Pem.  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 meanes to prove
If I imbrace him with unfayned love. 
He shall not doubt of that.—­Once more I say
Twas Ferdinand was the renowned Knight
Of all the world.

Ferd.  But I deny that saying, Giving to Pembroke that preeminence.

Pem.  For Ferdinand my valour will I try.

Ferd.  In Pembrooks valour I will fight and die.

[Discover eche other in fighting.

Pem.  Eyther I dreame or this is Ferdinand.

Ferd.  My sight deludes me or stout Pembroke lyves.

Pem.  Thrice happy hour[143]!  I do embrace my friend.

Ferd.  Welcome, oh welcome, Pembrok, to myne armes, Whom I imagined death had tane from me.

Pem.  The like did I by Princely Ferdinand, But that he lives my soule confounds with joy.

Ferd.  Tell me, deare friend, since our unlucky fight Have you heard ought of my disdainfull Love?

Pem.  Of her and all the rest.  Her Father lives: 
This is his shield and this is great Navars,
This Rodoricks, [this] the Duke of Orleance,
And this malicious Burbons:  all the which
I forc’t from them to beautifie thy shrine. 
But tis of Katharine thou desir’st to heare: 
She likewise hath bin here; her flinty heart,
So much before inclined to cruelty,
Now waxeth tender:  she no sooner saw
Thy picture here, but by heavens providence,
Or how I know not, she so doats on it
As I supposde she would a dyed for love.

Ferd.  Has then my shaddow and supposed death Brought that to passe my living substance could not?

Pem.  It hath, and never Lady more enamour’d
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 alablaster,
Which I intended here should be set up. 
She earnestly entreated she might have
A sight of it and dayly be permitted
To deck thy tombe and statue with sweet flowers: 
Shee’s but even now departed to that end,
And will (I know) be quickly here agayne. 
Now, for assurance I dissemble not,
Instead of thy resemblance cut in stone
Kneele here, thyself, and heare her pitious mone.

Ferd.  Content!  I hold your counsell for the best; Weele once conclude our sorrowes with a jest.

Pem.  Soft there’s a cushen:  nay, and you must be bare And hold your hands up, as the maner is.

Ferd.  What if I held a book as if I pray’d?

Pem.  Twere best of all; and, now I think upon’
Here is a booke:  so, keepe your countenance;
You must imagine now you are transformed. 
Yonder she comes; in any case stir not.