Nav. Your Trumpets, guided by your faynting breath, Dehorted us from war and sounded peace.
Lew. Navar derides us.
Nav. Fraunce, tis you that doo't.
Lew. Sound war and bravely let us once more too't.
Enter in the Middest Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Philip.
Pem. Kings of Navar and Fraunce, why doe you thus
With civill butchery wound this blessed land,
Which like a mother from her melting eyes
Sheds crimson teares to see you enemyes?
Lewes of Fraunce, wherein hath great Navar
Dangerd your state that you should prosecute
War with her largest ruine? how hath Fraunce
Sowed such inveterate hate within your brest
That to confound him you will undergoe
The orphans curse, the widdowes teares and cries
Whose husbands in these warres have lost their lives?
Ere you contend discourse your grievances.
Lew. False Ferdinand, his sonne, ravisht our child.
Ferd. Now by my knighthood, honor, and this gage, Fraunce, Ile approve you wrong that Ferdinand.
Phil. Who can accuse him?
Lew. That did Rodorick.