_Enter the_ EMPEROR _with a pointless sword; next the_ KING OF CASTILE _carrying a sword with a point;_ LACY _carrying the globe;_ WARREN _carrying a rod of gold with a dove on it;_[236] ERMSBY _with a crown and sceptre;_ PRINCESS ELINOR _with_ MARGARET, _Countess of Lincoln, on her left hand;_ PRINCE EDWARD; KING HENRY; FRIAR BACON; _and_ Lords _attending._ _P. Edw._ Great potentates, earth's miracles for state, Think that Prince Edward humbles at your feet, And, for these favours, on his martial sword He vows perpetual homage to yourselves, Yielding these honours unto Elinor. _K. Hen._ Gramercies, lordings; old Plantagenet, That rules and sways the Albion diadem, With tears discovers these conceivèd joys, And vows requital, if his men-at-arms, The wealth of England, or due honours done To Elinor, may quite his favourites. But all this while what say you to the dames That shine like to the crystal lamps of heaven? _Emp._ If but a third were added to these two, They did surpass those gorgeous images That gloried Ida with rich beauty's wealth. _Mar._ 'Tis I, my lords, who humbly on my knee Must yield her orisons to mighty Jove For lifting up his handmaid to this state; Brought from her homely cottage to the court, And grac'd with kings, princes, and emperors, To whom (next to the noble Lincoln Earl) I vow obedience, and such humble love As may a handmaid to such mighty men. _P. Elin._ Thou martial man that wears the Almain crown, And you the western potentates of might, The Albion princess, English Edward's wife, Proud that the lovely star of Fressingfield, Fair Margaret, Countess to the Lincoln Earl, Attends on Elinor,--gramercies, lord, for her,-- 'Tis I give thanks for Margaret to you all, And rest for her due bounden to yourselves. _K. Hen._ Seeing the marriage is solémnizèd, Let's march in triumph to the royal feast.-- But why stands Friar Bacon here so mute? _Bacon._ Repentant for the follies of my youth, That magic's secret mysteries misled, And joyful that this royal marriage Portends such bliss unto this matchless realm. _K. Hen._ Why, Bacon, what strange event shall happen to this land? Or what shall grow from Edward and his Queen?