Bel.  Now, Bellamira, thou hast time to thinke
Upon these troublous matters.  Should I suffer
So brave a Gentleman as Philip is
To wed himselfe to my unworthy selfe,
It would be counted vertue in the Prince
But I were worthy of a world of blame. 
No, Philip, no; thou shalt not wrong thine honour
Nor be impeacht by Bellamiraes spots. 
In some disguise Ile steale away to-night
And ne’re appeare more in my Philips sight.

[Exit.

Actus Tertius.

[SCENE 1.]

Enter Dicke Bowyer.

Bow.  There is no toyle to this walkinge of the Round.  S’hart, I have been stumbling up and downe all this night like a Brewers horse that has ne’re a good eye in his head.  Tis as darke as Pitch:  I can resemble our Campe to nothing better then hell, save that in hell they are always waking and heere the villaynes are as drowsie as swyne.  Lieutenant Nod! why you might have shot a double Cannon in his eare and never have wakt him.  I jogd and I jogd, I showted and I showted, and yet the mungrel snorted, you might heare him to Dover:  at last I dragd him by the heeles into a ditch of water and there left the Lobster crawling.  A the tother side, Core being appoynted to stand sentynell upon the Wallounes quarter, s’hart the Loach gets me into a Sutlers bath and there sits mee drinking for Joanes best cap:  but by this hand, and as Dicke Bowyer is a Soldier and a Cavaliero, he shall sit in the boults for it to morrow.  My comfort is in these extremities that I brought Thomasin to her Ladies Tent, leaving her new-come Lover to picke strawes.  But, soft:  qui vou la?[130]

    Enter Ferdinand.

Ferd.  My name is Ferdinand.

Bow.  Stand!

Ferd.  Why, Captayne, thou dost knowe me well inough.

Bow.  Know or not know, without the word you passe not.

Ferd.  Soliman.

Bow.  So, allie, allie, Monseur.

Ferd.  First, tell me, sawest thou Pembrooke come this way?

Bow.  I saw him not.

Ferd.  Farewell. [Exit.

Bow.  As much to you.  Zounds, these French think to outface us with a card of ten[131]:  but, and his beard were made of brasse, Dicke Bowyer will make him know the discipline of war.  Here comes another.

    Enter Pembrooke.

Pem.  Who’s there?  Dick Bowyer?

Bow.  Some call me so:  what then?

Pem.  Pembrooke salutes thee.

Bow.  O good morrow, my Lord, good morrow.

Pem.  I prythee, Captayne, sawst thou Ferdinand, Sonne to Navar, as thou didst walke the round.

Bow.  Even now, my Lord, he past along this way.

Pem.  Himselfe alone? or had he company?

Bow.  Nay, questionlesse, he was alone, my Lord.