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.