_Enter a rownd, or some daunce at Pleasure._ _Ober._ _Bohan_ be pleasd, for do they what they will, Heere is my hand, Ile saue thy son from ill. _Exit._ _Actus Quintus. Schena Prima._ _V. i._ _Enter the Queene in a night gowne, Ladie Anderson, 1941 and Nano._ _La. And._ My gentle friend beware in taking aire, Your walkes growe not offensiue to your woundes. _Do._ Madame I thank you of your courteous care, My wounds are well nigh clos’d, tho sore they are. _L. And._ Me thinks these closed wounds should breed more griefe, Since open wounds haue cure, and find reliefe. _Dor._ Madame, if vndiscouered wounds you meane, They are not curde, because they are not seene. 1950 _L. And._ I meane the woundes which do the heart subdue. _Nano._ Oh that is loue, Madame speake I not true? _Ladie Anderson ouerheares._ _La. And._ Say it were true, what salue for such a sore? _Nano._ Be wise, and shut such neighbours out of dore. _La. And._ How if I cannot driue him from my brest? _Nano._ Then chaine him well, and let him do his best. _S. Cutb._ In ripping vp their wounds, I see their wit, But if these woundes be cured I sorrow it. _Doro._ Why are you so intentiue to behold, 1960 My pale and wofull lookes, by care controld? _La. And._ Because in them a readie way is found, To cure my care, and heale my hidden wound. _Nano._ Good Maister shut your eyes, keepe that conceit, Surgeons giue _Quoine_, to get a good receit. _Doro._ Peace wanton son, this Ladie did amend My woundes: mine eyes her hidden griefe shall end, Looke not too much, it is a waightie case. _Nano._ Where as a man puts on a maidens face, For many times if Ladies weare them not, 1970 A nine moneths wound with little worke is got. _S. Cutb._ Ile breake off their dispute, least loue proceed, From couert smiles, to perfect loue indeed. _Nano._ The cats abroad, stirre not, the mice bee still. _L. And._ Tut, wee can flie such cats when so we will. _S. Cutb._ How fares my guest, take cheare, nought shall default, That eyther doth concerne your health or ioy, Vse me, my house, and what is mine is yours. _Doro._ Thankes gentle knight, and if all hopes be true, I hope ere long to do as much for you. 1980 _S. Cutb._ Your vertue doth acquite me of that doubt: But courteous sir, since troubles calles me hence, I must to _Edenbourg_ vnto the king, There to take charge, and waight him in his warres: Meane while good Madame take this squire in charge, And vse him so as if it were my selfe. _L. And._ Sir _Cutbert_ doubt not of my dilligence: Meane while, till your returne God send you health. _Doro._ God blesse his grace, and if his cause be iust, Prosper his wartes: if not hee’l mend I trust: 1990 Good sir what mooues the king to fall to armes?