_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. _Clow_. Then, master Dicke Bowyer, after my heartie commendations, adue! but as for the rest I shall, I say no more, I shall. [_Exit_. _Bow_. How now, Core? how can you answer your being a tippling when you should stand Sentinel? _Core_. Beleeve me, Captayne, I had but a whiffe or two; for I was passing dry. _Bow_. Thou art alwayes dry: the whorson Maultworm has a throat like the burning Clyme or a Glassemakers Furnace. But your remove from thence has sav'd you from the boults. How now? what Water-Spanyell have we heere? _Enter Nod_. _Core_. Tis Lieutenant Nod. _Nod_. Captayne, deride me not. I protest I came by this mischaunce by good service, by following a spy that came to discover our army. _Bow_. O notable Rogue! did not I find thee asleepe and threw thee into a ditch? _Nod_. Was't you? by this light, I took you for a spy. _Bow_. Yet saw me not no more then a Molewarp. This is an egregious Rogue. _Nod_. Yes, I saw you well ynough and I did but try how you would use me. _Bow_. By this flesh and bloud many one that lyes in his grave was not halfe so sencelesse. But the Watch breakes up: every one to his quarter, away! [_Exeunt_. [SCENE 2.] _Enter Clowne_. _Clow_. Tis true, they are gone together, and I am sent to watch Prince Ferdinand and the Earle of Pembrooke. This way they went, but they are got out of sight. I were very bad to be a hound, that have no better a sent. If they were hares as they are men, I should think them squatted. But, husht! here comes one of them. _Enter Ferdinand_. _Ferd_. The morne lookes red, red mornes doe threat a storme; That storme shall light on Pembrooke or my selfe. This is our meeting place; here runnes the streame That parts our camps; the time consorts the place; And (Pembrooke) if thy reputation hold, It is thy q. to enter. _Enter Pembrooke_. _Clow_. Heere comes the tother; this is lucke upon lucke. Now will I run and fetch my mistris the Lady Katharine to part their fray. [_Exit_. _Pem_. Good end succeed my early heavynesse! Three times my feet, as loth to guide me hither, Have stumbled in a playne and even way. My sword forsooke his scabbard once or twice; Bloud from my nostrills thrice hath spowted forth, And such a dymnesse overrunnes my sight That I have tane a tree to bee a man And question'd with it about serious things. This is the place where I must meet my friend: Yonder he stands.--Good morrow, Ferdinand. _Ferd_. Good morrow to thy death. Draw, Pembrooke, draw, The ground thou treadst upon must be thy grave. _Pem_. Draw upon Ferdinand? _Ferd_. I, upon me. Dally not, Pembrooke; I am bent to fight And that with thee for the best blood thou bearst. _Pem_. You have some reason for this resolution. _Ferd_. My will.