_Ateu._ _Andrew_ I remember thee, follow me, And we will confer further, for my waightie affaires For the king, commands me to be briefe at this time. Come on _Nano_, _Slipper_ follow. _Exeunt._ Enter sir _Bartram_ with _Eustas_ and others, booted. _I. iii._ _S. Bar._ But tell me louely _Eustas_ as thou lou’st me, Among the many pleasures we haue past, Which is the rifest in thy memorie, 560 To draw thee ouer to thine auncient friend? _Eu._ What makes Sir _Bartram_ thus inquisitiue? Tell me good knight, am I welcome or no? _Sir Bar._ By sweet S. _Andrew_ and may sale I sweare, As welcom is my honest _Dick_ to me, As mornings sun, or as the watry moone, In merkist night, when we the borders track. I tell thee _Dick_, thy sight hath cleerd my thoughts, Of many banefull troubles that there woond. Welcome to sir _Bartram_ as his life: 570 Tell me bonny _Dicke_, hast got a wife? _Eust._ A wife God shield sir _Bartram_, that were ill To leaue my wife and wander thus astray: But time and good aduise ere many yeares, May chance to make my fancie bend that way, What newes in _Scotland_? therefore came I hither: To see your Country, and to chat togither. _Sir Bar._ Why man our Countries blyth, our king is well. Our Queene so, so, the Nobles well, and worse And weele are they that were about the king, 580 But better are the Country Gentlemen. And I may tell thee _Eustace_, in our liues, We old men neuer saw so wondrous change: But leaue this trattle, and tell me what newes, In louely England with our honest friends? _Eust._ The king, the Court, and all our noble frends Are well, and God in mercy keepe them so. The Northren Lords and Ladies here abouts, That knowes I came to see your Queen and Court, Commends them to my honest friend sir _Bartram_, 590 And many others that I haue not seene: Among the rest, the Countesse _Elinor_ from _Carlile_ Where we merry oft haue bene, Greets well my Lord, and hath directed me, By message this faire Ladies face to see. _Sir Bar._ I tell thee _Eustace_, lest mine old eyes daze, This is our Scottish moone and euenings pride: This is the blemish of your English Bride: Who sailes by her, are sure of winde at will. Her face is dangerous, her sight is ill: 600 And yet in sooth sweet _Dicke_, it may be said, The king hath folly, their’s vertue in the mayd. _Eust._ But knows my friend this portrait, be aduisd? _Sir Bar._ Is it not _Ida_ the Countesse of _Arains_ daughters? _Eust._ So was I told by _Elinor_ of _Carlile_, But tell me louely _Bartram_, is the maid euil inclind, Misled, or Concubine vnto the King or any other Lord?