Kath.  Oh let me know your name, so kindly mov’d To dignifie my Pembrooke’s high deserts.

Pem.  You did not heare me say ’twas Pembrook, Madam. 
What is become of him I do not know
Nor greatly care, since he did wrong my friend
And first inkindled this dissensious brawle. 
This buryed here is noble Ferdinand,
His fathers comfort and his Countryes hope. 
Oh, Madam, had you seene him as I did,
Begirt with wounds that like so many mouthes
Seem’d to complayne his timelesse overthrow,
And had before bin inward with his vertues;
To thinke that nature should indure such wracke
And at one time so many precious gifts
Perish by death, would have dissolv’d your heart. 
He was the very pride of fortitude,
The house of vertue, and true friendship’s mirrour. 
Looke on his picture:  in the armes of death
When he was ready to give up the ghost,
I causde it to be drawne.  If at that time,
In that extremity of bitter pangs,
He lookt so lovely, had so fresh a colour,
So quick a moving eye, so red a lip,
What was his beauty when he was in health? 
See with what courage he indur’d the combat,
Smiling at death for all his tyranny. 
Had death bin ought but what he was, sterne death,
He would have bin enamour’d with his looks.

Kath.—­A certayne soft remorce
Creeps to my heart, perswades me he was true,
Loving and vertuous, but my selfe unkind
Coyly to scorne the proffer of his mind.

Pem.  O that in Justice of her former hate
She now would hopelesse doat on Ferdinand. 
Ile do the best I can to bring her on: 
Despaire and madnesse fetch her off againe.—­
Madam, how say you? wast not a grevious thing
So rich a Jem should lye rak’t up in dust,
So sweet a flower be withred in his prime?

Kath.  Death was a villayne for attempting it
And so was Pembrooke for effecting it. 
No bloudy Scythian or inhumane Turke
But would ha trembled to ha toucht his skin
Or spilt one drop of his Heroick bloud.

Pem.  Had not that Lady then an yron heart,
A rude ingratefull mind, a savadge spirit,
That knew this vertuous honourable Knight,
This gracious shape and unmatchd excellence,
To be intangled with her fervent love,
To serve her in all loyalty of heart,
To reverence and adore her very name,
To be content to kisse the lowly earth
Where she did set her foot; and when he sued
For grace, to scorne him, to deride his sighes,
And hold his teares and torment in contempt? 
Of all that ever liv’d deserv’d she not
The worlds reproch and times perpetuall blot?

Kath.  Heard you him ever speak of such a one?

Pem.  Oft times, but chiefly then when he perceyv’d
His hurt was mortall and no way but death,
At every grone he cald upon her name
As if that sound were present remedy;
And when insulting death drew short his breath
And now was ready to close up his eyes,
Farewell, quoth he, where e’re I find a shrine
My soule fly thou to beautious Katharine.