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.