_Kath_. I prythee leave me; I am not displeasd, But fayne would vent my sorrowe from my heart. Hold, take my purse, spend that and leave my presence. Goe everywhere; enquire my Pembrooke out, And if thou bringst me to his breathlesse truncke I will reward thee with a treble gift. _Clow_. Well, I were best bee going, now I am so fayrely offred. Mistris, your reward hath stopt my eares and entic'de my legs to be walking. Farewell, I will goe, God knows whither, to seeke and to finde both and neyther. Farewell, sweet Mistris. [_Exit_. _Kath_. O Pembrooke, let me kneele unto thy bloud: And yet I know not whether't be thy bloud, Save that my soule by a divine instinct Tells me it is the treasure of thy veynes. If thou beest dead, thou mirrour of all men, I vow to dye with thee: this field, this grove, Shall be my receptacle till my last; My pillow shall be made a banke of mosse, And what I drinke the silver brooke shall yeeld. No other campe nor Court will Katharine have Till fates do limit her a common grave. [SCENE 3.] _Enter Fraunce, Navar, Philip, Flaunders, Thomasin, and attendants_. _Nav_. Our daughter fled? when? whither? which way? how? _Tho_. I know not. _Phil_. Bellamira, my lives joy! Upon those pinnyons that support her flight Hovers my heart; you beare away my soule. Turne, turne agayn, and give this earthly frame Essentiall power, which for thine absence dyes. Thou art the sweet of sweets, the joy of joyes; For thee was Philip borne. O turne agayne, And Philip is the blessedest of men. _Lew_. We are glad she's gone though we dissemble it. --Sonne, bridle this affection, cease these laments: She did not value them. _Nav_. Lewis, she did, Till savage hate that shape disfigured. _Phil_. O she was worthy to be Queene of heaven; Her beauty, e're it suffred violence, Was like the Sunne in his Meridian Throne, Too splendent for weake eyes to gaze upon. She was too bright before, till being hid Under that envious cloud, it took the place Of a darke ground to show a lovelyer face. That Leprosie in her seemd perfect beauty And she did guild her imperfections o're With vertue, which no foule calumnious breath Could ever soyle: true vertues dye is such That malice cannot stayne nor envy tuch. Then say not but her worth surmounts these woes. _Nav_. She griev'd to tye you to a hated bed And therefore followed Burbon for revenge. _Phil_. Bourbon! who names him? that same verball sound Is like a thunderclap to Philips eares, Frighting my very soule. Sure you said Burbon, And to that prodegie you joynd revenge, Revenge that like a shaddow followes him. 'Twas he that made me bankrout of all blisse, Sude the divorce of that pure white and red Which deckt my Bellamiraes lovely cheeks: And shall he scape unpunisht? _Lew_. Joyne your hands And all with us sweare vengeance on the Duke. _Phil_. Not for the world: who prosecutes his hate On Burbon injures me; I am his foe, And none but I will work his overthrow.