Nav. It is enough if that Navarre may be Esteemèd faithful to the king of France,10 Whose service he may still command till death.
Henry. Thanks to my kingly brother of Navarre. Then here we'll lie before Lutetia-walls, [427] Girting this strumpet city with our siege, Till, surfeiting with our afflicting arms, She cast her hateful stomach to the earth.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes. An it please your majesty, here is a friar of the order of the Jacobins, sent from the President of Paris, that craves access unto your grace.
Henry. Let him come in. [Exit Mess.20
Enter Friar, with a letter.
Eper. I like not this friar's look: 'Twere not amiss, my lord, if he were search'd.
Henry. Sweet Epernoun, our friars are holy men. And will not offer violence to their king For all the wealth and treasure of the world.— Friar, thou dost acknowledge me thy king?
Fri. I, my good lord, and will die therein.
Henry. Then come thou near, and tell what news thou bring'st.