Sim.
Are the knights ready to begin the triumph^{8 note}

1 Lord.
They are, my liege;
And stay your coming to present themselves.

Sim.
Return them, we are ready^{9 note}; and our daughter,
In honour of whose birth these triumphs are,
Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat
For men to see, and seeing wonder at. [Exit a Lord.

Thai.
It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express^{1 note}

Sim.
'Tis fit it should be so; for princes are
A model, which heaven makes like to itself:
As jewels lose their glory, if neglected,
So princes their renown, if not respected.
'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain
The labour of each knight, in his device^{2 note}

Thai.
Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll perform^{3 note}. Enter a Knight; he passes over the Stage, and his Squire presents his Shield to the Princess.

Sim.
Who is the first that doth prefer himself?

Thai.
A knight of Sparta, my renowned father;
And the device he bears upon his shield
Is a black Æthiop, reaching at the sun;
The word, Lux tua vita mihi^{4 note}

Sim.
He loves you well, that holds his life of you. [The second Knight passes.
Who is the second, that presents himself?

Thai.
A prince of Macedon, my royal father;
And the device he bears upon his shield
Is an arm'd knight, that's conquer'd by a lady:
The motto thus, in Spanish, Piu per dulçura que per fuerça^{5 note}. [The third Knight passes.

Sim.
And what's the third?

Thai.
The third of Antioch;
And his device, a wreath of ceivalry:
The word, Me pompæ provexit apex^{6 note}

Sim.
What is the fourth^{7 note}?

Thai.
A burning torch^{8 note}

Sim.
Which shows, that beauty hath his power and will,
Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. [The fifth Knight passes.

Thai.
The fifth, an hand environed with clouds;
Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried:
The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides.

[The sixth Knight passes.

Sim.
And what's the sixth and last, which the knight himself
With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd?

Thai.
He seems to be a stranger; but his present
Is a wither'd branch^{9 note}

Sim.
A pretty moral;
From the dejected state wherein he is,
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.

1 Lord.
He had need mean better than his outward show
Can any way speak in his just commend:
For, by his rusty outside, he appears
To have practis'd more the whipstock^{1 note}, than the lance.

2 Lord.
He well may be a stranger, for he comes
To an honour'd triumph, strangely furnished.

3 Lord.
And on set purpose let his armour rust
Until this day, to scour it in the dust^{2 note}
.

Sim.
Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan
The outward habit by the inward man^{3 note}

But stay, the knights are coming; we'll withdraw
Into the gallery. [Exeunt. [Great Shouts, and all cry, The mean knight^{4 note}.

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