Chapter IX: Part 9

_Phil_. Bellamira, my lives joy! Upon those pinnyons that support her flight Hovers my heart; you beare away my soule. Turne, turne agayn, and give this earthly frame Essentiall power, which for thine absence dyes. Thou art the sweet of sweets, the joy of joyes; For thee was Philip borne. O turne agayne, And Philip is the blessedest of men.

_Lew_. We are glad she's gone though we dissemble it. --Sonne, bridle this affection, cease these laments: She did not value them.

_Nav_. Lewis, she did, Till savage hate that shape disfigured.

_Phil_. O she was worthy to be Queene of heaven; Her beauty, e're it suffred violence, Was like the Sunne in his Meridian Throne, Too splendent for weake eyes to gaze upon. She was too bright before, till being hid Under that envious cloud, it took the place Of a darke ground to show a lovelyer face. That Leprosie in her seemd perfect beauty And she did guild her imperfections o're With vertue, which no foule calumnious breath Could ever soyle: true vertues dye is such That malice cannot stayne nor envy tuch. Then say not but her worth surmounts these woes.

_Nav_. She griev'd to tye you to a hated bed And therefore followed Burbon for revenge.

_Phil_. Bourbon! who names him? that same verball sound Is like a thunderclap to Philips eares, Frighting my very soule. Sure you said Burbon, And to that prodegie you joynd revenge, Revenge that like a shaddow followes him. 'Twas he that made me bankrout of all blisse, Sude the divorce of that pure white and red Which deckt my Bellamiraes lovely cheeks: And shall he scape unpunisht?

_Lew_. Joyne your hands And all with us sweare vengeance on the Duke.

_Phil_. Not for the world: who prosecutes his hate On Burbon injures me; I am his foe, And none but I will work his overthrow.

_Lew_. What meanes our sonne?

_Phil_. To hunt him for revenge. The darkest angle of this universe Shall not contayne him: through the bounded world Ile prosecute his flight with ceaslesse steps, And when long travell makes them dull or faynt, Bayting[138] them fresh with Bellamiraes wrongs, Like Eagles they shall cut the flaxen ayre And in an instant bring me where he is.

_Lew_. Where goes our sonne?

_Phil_. To hell, so that in that kingdome Fate would assertayne me to meet with Burbon. Where ever I confront him, this shall kill him.

_Nav_. Thou shalt have ayd to compasse thy revenge.

_Phil_. No ayd but this strong arme. Farewell, farewell! Since Bellamira hath forsooke her friend, I seeke destruction (Burbon) and mine ende. [_Exit_.

_Lew_. Stay him: this fury will betray thy life.

_Nav_. Poore king made wretched by thy daughters losse!

_Lew_. Poore king made wretched by thy desperat sonne!

_Enter Messenger_.

_Mess_. Spend not your woes too fast, but save some teares To dew the obsequies of your dead sonne.

_Nav_. What? Ferdinand?

_Mess_. Hee's slaine by Pembrokes hands And Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand. Theire quarrell is uncertain and their bodies By some uncivill hands convayed away, And no inquiry can discover them.

_Nav_. Our sonne slaine? Bellamira poysoned? Navarre, teare off these hayres and raging die.

_Enter Rodoricke_.

_Lew_. More Tragedies at hand? what newes brings Rodoricke?

_Rod_. Such as will make the hearers sencelesse truncks. Why doth your highnes in your foe-mens tents Revell away the time and yield your person To the knowne malice of your enemies, Whilst in your owne tents rapine and foule lust Graspes your fayre daughter to dishonour her?

_Lew_. Our daughter?

_Rod_. She is slily stolen from thence, Yet none knows whither save one Sentinell, Who doth report he heard a wretched Lady Exclaime false Ferdinand would ravish her.

_Lew_. That was my child, dishonor'd by thy sonne.

_Nav_. You wrong him, France.

_Lew_. Thou hast betrayed us, king, And traynd us to a loathed festivall, The mariage of thy staynd and leprous child, Whilst in our absence Ferdinand unjust Hath staind our daughters beautie with vild lust.

_Flaun_. If you remember, he & English Pembroke Last day forsooke your Campe as discontent.

_Lew_. That proov'd their loves were fayn'd, and of set malice He came to view our Campe, how he might act That deed of obloquy and scape with lyfe.

_Nav_. Tis Fraunce hath done the wrong: you have commenst This deed of death on Pembrook & our son, And now, to cover it, suggest and fayne Our guiltlesse sonne a guilty ravisher. But render me their bodies.

_Lew_. Where's our Child?

_Nav_. Seeke her.

_Lew_. Seeke Ferdinand.

_Nav_. Fraunce!

_Lew_. Petty king, For this our wrong looke to be underling.

_Nav_. What Drum is this?

_Lew_. Are we intrapt, Navar?

_Rod_. Feare not. On yonder hill, whose lofty head Orelookes the under-valleyes, Royall Burbon, Attended by ten thousand Souldiers, Craves peace and faire accord with mighty Fraunce.

_Nav_. Burbon that was the ruyne of my Child! Summon our forces straight and charge the slave.

_Lew_. What meanes the king of Fraunce?

_Rod_. To joyne with him.

_Nav_. What? with a Traytor and a murtherer?

_Lew_. He did a deed of merit and of fame, Poysoned the Sister of a ravisher, A Tarquin, an incestuous Tereus, And our poore Child the wronged Philomell. Arayne our Battailes straight and joyne with Burbon.

_Nav_. Heare what wee'le urge.

_Lew_. Speake then in warre and death: In other termes our rage will spend no breath.

_Nav_. And we will speake so lowd that heaven it selfe Shall echo with the clangor. Both our children Weele race from our remembrance, and advance No other thought but how to plague proud France. Conjoyne with Burbon! e're three suns shall set In the vast kingdome of Oceanus, In a pitcht field weele meet the king of Fraunce And that false traytor Duke.

_Lew_. Navar, thou dar'st not.

_Nav_. Now by Saynt Denis and our Grandsire's tombe Weele meet thee.

_Lew_. Welcome. O bring valiant men, Weel think on nought but graves & tombs till then.

[_Exeunt_.

_Rod_. Ha, ha! I laugh to see these kings at jarr. How civill discord, like a raging floud Swelling above her banks, shall drowne this land Whilst Rodoricke on her ruines builds his hopes. The king of Fraunce, through my suggestion, Thinks Katherine his daughter ravished, Who onely, winged with love, is fled the Campe. Pembrooke and Ferdinand, in mutual strife, Slayne by eche other doth confirme my words And for revenge whets keene the two Kings swords.

[_Exit_.

_Actus Quartus_.

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter Pembrooke armde and the Forrester_.

_Pem_. I thank thee, Forrester, whose rough grown walks, Wild in aspect, afford more courtesy Then places smoother for civility. My life, redeemd by thy industrious hand, Remaynes in love and duty bound to thee.

_For_. Fayre Knight, prevention of sad death by health More joyes my soule then thanks or rich reward. But is your armour easy? sits it well?

_Pem_. I never in my life was better fitted. This should be that unlucky fatall place Where causlesse hate drew bloud from Ferdinand. Behold the grasse: a purple register Still blusheth in remembrance of our fight. Why wither not these trees, those herbs and plants? And every neighbour branch droup out their grief? Poore soules, they do, and have wept out their sap. Yet I have paid no duety to my friend. Where is the Tombe I wild you to erect?

_For_. See, valiant knight, proportiond and set up As well as my poore skill would suffer mee: And heere his picture hangs.

_Pem_. You have done well: Yon hand I see's a perfect Architect In sorrowes building. Once more let suffice I quite your painfull travell but with thanks. Now leave me to my selfe, for here I vow To spend the remnant of my haples dayes. No knight nor Prince shall ever passe this way Before his tongue acknowledge _Ferdinand_ The faythfullst lover and the lovingst friend The world contaynes. Ile have his Sepulcher, As yet but naked and ungarnished, E're many dayes hang richer with the spoyles And vanquisht Trophyes of proud passengers Then was the Romans wealthy Capitoll. So, gentle Forrester, bequeath thy prayers In my assistance: that is all I crave.

_For_. The God of power give power unto your arme That you may prove victorious-fortunate.

_Pem_. Farewell, kind host. [_Exit Forester_. And now let me embrace This empty Monument of my lost friend. Oh! wer't so happy to enshrine his bones How blest should _Pembrooke_ be! but they are torne By the fierce savadge Woolfe whose filthy mawe Is made an unfit grave to bury him. But, if (without offence) I may desire it, I wish his soule from Paradise may see How well his name is kept in memorie. These eyes that saw him bleed have wept for him, This heart devisde his harme hath sigh'd for him, And now this hand, that with ungentle force Depryv'd his life, shall with repentant service Make treble satisfaction to his soule. Fortune, thou dost me wrong to suffer me So long uncombatted: I prythee send Some stubborne knight, some passenger, Whose stout controuling stomack will refuse To yield to my prescription but by force. I hate this idle rest of precious time.

_Enter Kathar_.

How now? derid'st thou my devotion, goddesse, Thou sendst a woman to incounter me? Henceforth Ile hold thee for a fayned name And no disposer of my Christian hopes. But, soft; I know that face: oh, I! tis she Was unjust cause of all my misery.

_Kath_. Long have I wandred with unquiet mind To find my Pembrook. That they fought, I heare; That they were wounded both to death, I heare; But whether cu'rde or dead I cannot heare, Nor lives there any (if deceasde) can tell Within what place their bodies are interr'd. Since therefore all my travell is in vayne, Here will I take a truce with former care. This cursed nook was that unlucky plot Where cursed Ferdinand did kill my love. What knight is this? Ile question him: perhaps He can resolve me where my Pembrooke is. --Joy and good fortune, sir, attend your state.

_Pem_. Your wishes come too late. What seeke you, Madam?

_Kath_. Tell me, sir knight, for so you seeme to be, Know you this dismall place you do frequent? Or have you heard of that unhappy fight Was here perform'd by Pembrook and his foe?

_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard of it long since And to my grief knew both the gentlemen.

_Kath_. But can you tell me if they live or no, Or, dead, what hand hath given them buryall?

_Pem_. Rest you assured, Madam, they are dead: The one of them, to whom I was allyed And neerely knit in friendship from my youth, By me lyes buried heere: a braver knight And truer Lover never breathd in Fraunce.

_Kath_. O tell me, is it Pembrooke? if for him You have erected this fayre monument, Perpetuall honour I will do your state.

_Pem_. Not only, Madam, have I built this tombe In his memoriall, but my selfe have sworne Continuall residence within this wood; And for the love I bare him weare these armes That whatsoever knight, adventurer, or other, Making his journey this way and refusing To do knights homage to my breathlesse friend, By this assayling steele may be compeld.

_Kath_. Oh let me know your name, so kindly mov'd To dignifie my Pembrooke's high deserts.

_Pem_. You did not heare me say 'twas Pembrook, Madam. What is become of him I do not know Nor greatly care, since he did wrong my friend And first inkindled this dissensious brawle. This buryed here is noble Ferdinand, His fathers comfort and his Countryes hope. Oh, Madam, had you seene him as I did, Begirt with wounds that like so many mouthes Seem'd to complayne his timelesse overthrow, And had before bin inward with his vertues; To thinke that nature should indure such wracke And at one time so many precious gifts Perish by death, would have dissolv'd your heart. He was the very pride of fortitude, The house of vertue, and true friendship's mirrour. Looke on his picture: in the armes of death When he was ready to give up the ghost, I causde it to be drawne. If at that time, In that extremity of bitter pangs, He lookt so lovely, had so fresh a colour, So quick a moving eye, so red a lip, What was his beauty when he was in health? See with what courage he indur'd the combat, Smiling at death for all his tyranny. Had death bin ought but what he was, sterne death, He would have bin enamour'd with his looks.

_Kath_.--A certayne soft remorce Creeps to my heart, perswades me he was true, Loving and vertuous, but my selfe unkind Coyly to scorne the proffer of his mind.

_Pem_. O that in Justice of her former hate She now would hopelesse doat on Ferdinand. Ile do the best I can to bring her on: Despaire and madnesse fetch her off againe.-- Madam, how say you? wast not a grevious thing So rich a Jem should lye rak't up in dust, So sweet a flower be withred in his prime?

_Kath_. Death was a villayne for attempting it And so was Pembrooke for effecting it. No bloudy Scythian or inhumane Turke But would ha trembled to ha toucht his skin Or spilt one drop of his Heroick bloud.

_Pem_. Had not that Lady then an yron heart, A rude ingratefull mind, a savadge spirit, That knew this vertuous honourable Knight, This gracious shape and unmatchd excellence, To be intangled with her fervent love, To serve her in all loyalty of heart, To reverence and adore her very name, To be content to kisse the lowly earth Where she did set her foot; and when he sued For grace, to scorne him, to deride his sighes, And hold his teares and torment in contempt? Of all that ever liv'd deserv'd she not The worlds reproch and times perpetuall blot?

_Kath_. Heard you him ever speak of such a one?

_Pem_. Oft times, but chiefly then when he perceyv'd His hurt was mortall and no way but death, At every grone he cald upon her name As if that sound were present remedy; And when insulting death drew short his breath And now was ready to close up his eyes, Farewell, quoth he, where e're I find a shrine My soule fly thou to beautious Katharine.

_Kath_. That ruthlesse mind, that iron savage heart, So greatly loved and so little loving, Breathes in this brest; 'twas I returnd disdaine For deepe affection, scorne for loyalty, And now compassionlesse shall pine my selfe. Oh, Ferdinand, forgive me, Ferdinand: Injoyne me any penance for that wrong, Say I shall tread a tedious pilgrimage To furtherest Palestine, and I will do it. But peace, fond woman! these exclaimes are vaine: Thy Ferdinand is dead and cannot heare, As thou wast sometimes deafe and wouldst not heare.

_Pem_. A just reward.--Come, Madam, have you done? Give me the picture I may hang it up.

_Kath_. Oh take it not away: since I have lost The substance, suffer me to keep the shaddow. Me thinks, so long as this is in my hand, I claspe my Ferdinand between mine armes; So long as I behold this lively forme, So long am I refreshed by his smiles, So long, me thinks, I heare him speak to me. Knew I the Paynter drew this counterfeyt I would reward him with a mynt of gold.

_Pem_. If such a pleasure you receyve by this, I tell you, Madam, I shall shortly have His whole proportion cut in Alabaster, Armd as he was when he encountred here, Which kneeling shall be set upon his tombe.

_Kath_. On that condition I will gather flowers And once a day come straw them at his feet, And once a day pay tribute of choyce thanks To you the furtherer of my happinesse: Till then I place the picture where it was.

_Enter Clowne and Bellamira_.

_Clow_. Come on, Madam; me thinks now a maske would do well. But I perceyve your drift, I smell your policy; you think a bold face hath no need of a black mask. Shall I tell you what you look like? A broyld herring or a tortur'de Image made of playster worke.

_Bel_. So, sirra, you may scoffe my misery.

_Pem_. Still haunted with these women! are men vanisht? Or what occasion leaves the Realme of Fraunce So voyd and empty of adventurous knights?

_Clow_. Out of peradventure, Madam, the ghost of Saint George is come out of England to see what hospitality S. Denis keeps in Fraunce.

_Pem_. Poore Bellamira, I lament thy state But I must still suppresse my discontent. --What are you, so deformed with lothsome spots? And what that Anticke keeps you company?

_Clow_. Anticke; thou lyest: and thou wert a knight of ginger-bread I am no Anticke. The whole parish where I was borne will sweare that since the raigne of Charlemain there was not a better face bred or brought up amongst them.

_Pem_. Away, ye russeting--

_Kath_. Have patience, Knight: how ever thus deform'd, This Lady is the daughter of Navar. Madam, it joyes me I have met you heere Though much laments me of your heavy plight. There needs no repetition of your wrong: I know the villayne Burbon did the deed, Whom my incensed brother will revenge.

_Bel_. For Philips sake I have been martyrd thus, And for his sake left King and Courtly life To entertayne a Pilgrims payneful habit. But on what strange adventure stayes this Knight Within this desolate forsaken wood?

_Kath_. For love of Ferdinand your princely brother Whose hearse he gards in honorable Armes.

_Bel_. Is this my brothers Hearse; is this the place Where I was shipwrackt of a brothers name? Oh let me spend a loving sigh for him And sacrifice a sisters holy rites. For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peace Untill thy body glorified from heaven Become immortal by thy soules returne.

_Pem_. Poore Bellamira, how I pity thee, Yet must forbeare to comfort thy distresse.

_Clow_. Is my yong Lord buried here? I say no more, but I pray God send him a joyful insurrection.

_Kat_. Inough, sweet Bellamira. These leprous spots tis time they were remov'd. Come, goe with me: since I left Aquitayne And came acquaynted with these private walks, It was my happy chance to meet an Hermit Whose skill in Phisike warrants present cure And pure refining of your poysoned bloud. Ile bring you thither: afterward select Delicious sweets to decke your brothers tombe. Come, sirra, follow us. [_Exeunt_.

_Clow_. Doe not think, Madam, that Ile forsake you. And so, sir, you that walk in pewter vessayle, like one of the worthyes, will you be rul'd by me?

_Pem_. Wherein?

_Clow_. To set a gyn for Woodcocks & catch your selfe first.
[_Exit_.

_Pem_. Hence, beetle-head. And, Pembrook, now bethink How great a tyde of miseries breakes in. First, thou art taxed with the losse of him Whom equall with thy selfe thou holdest Deare; Next, Bellamira is become a Leper, Whose absence Philip carefully laments; Then trecherous Burbon joynes himselfe with Fraunce And both the Kings are angerly incenst; But last, which is some comfort to the rest, Disdaynfull Katharine wastes with fruiteless love: Would all so minded like mishap might prove. But by this signall there are knights at hand: I must provide their valours to withstand.

_Enter Fraunce, Burbon, Rodoricke, Peter de Lions, at
one dore; at the other Navar, Flaunders, Dicke
Bowyer and Souldiers: Pembrooke betweene them_.

_Pem_. Stay your intended march.

_Lew_. What Peere of France Or in the world, so haughty-resolute, Dare breathe the word of "stay" to mighty Fraunce?

_Nav_. Or what art thou presum'st to stay my course?

_Pem_. A knight I am and to adventures bound: This monument erected for my friend By me is garded. If you meane to passe, You must do homage or else fight with me.

_Lew_. Homage of me! Know I am King of France And in subjection to no earthly powers.

_Nav_. Thou knowst not what thou sayst to challenge us Of any such inferiour priviledge. What homage is it thou requir'st of us?

_Pem_. First to acknowledge him lyes buried here The faythfulst Lover and most valyant Knight That in this time drew sword or manag'd horse.

_Bow_. And what was he? Ascapart[139] or your countreyman Gargantua, that stuft every button of his coate with a load of hay? 'S hart, wee have met a fellow here's all mouth, hee speakes nothing but Monarch. Doest thou heare, King? give me leave to incounter this puckfist,[140] and if I doe not make him cry _Peccavi_ say Dicke Bowyer's a powdered Mackrell.

_Pet_. My bloud beginnes to boyle; I could be pleasd To have this fellow by the eares but that Theres many of my betters heere in place.

_Fland_. King of Navarre, let Flanders cope with him.

_Burb_. Imperiall France, give Burbon leave to try The hazzard of a combat with this Boaster.

_Pem_. Dispatch, Navarre: one of you come forth To enterchange a warlike blow or two.

_Lew_. First let us know what penalty thou setst Upon thy selfe if thou be vanquished.

_Pem_. A recantation of my former wordes, A servitude to him that conquers me; But who soever is by me subdued Must leave his Shield to beautifie this shrine.

_Bur_. Let not, Navar, my Lord, rob us of honor. Say Burbon first shall breake a Launce with him.

_Rod_. Ascribe that priviledge, my Lord, to mee; And Roderick will have death or victory.

_Lew_. No, noble Roderick; Burbon shall begin, And as he speedes we will imploy your power.

_Pem_. Provide thee, Burbon, Ile not favour thee.

_Bur_. Be sure Ile shew thee like hostility.

_Lew_. Hold, the advantage is [up]on thy side; The Duke of Burbon shal hang up his shield.

_Pem_. Ide rather have his life then al your shelds. Who is next?

_Bow_. Zounds, I think he has a patten to take up all the shields ith countrey. Hang me, if thou wantst worke heeres for Navar, the earle of Pembrok and Cavaliero Bowier. [_Fight_.] A thousand pound to a Taylors bodkin this fellow has a familiar; but howsomever, thou mayst thank my lame legge. Theres my shield.

_Lew_. Now, Roderick, betake you to your taske. [_Fight_.

_Rodor_. My fortune's answerable to the rest.

_Lew_. Since all miscarrie, Fraunce will put his chaunce Upon the hazzard of the Dice for once.

_Pem_. You are an Honorable foe, my Lord: [_Fight_. By law of Armes you must hang up your shield.

_Lew_. I yeld to law and thy approved valour. King of Navar, will onely you sit out?

_Nav_. No, king of Fraunce: my bloud's as hot as thine And this my weapon shall confirme my words. [_Fight_.

_Bow_. Navar, downe too! 'S hart this fellow hath the tricke of it. If he be not a witch or some Devill let me be slickt into a Carbinado.[141]

_Nav_. Thou sonne of Chivalrie, let me now intreate To know his name for whome thou reapst this honor, Or what he was whose bodie's heere interde?

_Pem_. A valiant Knight, his name yong Ferdinand, Slayne by misfortune of a friendly hand.

_Nav_. Is it my sonne thou makst thy valours prise And striv[e]st to eternize with thy sword? Let me embrace thee. Not alone my shield, But I will leave my heart upon his shrine. My dearest Ferdinand, I would my sighes Or sad lamenting teares might have the power Like Balme to quicken thy benummed joynts: Then would I drowne this marble e're I went And heat it hote with vapour of my breath.

_Lew_. Navar, this now may testify thy wrong In false accusing me for his remove.

_Nav_. Thou maist be guilty still for ought I know; For though I find him dead I find not yet The Tragick manner of his haples end. Thou mayst as well have murdred Ferdinand As favour him hath poysond Bellamira.

_Lew_. Injurious king, it was base Ferdinand, On whom just heavens have shown just vengeance heere, Ravisht my Katharine and convayed her hence Where I shall never more behold her face.

_Nav_. Tis false, and wee'le mayntain it with our swords.

_Lew_. Tis true, and wee'le mayntain it with our swords.

_Pem_. By heaven, the toung prophanes the sacred name Of Ferdinand with any villany, Ile cut it out or stop his throate with bloud And so dam in his blasphemous upbraydes.

_Nav_. Content thee, knight; Ile ease thee of that labor. To morrow is expir'd the time of truce: Fraunce, on with thy Battalions to the plaine Thou wast prepar'd before to pitch upon. Ile meet thee there.

_Lew_. And I will meet with thee. Sound Drums and Trumpets: honord knight, farewell: Who shall survive next morn strange newes shall tel.

[_Exeunt_.

_Pem_. Thus heady rage, blind in her rash resolve, Drew Ferdinand and mee into the field As now it doth these hot incensed kings. Wer't not my vowes prohibit my desire, To stay the inconvenience of this fight, I would discover where their Daughters are, To shew the error they are shrouded in: But Time hath run a desperate course with mee And desperate let them runne to misery. Here comes a Straggler of their Army. Stand!

_Enter Philip_.

_Phil_. What voice is that presumes to byd me stand?

_Pem_. His that can force thee if thou wilt not stand.

_Phil_. By this bright ayre reflected on my sword, If the whole army of Navar had said As much to Philip, yet he would not stand. And thou but one, how dar'st thou prefer it, Knowing how sharp a Spurre doth pricke me on, The death of Burbon for my Bellamire?

_Pem_. Hang up thy shield, as other knights have done, Upon the Hearse of noble Ferdinand, And thou mayest freely passe without controule.

_Phil_. The Hearse of Ferdinand! I honor him: He was the brother of my dearest Love. What's this I see? my fathers batterd shield. The shield of Fraunce! of Flaunders! Burbons too? It can not then impeach or prejudice The name of Philip to consort with such, Especially being done for Ferdinand. There is my shield, and, Knight, but for my haste, I would expostulate of other things: But, after traytrous Burbon I have slayne, Knight, looke for me, Ile visit thee agayne. Now, Rodorick, keepe thy word, and I am blest, But if thou fayle Ile forward with the rest. [_Exit_.

_Pem_. Successful action sit upon thy sword![142] This net of sorrowes, I perceyve, intangles Not only Pembrooke but the Court of France; Navar and his associats are all toucht. Time looke upon us and at last determine These heart-dissevering tumults with a peace.

_Enter Ferdinand_.

_Ferd_. Since, Ferdinand, by gracious providence Thou art recovered of thy mortall wounds, With the new life thy body is revivde Revive the ancient passions of thy mind. Think on thy friend, on Pembrook take remorse, Whose honord life thy hasty hand cut off. This is the place, as I remember mee. Whats heere? a Tombe? who hath prevented me In my religious duty to my friend? Yon Knight, I doubt not, can resolve me.

_Pem_. What art thou? stand!

_Ferd_. A Knight, and fayne would know What sacred monument and Tombe this is.

_Pem_. His, whilst he liv'd, that of the worlds increase Was the most loyall friend and valiant Knight; Which thou must likewise ratifie with me And hang thy shield up to adorne his Hearse Or venture Combate for denying it.

_Ferd_. His name, I pray thee.

_Pem_. Ferdinand.

_Ferd_.--What's he Acquainted with my name? belike some one Lov'd Pembroke, and supposing (wrongfully) Me slaine by him, to satisfie for that Observes this honor in my memory. Be not thou, Ferdinand, ingratefull then, But stand for Pembroke as this Knight for thee.

_Pem_. What answer givest thou? shal I homage have?

_Ferd_. Not for his sake thou nam'st, not for Ferdinand. There liv'd a Knight exceld his petty fame As far as costly Pearle the coursest Pebble,-- An English Knight cald Pembroke: were his bones Interred heere, I would confesse of him Much more than thou requir'st, and be content To hang both shield and sword upon his Hearse.

_Pem_. How comes this stranger by my name? Belike He was affected unto Ferdinand, And for his sake (hearing he did me wrong) Covets to make amends, or meanes to prove If I imbrace him with unfayned love. He shall not doubt of that.--Once more I say Twas Ferdinand was the renowned Knight Of all the world.

_Ferd_. But I deny that saying, Giving to Pembroke that preeminence.

_Pem_. For Ferdinand my valour will I try.

_Ferd_. In Pembrooks valour I will fight and die.

[_Discover eche other in fighting_.

_Pem_. Eyther I dreame or this is Ferdinand.

_Ferd_. My sight deludes me or stout Pembroke lyves.

_Pem_. Thrice happy hour[143]! I do embrace my friend.

_Ferd_. Welcome, oh welcome, Pembrok, to myne armes, Whom I imagined death had tane from me.

_Pem_. The like did I by Princely Ferdinand, But that he lives my soule confounds with joy.

_Ferd_. Tell me, deare friend, since our unlucky fight Have you heard ought of my disdainfull Love?

_Pem_. Of her and all the rest. Her Father lives: This is his shield and this is great Navars, This Rodoricks, [this] the Duke of Orleance, And this malicious Burbons: all the which I forc't from them to beautifie thy shrine. But tis of Katharine thou desir'st to heare: She likewise hath bin here; her flinty heart, So much before inclined to cruelty, Now waxeth tender: she no sooner saw Thy picture here, but by heavens providence, Or how I know not, she so doats on it As I supposde she would a dyed for love.

_Ferd_. Has then my shaddow and supposed death Brought that to passe my living substance could not?

_Pem_. It hath, and never Lady more enamour'd Then now is Katharine of her Ferdinand. I told her, and no more then truth I told, A cunning Carver had cut out thy shape. And whole proportion in white alablaster, Which I intended here should be set up. She earnestly entreated she might have A sight of it and dayly be permitted To deck thy tombe and statue with sweet flowers: Shee's but even now departed to that end, And will (I know) be quickly here agayne. Now, for assurance I dissemble not, Instead of thy resemblance cut in stone Kneele here, thyself, and heare her pitious mone.

_Ferd_. Content! I hold your counsell for the best; Weele once conclude our sorrowes with a jest.

_Pem_. Soft there's a cushen: nay, and you must be bare And hold your hands up, as the maner is.

_Ferd_. What if I held a book as if I pray'd?

_Pem_. Twere best of all; and, now I think upon' Here is a booke: so, keepe your countenance; You must imagine now you are transformed. Yonder she comes; in any case stir not.

_Enter Katharine_.

_Kath_. I feare I have detracted time too long In my determinde service to my Love; But Ile redeeme my fault with double care. See where his statue is set up: kind knight, For ever Katharine will record thy truth.

_Pem_. How say you, Madam; ist not very like him!

_Kath_. As like as if it were himselfe indeed. And would to God my prayers might be heard, That, as the image of Pigmalion once, Life might descend into this sencelesse stone: But that was faynd, as my desire is fond; Relentlesse Death withholds my Ferdinand, And no intreaty may recover him. In token, then, I do repent my scorne That I was cruell to so kind a friend, Thou, the presenter of his absent person, Receive these sweets; thy temples be adornd With this fresh garland; thy white ivory hand Boast of this ring, which, if thou wert alive, Should bind our faythes up in a nuptiall knot: But, for thou canst not be reviv'd agayne, He dwell with thee in death, and, as my spirit Mounts to the happy mansion of thy spirit, So, to accompany thy shaddow here, Ile turne my body to a shaddow, too, And, kneeling thus, confront thy silent lookes With my sad looks. This is the Instrument: Now, Ferdinand, behold thy Katharine comes.

_Ferd_. And she is welcome unto Ferdinand.

_Pem_. Ile play the dark for both and say Amen. Nay, muse not, madam: tis no sencelesse Image, But the true essence of your wished Love.

_Kath_. I am asham'd to looke him in the face.

_Ferd_. Hide not those splendant lights: hereafter be A constant wife; it shall suffice for me.

_Kath_. Heaven cast her off if Katharine prove not so.

_Pem_. Of that no more: now let us haste from hence To quiet the dissension lately sprung Betweene your parents. Philip, likewise gone To be reveng'd on Burbons trechery, Perhaps may stand in need of friendly ayd. To him and them our vowes must next be payd.

_Ferd_. What Pembrook counsels we consent unto.

[_Exeunt_.

_Actus Quintus_.

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter Rodoricke and Philip_.

_Rod_. Now whilest our Armies wearied with the heat That the bright sunne casts from his midday throne, Abstayne from bloudy intercourse of war, He lead thee, Philip, unto Burbons Tent.

_Phil_. Rodoricke, thou highly favourest me in this And doubt not, if my complot take effect, Ile make thee Duke of Burbon.

_Enter Lewes, Flaunders, and Burbon_.

_Rod_. Stay your speach; Heere comes King Lewis.

_Phil_. They can not know me, I am so disguisde.

_Bur_. Follow my counsayle and immediately Begin the Battayle.

_Lew_. Why, the heat's [so] great It burnes [us] in our Armour as we march.

_Flaun_. It burnes the enemy as well as wee.

_Bur_. It warmes our Souldiers spirits and makes them fire, I had rather dye then, when my bloud is hot, Be awde by counsell till it freeze like Ice: He is no Souldier that for feare of heat Will suffer victory to fly the field.

_Rod_. My Lord of Burbon, ye are more hot then wise.

_Bur_. Rodorick, me thinkes you are very peremptory.

_Rod_. It is in zeale of the generall good. Go to your Tent, refresh your unscorcht[144] lymmes; There draw your battels modell, and as soone As the coole winds have fand the burning Sunne And made it tractable for travaylers, Arme you and mount upon your barbed Steed, Lead foorth your Souldiers and in good array Charge bravely on the Army of our foe.

_Lew_. The Duke of Orleance hath counseld well. Ile in and recreate me in my tent. Farewell, my Lord: when you resolve to fight, Proclayme your meaning by a Canons mouth And with a volley I will answere you.

[_Exeunt Lewes and Flauuders_.

_Bur_. If you will needs retyre, farewell, my Lord. Ha, Rodoricke, are not we fine Polyticians That have so quaintly wrought the king of Fraunce Unto our faction that he threatens warre Against the almost reconcilde Navar?

_Rod_. But this is nothing to the actes weele do. Come, come, my Lord, you trifle time with words: Sit downe, sit downe, and make your warlike plot.-- But wherefore stand these murderous Glaves so nye?

_Phil_.--Touch them not, Roderick; prythee let them stand.

_Bur_. Some paper, pen, and incke.

_Enter Peter_.

_Pet_. My Lord.

_Bur_. Post to the Master Gunner And bid him plant his demy culverings Against the kings pavilion.

_Peter_. Presently.

_Bur_. But first bring pen and incke and paper straight.

[_Peter sets pen, ink, &c., before Burbon, and exit_[145]

Rodoricke, thou shalt assist mee in this plot.

_Rod_. Do it your selfe, my Lord; I have a charge Of souldiers that are very mutinous, And long I dare not stay for feare my absence Be cause of their revolt unto Navar.

_Bur_. Then to your Souldiers: I will to my plot.

_Phil_.--Away, my Lord, leave me unto the Duke.

_Rod_.--Kill you the Duke (and after Ile kill thee).
[_Exit Rod_.

_Bur_. This pen is stabbed and it will not write: The incke that's in the standage[146] doth looke blacke, This in my pen is turnd as red as bloud.

_Phil_. The reason that the platforme[147] you would make Must by this hand be written with thy bloud.

_Bur_. Zounds, what art thou that threatens Burbon so?

_Phil_. One that's as desperat-carelesse of his life As thou art timorous and fearst to dye.

_Bur_. Comest thou to kill me?

_Phil_. If I should say no, This weapon would condemne me, which I seyz'd Of purpose, Burbon, to bereave thy life.

_Bur_. Why, fond man, mad man, know'st thou what thou doest?

_Phil_. I know it, Burbon, and I know besides What thou wouldst say to daunt my resolution.

_Bur_. What would I say?

_Phil_. Why, that this place is death, As being thy Tent, environ'd with thy slaves, Where if I kill thee tis impossible To scape with life: this, Burbon, thou wouldst say. But Philip is not be mov'd with words.

_Bur_. Philip!

_Phil_. I, Philip, Bellamiraes Love, Whose beauty, villayne, thou hast poysoned; For which I have vow'd thy death, and thou shall dye. Therefore betake you to what fence you will; Amongst this bundle chuse one weapon forth And like a worthy Duke prepare thy selfe In knightly manner to defend thy life; For I will fight with thee and kill thee, too, Or thou shalt give an end unto my life. But if thou call unto thy slaves for helpe, Burbon, my sword shall nayle thee to the wall. And thinke Prince Philip is a Prince indeed To give thee this advantage for thy life.

_Bur_. Boy, I will scourge your insolence with death.

_Phil_. Come on. _Fight, and kill Burbon_.

_Bur_. Oh, I am slayne.

[_Enter Rodorick_.]

_Rod_. Murder! murder! Burbon the Duke is slayne!

_Phil_. Peace, Roderick, I am Philip thy deare friend.

_Rod_. Thou art a counterfet, I know thee not.

_Phil_. Didst not thou guide me unto Burbons Tent?

_Rod_. I guide thee to the Tent? I know thee not. What! murder! ho! will no man heare my voyce?

_Enter Peter and 2 or 3 souldiers_.

_Pet_. Yes, here are those [that] can heare well ynough. Where is the murdered and the murderer?

_Rod_. Peter, behold thy masters breathlesse truncke, And there's Prince Philip that hath murdered him.

_Pet_. To avoyd prolixity Ile kill him; yet first give me leave to weepe for my master.

_Rod_. First seyze the murderer and after weepe.

_Phil_. He that first ventures to attach my life Let him be sure he hath a life to spare, For I will send one breathlesse to the grave.

_Pet_. You that have nyne lives assault the gentleman.

_Rod_. What, peasants! dare you not attach the slave? Ile rayse the whole Campe but Ile apprehend him. Alarum, drummes! Souldiers, incircle him, And eyther apprehend or slay the wretch.

_Enter Pembrooke and Ferdinand_.

_Pem_. Tis princely Philip. Helpe to rescue him.

_Rod_. What slaves are these that dare oppose themselves In rescue of a murderer 'gainst an Host?

_Ferd_. Such as will make thee, Roderick, fly for life.

_Pet_. Zounds, men are mortall; to avoyd prolixity, My lord of Orleance, your best course is flying, And therein I will be your follower.

_Rod_. Fly before three, and be thus strong? 'Twere madnesse.

_Pem_. We trifle time; let's drive them from the Tent.

_Alarum and drive away Peter and Rodoricke_.

_Pem_. Live, worthy Philip; Pembrooke bids thee live, That did suspect this complot at the tombe When in the honour of Prince Ferdinand You did resigne your shield.

_Phil_. Th[e] Earle of Pembrooke!

_Ferd_. And Ferdinand that loves thee as his soule.

_Phil_. Two lives I owe my starres beside mine owne In sending me two friends of such import. Durst you adventure thorow the enemies Campe And put your lives in danger to save mine?

_Pem_. The rumour of the Duke of Burbons death Hath so possest the Campe with admiration That they regardlesse suffer all to passe. Only this Roderick wakens them a little, But cannot weane them from their wondring minds.

_Phil_. That Roderick is a perfect villayne turn'd; For though he guided me unto his Tent And gave his liking that the Duke should dye, Yet how the villayne cryed to murder me! But come: in this confusion let's be gone, Tis dangerous to abide in Burbons Tent. Rodoricke, thou art the next must taste of death; That taske once done, we shall with little payne Our angry fathers reconcile agayne.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Alarum. Enter Navar, Bowyer, Nod, Core, Souldiers,
[with] drum and colours_.

_Nav_. The Alarum sounded in the enemies Campe; Now for Navar and Fame stand to it, sirs.

_Bow_. Hart, stand to it? heere's some of us knowes how to runne away and they be put to it. Though wee have left our brave Generall, the Earle of Pembrooke, yet here's Cavaliero Bowyer, Core and Nod, by Jesu, sound cards: and Mahound and Termagant[148] come against us, weele fight with them. Couragio, my hearts! S. George for the honour of England!

_Nav_. The adverse part comes on; fight gallantly.

_Enter Fraunce, Flaunders and Souldiers, with Drum and Colours_.

_Lew_. Is false Navar so thirsty to drinke bloud That he must joyne the Squadron of his troops Before the signall of the battel's given? Belike you thought to take us unpreparde. No, king: our wrong hangs like a watch before us, And makes us nomber every short-lyvd minute Till your lives answere for our Daughters death. Charge, brave spirits! Saint Denis now for Fraunce!

_Nav_. Saint Denis for Navar! Alarum, Drums!

_Alarum: they fight, Fraunce put to the worst; enter Rodorike
and Peter; the fight continued, and Navar driven in_.

_Lew_. Navar and his weake forces make retire; Pursue them, Sirs, the victorie is ours.

_Rod_. Be like starv'd Lions 'mongst a heard of Beasts, Ruthelesse and bloudy; slaughter[149] all you meete Till proud Navar be slayn or kisse your feet. Saint Denis! and cry murder through the host!

_Alarum. Enter Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Philip_.

_Pem_. He that steps forward with a murdring thought, Marries him selfe to death. Fraunce, cease the fight: They are Frenchmen you pursue, Frenchmen you should save: Dig not for Traytors love your subjects graves.

_Lew_. What franticke knights are those that dare oppose Their single force against our multitudes?

_Phil_. Those that wish you and Fraunce bright fames encrease, So you would chase hence war and welcome peace.

_Rod_. That was the Traytor that slew royall Burbon.

_Pet_. Downe with the villaynes.

_Rod_. Souldiers, seyze on him And then pursue Navar with sudden death.

_Ferd_. Ere the least hayre fall from his kingly head, Rodorick, thy base trunck shall be butchered.

_Pem_. Will you accept of peace?

_Lew_. Follow Navar!

_Pet_. Downe with that murderer!

_Fer_. Zounds, then, in spight Weele save Navar and chase you hence in fight.

_All_. Ha, ha!

_Pem_. Nay, smile not; though our number's few Our great hearts tell us we shall conquere you. Alarum and S. George!

_Alarum: they fight. Enter Navar and his forces,
Fraunce chaste away_.

_Nav_. Fraunce and his daunted forces gives us ground. Charge, charge agayne, and we are Conquerours.

_Phil_. Stand or ne're stirre agayne.

_Nav_. What meane these knights?

_Pem_. To stop your passage this way, great Navar. I charge thee by the duty of a king, Thy love to Justice and thy subjects lives, You sound retreat and make a peace with Fraunce.

_Nav_. A peace! and have the vantage of the day!

_Bow_. That's a tricke by Jesu to mocke an Ape: wee'le none of that.

_Nav_. Wee'le have no peace but what our swords can make. Follow the chase.

_Phil_. Are you growne insolent? For one light puffe of fortune proves it so? Nay, then our swords turn to your overthrow.

_Alarum: they fight and drive in Navar_.

_Fer_. That was my father that you fought against.

_Phil_. You did as much to mine.

_Pem_. Princes, agree: Force cannot end this war, but policy. Therefore disperse your selves, and let our Squires With Trumpets in their mouthes sound lowd retreat Where you perceive the fight most violent. The strangenesse of which act will straight amaze; When they shall heare both peace and war denounc'd, And one selfe instant, they will soone retire To know the issue. Princes, fall to worke, Tis worke of charity; 'twould doe me good If we could end this battell without bloud.

_Fer_. I hope we shall: farewell, Ile to my charge.

_Pem_. The like will Pembrooke.

_Phil_. Philip is not last: Yet, though I seeke the safety of my friends, Rodorick shall lose his bloud e're this fight ends.

_Alarum; excursions. Enter Peter leading Thomasin_.

_Pet_. Struggle not, strive not; your sweete heart Bowyer cannot save you. Without prolixity you must goe with mee.

_Tho_. Helpe, helpe.

_Pet_. And the God of warre come in thy defence my humour is to kill him. Come away.

_Enter Bowyer_.

_Bow_. By Jesu, and you go this way you must pay custom. Zounds, you pick-hatch[150] Cavaliero petticote-monger, can you find time to be catching _Thomasin_? come, deliver, or by Zenacrib & the life of king Charlimayne, Ile thrash your coxcombe as they doe hennes at Shrovetyde[151]. No, will you not doe, you Tan-fat? Zounds, then have at you.

_They fight, Bowyer hath the wench, rescued by Fraunce,
recovered by Navar. Philip meetes Rodorick, rescued by
Peter. Retreat is sounded, the enemies begin to retire,
Rodorick chased by Philip. Enter at severall doores,
after retreate sounded, Pembrooke and Ferdinand_.

_Ferd_. Are the Kings severd? will they bow to peace?

_Pemb_. Peace is a welcome ghest unto their hearts, But Rodoricke (like a greedy envious churle Fearing to spend his wealth) still keeps them backe. Tis he exasperates the Princes hate, And when our Trumpets call them to retyre He with warres clangor sets them on agayne. Unless he be remoov'd our labour's lost.

_Ferd_. It shall not, for Ile seek him through the Host And with this sword pare off the Traytors head.

_Pem_. Doe, and Ile scoure these ranks: if Pembroks eye Encounters his, he meets his Tragedy.

_Alarum. Enter Philip pursuing Rodoricke_.

_Phil_. Stay, warlike friends, and ayd me in revenge.

_Ferd_. That is Rodoricke.

_Pem_. Heere's the Traytor, strike him downe.

_Phil_. Who lifts his arme at him strikes at my brest.

_Rod_. Why have you thus ring'd me about with swords?

_Phil_. To shew thee thou must dye.

_Rod_. What have I done That thus you labour my destruction?

_Pem_. Thou wer't a party in all Burbons wrongs.

_Ferd_. Falsely term'd Ferdinand a Ravisher.

_Pem_. Set discord 'twixt these kings.

_Phil_. Practised my death.

_Pem_. Villayne for this our swords shall stop thy breath.

_Ferd_. Stand not to argue, let's all runne at him.

_Phil_. Now as you love my love or prize mine honour, Touch not the Traytor; he is Philips foe, And none but I must work his overthrow. Thrice in the battell he was rescued from me, But now hee's fallen into the Lyons paw From whence the whole world cannot ransome him. Preservers of my life, heroick friends, Be you my safety; keepe the souldyers off, Whilst in the midst by fayre and equall fight I send this Traytor to eternal night.

_Ferd_. By heaven agreed.

_Pem_. Heere Pembrooke takes his stand: Come Fraunce and all the world, I will not start Till Philips knightly sword pierce Rodoricks hart.

_Rod_. Accurst, I am betrayd, incompast round; Now lyfe and hope and state must kisse the ground.

_Phil_. Rodorick, thou seest, all wayes are stopt to flie; Be desperat then, fight bravely, and so die.

_Alarum: they fight. Enter to Pembrooke Navar,
Bowyer, and Souldiers: to Ferdinand Fraunce,
Flaunders, and Souldiers: they fight and keepe
them backe. Rodoricke would scape; still kept in
the midst, and kild by Philip_.

_Phil_. Now are his trecheries repaid with death. Philip and Pembrooke, sound your retreats With better hope; in him all hatred ends: The kings will now love peace and soone be friends.

_Exeunt. Enter Peter wounded, Bowyer following_.

_Bow_. Zounds, never runne for the matter; a scratcht face can not serve your turne, we must have bloudy noses. Stand on your gard; and I do not make haggasse puddings of your guttes, Ile never dominier in the long Alleyes agayne.

_Pet_. Cymnel, Ile crack you for this. Ile teach you to deale with Peter de Lions, and that without prolixitie.

_Bow_. Do; have at you in earnest. S. George, you rogue!

_Alarum; fight. Bowyer kills him_.

_Bow_. So, there's for your prolixities, there's for Thomasin. The Thornbackly slave! and he were made of anything but gristles, I am a pumpian. 'Shart he had no mettle in him; yet how the villayne crak't[152] and dominierd when he was living: ah, sirra, never gryn for the matter, tis Captayne Bowyer that speaks it. When thou meetst the great Devill, commend me to him and say I sent him thee for a new years gift. And there's one Sarlaboys to, as arrant a blood-sucker and as notable a coward as ever drew weapon in a bawdy house, he carryes my marke about him. If Dicke Bowyer be not writ a bountifull benefactor in hell for my good deeds in sending thither such Cannibals, I am a rabbit sucker[153]: yet I scorne to vaunt of my deeds, too. They sound a retreat. Farewell, Peter, and learne hereafter what it is to be rivall to an English gentleman, Cavaliero Bowyer, one of the nine worthyes.

_A retreyt. Enter at one dore Fraunce, Flaunders, and
Souldiers: at the other dore Navar, Bowyer and Souldiers_.

_Lew_. Navar, why have you sounded a retreyt? Will your proud heart decline and call us lord?

_Nav_. We thought by the faynt language of your drums Fraunce would have knowne his errour and beg'd peace.

_Lew_. Fraunce beg a peace!

_Nav_. Navar call you his Lord!

_Flan_. Why did you cease the fight and sound retreat.

_Bow_. Not we by this beard, not we by the life of Pharo[154].

_Nav_. Your Trumpets, guided by your faynting breath, Dehorted us from war and sounded peace.

_Lew_. Navar derides us.

_Nav_. Fraunce, tis you that doo't.

_Lew_. Sound war and bravely let us once more too't.

_Enter in the Middest Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Philip_.

_Pem_. Kings of Navar and Fraunce, why doe you thus With civill butchery wound this blessed land, Which like a mother from her melting eyes Sheds crimson teares to see you enemyes? Lewes of Fraunce, wherein hath great Navar Dangerd your state that you should prosecute War with her largest ruine? how hath Fraunce Sowed such inveterate hate within your brest That to confound him you will undergoe The orphans curse, the widdowes teares and cries Whose husbands in these warres have lost their lives? Ere you contend discourse your grievances.

_Lew_. False Ferdinand, his sonne, ravisht our child.

_Ferd_. Now by my knighthood, honor, and this gage, Fraunce, Ile approve you wrong that Ferdinand.

_Phil_. Who can accuse him?

_Lew_. That did Rodorick.

_Pem_. That Traytor for a deed so false, so foule, Hath answerd it by this even with his soule.

_Nav_. Our sonne and valours bloome, th[e] English Pembrooke, By Lewes treachery were butchered.

_Phil_. Were the whole world joynd in so false a thing, Alone Ide combat all and cleere the King.

_Pem_. Fraunce never had designe in their two deaths.

_Nav_. He leagu'd with Burbon that destroyd my child.

_Lew_. He poysoned her deservedly.

_Phil_. That deed of shame Cut off his life and raced out Burbons name.

_Lew_. His death shalbe thy death, for thy hand slue him.

_Nav_. This other in the battell twice to day Made us retire. Fraunce, shall we joyne in league Till we have veng'd our malice on these knights?

_Lew_. Navar, agreed. Souldiers, this kyld your Lords.

_Nav_. And this our fame. Let's mangle them with swords.

_Pem_. Take truce a while with rage: heare what we'le urge. This knight slew Burbon, this inforst you fly; Therefore you hate them and for hate they die. Since then true vertue is disfigured, Desert trod downe, and their heroick worth In justice doomd on Traytors merits Death, Behold these two, which thousands could not daunt, But your ingratitude, on bended knee Yeeld up their swoords to bide your tyranny. 'Twas he kild Burbon; if you love him dead, Shew it by paring off this valiant head: Do you the like. To this revenge apace: They feare not threats, and scorne to beg for grace.

_Lew_. And they shall find none.

_Nav_. Knights, tryumph in death: We are your headesmen, kings shall stop your breath.

_They take off their helmets_.

_Lew_. Philip, my sonne!

_Nav_. Young Ferdinand my joy!

_Pem_. Call them not sonnes, whom you would fayne destroy.

_Nav_. Hold not our age too long in deepe suspect. Art thou [my] Ferdinand?

_Lew_. And thou [my] Philip?

_Ferd_. We are the friendly sonnes of adverse parents, Your long lost children: though supposed slayne, We live and come to joy your age agayne.

_Nav_. Welcome all earthly blisse.

_Lew_. Welcome, deare child; Thy presence halfe our sorrow hath exil'd.