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.

Pem.  How soon this Scene is changd! those that even now
Were sworne warres servants now to peace do bow: 
Then, Pembrooke, strive to make their joys more full. 
See, kingly father to that princely sonne,
Pembrooke, the hated murderer of his friend,
Pembrooke, that did devide thee from his sight
And cut so many passages of death
In his indeared bosome, humbly thus
Forgets his honour and from your hye hand
Invokes revenge for wounding Ferdinand.

Ferd.  Still he surmounts me in an honour’d love. 
Rise, friend, or if thou striv’st to have the world,
In me as in a glasse see a false friend. 
Behold, I kneele and here proclayme to all
My friendship’s broke but thine substantiall.

Nav.  Model of vertue, honord Pembroks Earle,
Rise in as deare regard as Ferdinand. 
Oh had I Bellamira once in hold,
Age would turne youth & I should ne’re be old.

Lew.  Had I my Katharina once agayne Our joy were then stretcht to the highest strayne:  But she was ravisht and then murthered.

Phil.  Beare not that hard opinion:  Rodoricks toung Slaundred that Prince and did his vertue wrong.