_Ateu._ Andrew, I remember thee; follow me, and we will confer further; for my weighty affairs for the king command me to be brief at this time.--Come on, Nano.--Slipper, follow. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ SIR BARTRAM, _with_ EUSTACE, _and others, booted._
_Sir Bar._ But tell me, lovely Eustace, as thou lov'st me, Among the many pleasures we have pass'd, Which is the rifest in thy memory, To draw thee over to thine ancient friend?
_Eust._ What makes Sir Bartram thus inquisitive? Tell me, good knight, am I welcome or no?
_Sir Bar._ By sweet Saint Andrew and may sale[254] I swear, As welcome is my honest Dick to me As morning's sun, or as the watery moon In merkest night, when we the borders track. I tell thee, Dick, thy sight hath clear'd my thoughts Of many baneful troubles that there woon'd:[255] Welcome to Sir Bartram as his life! Tell me, bonny Dick: hast got a wife?
_Eust._ A wife! God shield, Sir Bartram, that were ill, To leave my wife and wander thus astray: But time and good advice, ere many years, May chance to make my fancy bend that way. What news in Scotland? therefore came I hither, To see your country and to chat together.
_Sir Bar._ Why, man, our country's blithe, our king is well, Our queen so-so, the nobles well and worse, And weel are they that are about the king, But better are the country gentlemen: And I may tell thee, Eustace, in our lives We old men never saw so wondrous change. But leave this trattle, and tell me what news In lovely England with our honest friends.
_Eust._ The king, the court, and all our noble friends Are well; and God in mercy keep them so! The northern lords and ladies hereabouts, That know I came to see your queen and court, Commend them to my honest friend Sir Bartram,-- And many others that I have not seen. Among the rest, the Countess Elinor, From Carlisle, where we merry oft have been, Greets well my lord, and hath directed me, By message, this fair lady's face to see. [_Shows a portrait._
_Sir Bar._ I tell thee, Eustace, 'less mine old eyes daze, This is our Scottish moon and evening's pride; This is the blemish of your English bride. Who sail by her, are sure of wind at will; Her face is dangerous, her sight is ill: And yet, in sooth, sweet Dick, it may be said, The king hath folly, there's virtue in the maid.