[Exit Bella.
Enter Pemb., after him Ferd.
My Lord of Pembrooke, happily returnd!
How doth our sonne? See where he comes himselfe.
Speake, boy: how spedst thou with fayre Katherine?
Ferd. I know not how.—Is trothlesse Pembrooke there?
Nav. Be not dismayd; at length sheele pity thee.
Sonne, bid our Officers adorne our Court
In her chiefe glory, for this happy night
Shall set a period to this smarting war.
Your sister shalbe troth-plight to Prince Philip,
And France and we made friends about it then.
Pembrooke, have you the charge to see our Captaines
Prepare a martiall welcome to the King.
Ile not be idle: since Navar was crownd
Our heart with so much joy did ne're abound.
[Exit Navar.
Fer. Nor mine with so much hate. Pembrooke, a word.
Pem. What wills your Grace?
Fer. That Pembrooke is a villayne. Looke not so strange: I speake it; not your friend; But hee that in his soule hath sworne thine end.
Pem. A villayne? and my death? I am amaz'd: Art thou awake, or is all this a dreame.
Fer. A dreame of death. Meet me to morrow morning,
As thou art Pembrooke and a Gentleman,
By yon fayre River side which parts our Camps.
You know the place: come armde, and so farewell.