_S. Cutb._ The king of England forrageth his land, And hath besieged _Dambac_ with mightie force: What other newes are common in the Court, Reade you these letters Madame tell the squire, The whole affaires of state, for I must hence. _Exit._ _Doro._ God prosper you, and bring you backe from thence: Madame what newes? _La. And._ They say the Queene is slaine. 2000 _Doro._ Tut, such reports more false then trueth containe. _L. And._ but these reports haue made his Nobles leaue him. _Doro._ Ah carelesse men, and would they so deceiue him? _La. And._ The land is spoylde, the commons fear the crosse, All crie against the king, their cause of losse: The English king subdues and conquers all. _Doro,_ Ah lasse, this warre growes great, on causes small. _L. And._ Our Court is desolate, our Prince alone, Still dreading death. _Doro._ Woes me, for him I moane, 2010 Helpe, now helpe, a suddaine qualme Assayles my heart. _Nano._ Good Madame stand her friend, Giue vs some licor to refresh her heart. _L. And._ Daw thou her vp, ande I will fetch thee foorth Potions of comfort to represse h r paine. _Exit._ _Nano._ Fie Princesse, faint on euery fond report, How well nigh had you opened your effate: Couer these sorrowes with the vaile of ioy, 2020 And hope the best, for why this warre will cause, A great repentance in your husbands minde. _Doro._ Ah _Nano_, trees liue not without their sap, And _Clitia_ cannot blush but on the sunne, The thirstie earth is broke with many a gap, And lands are leane, where riuers do not runne, Where soule is reft from that it loueth best, How can it thriue or boast of quiet rest? Thou knowest the Princes losse must be my death, His griefe, my griefe: his mischiefe must be mine: 2030 Oh if thou loue me, _Nano_ high to court, Tell _Rosse_, tell _Bartram_ that I am aliue, Conceale thou yet, the place of my aboade, Will them euen as they loue their Queene, As they are charie of my soule and ioy, To guard the King, to serue him as my Lord: Haste thee good _Nana_, for my husbands care, Consumeth mee and wounds mee to the heart. _Nano._ Madame I go, yet loth to leaue you heere. _Exeunt._ 2040 _Dor._ Go thou with speed, euen as thou holdst me deare, Returne in haste. _Enter Ladie Anderson._ _L. An._ Now sir, what cheare? come tast this broth I bring. _Doro._ My griefe is past, I feele no further sting. _L. And._ Where is your dwarfe? Why hath hee left you sir? _Doro._ For some affaires, hee is not traueld farre. _L. And._ If so you please, come in and take your rest. _Doro._ Feare keepes awake a discontented brest. _Exeunt._ 2050