Do. Callet, me strumpet, Catiue as thou art
But euen a Princesse borne, who scorne thy threats.
Shall neuer French man say, an English mayd,
Of threats of forraine force will be afraid.
Iaq. You no dire vostre prieges, vrbleme merchants famme,
guarda your bresta, there me make you die on my morglay,
Doro. God sheeld me haplesse princes and a wife.
They fight, and shee is sore wounded.
Iaq. Elle est tout mort, me will runne pur a wager, for feare me
be surpryes and pendu for my labour. Be in Ie meu alera au roy
auy cits me affaires, Ie serra vn chiualier, for this daies trauaile.
Exit.
Enter Nano, S. Cutbert Anderson,
his sword drawne.
S. Cutb. Where is this poore distressed gentleman?
Nano. Here laid on ground, and wounded to the death. 1810
Ah gentle heart, how are these beautious lookes,
Dimd by the tyrant cruelties of death:
Oh wearie soule, breake thou from forth my brest,
And ioyne thee with the soule I honoured most.
S. Cut. Leaue mourning friend, the man is yet aliue,
Some helpe me to conuey him to my house:
There will I see him carefully recured,
And send priuie search to catch the murtherer.