[Enter king of Denmark, with some attendants, Blanch his daughter, Mariana, Marques Lubeck, William disguised.]

King of Denmark. 
Lord Marques Lubecke, welcome home. 
Welcome, brave Knight, unto the Denmark King,
For Williams sake, the noble Norman Duke,
So famous for his fortunes and success,
That graceth him with name of Conqueror: 
Right double welcome must thou be to us.

Robert Windsor. 
And to my Lord the king shall I recount
Your graces courteous entertainment,
That for his sake vouchsafe to honor me,
A simple Knight attendant on his grace.

King of Denmark. 
But say, Sir Knight, what may I call your name?

Robert Windsor. 
Robert Windsor, and like your Majesty.

King of Denmark. 
I tell thee, Robert, I so admire the man
As that I count it heinous guilt in him
That honors not Duke William with his heart. 
Blanch, bid this stranger welcome, good my girl.

Blanch. 
Sir,
Shouyld I neglect your highness charge herein,
It might be thought of base discourtesy. 
Welcome, Sir Knight, to Denmark, heartily.

Robert Windsor. 
Thanks gentle Lady.  Lord Marques, who is she?

Lubeck. 
That same is Blanch, daughter to the King. 
The substance of the shadow that you saw.

Robert Windsor. 
May this be she, for whom I crost the Seas? 
I am ashamed to think I was so fond. 
In whom there’s nothing that contents my mind: 
Ill head, worse featured, uncomely, nothing courtly;
Swart and ill favoured, a Colliers sanguine skin. 
I never saw a harder favoured slut. 
Love her? for what?  I can no whit abide her.

Kind of Denmark. 
Mariana, I have this day received letters
From Swethia, that lets me understand
Your ransom is collecting there with speed,
And shortly shalbe hither sent to us.

Mariana. 
Not that I find occasion of mislike
My entertainment in your graces court,
But that I long to see my native home—­

King of Denmark. 
And reason have you, Madam, for the same. 
Lord Marques, I commit unto your charge
The entertainment of Sir Robert here;
Let him remain with you within the Court,
In solace and disport to spend the time.

Robert Windsor. 
I thank your highness, whose bounden I remain.

[Exit King of Denmark.  Blanch speaketh this secretly at one end of the stage.]

Unhappy Blanch, what strange effects are these
That works within my thoughts confusedly? 
That still, me thinks, affection draws me on,
To take, to like, nay more, to love this Knight?

Robert Windsor. 
A modest countenance; no heavy sullen look;
Not very fair, but richly deckt with favour;
A sweet face, an exceeding dainty hand;
A body were it framed of wax
By all the cunning artists of the world,
It could not better be proportioned.