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.