up their Swords to bide your tyranny. 'Twas he killed Burbon: if you love him dead, Show it by paring off this valiant head: Do you the Like: to this revenge apace. They fear not threats, and scorn to beg for grace. Call them not sons, whom you would fain de stroy. How soon this Scene is cham ̄ g'd! those that eve ̄ now Were sworn wars servants, now to peace do bow: Then Pembroke, strive to make their joys more full, See, kingly father, to that princely son. Pembroke, the hated murderer of his friend: Pembroke, that did divide thee from his sighed, And cut so many passages of death, In his endeared bosom, humbly thus Forgets his honour, and from your hie hand, Invokes revenge for wounding Ferdinand. Lewis of France, hear what and English Earl Speaks in the front and view of all thy Host: If ever Ferdinand stained Katharines honour, I was a party: yet in all your Camp, Who dares step forth and call me ravisher? No, France, know Pembroke is and Englishman, Highly derived, yet higher in my thoughts; And for to register mine acts in brass, Which all-devouring time shall never raze out, Have I through all the Courts of Christendom, In knightly trial proved my virtue found, Raised England's fame aloft; and shall I now, In her next continent, her neighbour Realm. France, on whose bosom I may stand and see That blessed soil, that bred and fostered me, Soil all my late God honour, to consent Unto a royal Princes ravishment? Idem sooner from a mountain cast my self, Or from a hungry Lion tear his pray, Then dare to act a deed so infamous: But words are air: Lewis, behold this face; This proves our honour clear from all disgrace. See, Princes, loves effect: she flies your hand, To live embraced with her deer Ferdinand. Look not so strange, it is thy lovely Love, Thus managed, to approve thy constancy. Embrace her then: and now Navarre and France, Here end your strife, and let all hatred fallen, And turn this war to Hymen's festival. Oh, were those spots as kindly beautiful, Then were fair Bellamira undeformed. Speak, fair Bellamira. Beauteous Bellamira. Made a loathsome Leper. Pen never writ. A worthier Story to posterity. You have done well: Your hand I see's a perfect Architect In sorrows building: once more let suffice I quite your painful travel but with thanks: Now leave me to my self, for here I vow To spend the remnant of my hapless days: No knight nor Prince shall ever pass this way, Before his tongue acknowledge Ferdinand The faithfullest lover and the lovingest friend The world contains: I'll have his Sepulcher As yet but naked and ungarnished, Ever many days hang richer with the spoils And vanquished Tropheyes of proud passengers, Then was the Romans wealthy Capitol: So, gentle Forester, bequeathe thy prayers In my assistance; that is all I crave. A joust reward. Come, Madam, have you done? Give me the picture I may hang it up.