_Pem_. You have done well: Yon hand I see's a perfect Architect In sorrowes building. Once more let suffice I quite your painfull travell but with thanks. Now leave me to my selfe, for here I vow To spend the remnant of my haples dayes. No knight nor Prince shall ever passe this way Before his tongue acknowledge _Ferdinand_ The faythfullst lover and the lovingst friend The world contaynes. Ile have his Sepulcher, As yet but naked and ungarnished, E're many dayes hang richer with the spoyles And vanquisht Trophyes of proud passengers Then was the Romans wealthy Capitoll. So, gentle Forrester, bequeath thy prayers In my assistance: that is all I crave. _For_. The God of power give power unto your arme That you may prove victorious-fortunate. _Pem_. Farewell, kind host. [_Exit Forester_. And now let me embrace This empty Monument of my lost friend. Oh! wer't so happy to enshrine his bones How blest should _Pembrooke_ be! but they are torne By the fierce savadge Woolfe whose filthy mawe Is made an unfit grave to bury him. But, if (without offence) I may desire it, I wish his soule from Paradise may see How well his name is kept in memorie. These eyes that saw him bleed have wept for him, This heart devisde his harme hath sigh'd for him, And now this hand, that with ungentle force Depryv'd his life, shall with repentant service Make treble satisfaction to his soule. Fortune, thou dost me wrong to suffer me So long uncombatted: I prythee send Some stubborne knight, some passenger, Whose stout controuling stomack will refuse To yield to my prescription but by force. I hate this idle rest of precious time. _Enter Kathar_. How now? derid'st thou my devotion, goddesse, Thou sendst a woman to incounter me? Henceforth Ile hold thee for a fayned name And no disposer of my Christian hopes. But, soft; I know that face: oh, I! tis she Was unjust cause of all my misery. _Kath_. Long have I wandred with unquiet mind To find my Pembrook. That they fought, I heare; That they were wounded both to death, I heare; But whether cu'rde or dead I cannot heare, Nor lives there any (if deceasde) can tell Within what place their bodies are interr'd. Since therefore all my travell is in vayne, Here will I take a truce with former care. This cursed nook was that unlucky plot Where cursed Ferdinand did kill my love. What knight is this? Ile question him: perhaps He can resolve me where my Pembrooke is. --Joy and good fortune, sir, attend your state. _Pem_. Your wishes come too late. What seeke you, Madam? _Kath_. Tell me, sir knight, for so you seeme to be, Know you this dismall place you do frequent? Or have you heard of that unhappy fight Was here perform'd by Pembrook and his foe? _Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard of it long since And to my grief knew both the gentlemen. _Kath_. But can you tell me if they live or no, Or, dead, what hand hath given them buryall?