Pem.  Couldst thou discerne his face? how did he looke?

Bow.  Faith, scurvily, my Lord, like a greene cheese or the inside of a rotten Pumpian.[132]

Pem.  There is Crownes for thee to drinke. [Exit Pem.

Bow.  I thanke your Lordship.  To see the difference betweene these French Curres and our English Cavaliers!  There’s as much bounty in them as there’s Marchpane in a dish of Almond butter.  I might have stood heere till my teeth chatter in my head e’re the tother Launcepresado[133] would have sayd, Here, Captayn Bowyer, there’s a Cardicue[134] to wash downe melancholy.  But, had I knowne as much, I would have basted him till his bones had rattled in his skin.

    Enter Core and other Souldiers bringing in the Clowne.

All.  Come, sir, you shall answere your walking before our Captayne.

Clow.  Well, sirs, take heed what you doe:  I am a Princes man; if you stay me upon the kings hye way I can lay fellowship to your charge.

Core.  But, sirra, we can lay Treason to thine for being without the word.

Clow.  Without the word!  O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why, I have call’d thee Villayne, him Rascall, this Slave, that Rogue; and am I still without the word.

Core.  I, sir, the word that must serve your turne, the Watch-word.

Clow.  Fayth, y’are like to watch this twelve moneth ere you have any other words at my hands.

Bow.  How now, masters? what calfe are you dragging to the slaughter-house there, ha?

Core.  A stragler and a spy, Captayne, I pray examine him.

Bow.  So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at last:  Ile talke with you anon.  But, sirra, to you:  From whence come you?

Clow.  I came, Sir, from the king of Fraunces campe.

Bow.  So, what’s your name?

Clow.  My name, sir, is Bow wow.

Bow.  S’hart, what a name’s that! the Hedge-hog mocks us.  Bow wow, quotha? what kin art thou to the generation of Dogges?

Clow.  No dog, sir:  would you should know it, though I be encompast with curres.

Bow.  Zounds, he calls us curres! hang the hotch-potch up in a fathom or two of match.

Clow.  Not you, sir; I call not you so.  I know you to be a very insufficient ill-spoken Gentleman.

Bow.  Well, sirra, whom do you serve?

Clow.  My master, sir, is the Lady Catherine, the French king’s daughter.  I have bin abroad about some businesse of hers, and am now going backe againe.

Bow.  An honorable Lady, sir.  Let him goe; tis against the law of armes to stay him.

Clow.  Stand of.  But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Lady may give you thanks.

Bow.  My name’s Dick Bowyer.