Ferd. Noble father, pause. Let Ferdinand thy sonne so far prevayle That peace, not war, may end this difference.
Bel. For Bellamiraes sake abstayne from war.
Phil. Philip thy sonne humbly desires a peace: Let not my father sheathe his warlike sword Within the bowels of his Countrymen.
Kath. Thy daughter Katharina prayes the like.
Nav. From whence proceeds this sudden sound of peace? Comes it from me? what? from my Ferdinand, From Bellamira my sweet second selfe?
Lew. Or rather comes it, Lewes, from thy soule, Thy Philip the true image of thy selfe, Thy Katharina thy heart's chiefest joy?
Rod. Princes, you aske you know not what your selves.
Pem. Rodorick, they aske a sweet and pleasing boone.
Rod. Why, they aske peace and we are set for war.
Fer. Tis a bad peace exceeds not a just war.