s.

_Exeunt. Enter Peter wounded, Bowyer following_.

_Bow_. Zounds, never runne for the matter; a scratcht face can not serve
your turne, we must have bloudy noses. Stand on your gard; and I do not
make haggasse puddings of your guttes, Ile never dominier in the long
Alleyes agayne.

_Pet_. Cymnel, Ile crack you for this. Ile teach you to deale with Peter
de Lions, and that without prolixitie.

_Bow_. Do; have at you in earnest. S. George, you rogue!

_Alarum; fight. Bowyer kills him_.

_Bow_. So, there's for your prolixities, there's for Thomasin. The
Thornbackly slave! and he were made of anything but gristles, I am a
pumpian. 'Shart he had no mettle in him; yet how the villayne
crak't[152] and dominierd when he was living: ah, sirra, never gryn for
the matter, tis Captayne Bowyer that speaks it. When thou meetst the
great Devill, commend me to him and say I sent him thee for a new years
gift. And there's one Sarlaboys to, as arrant a blood-sucker and as
notable a coward as ever drew weapon in a bawdy house, he carryes my
marke about him. If Dicke Bowyer be not writ a bountifull benefactor in
hell for my good deeds in sending thither such Cannibals, I am a rabbit
sucker[153]: yet I scorne to vaunt of my deeds, too. They sound a
retreat. Farewell, Peter, and learne hereafter what it is to be rivall
to an English gentleman, Cavaliero Bowyer, one of the nine worthyes.

_A retreyt. Enter at one dore Fraunce, Flaunders, and
Souldiers: at the other dore Navar, Bowyer and Souldiers_.

_Lew_. Navar, why have you sounded a retreyt?
Will your proud heart decline and call us lord?

_Nav_. We thought by the faynt language of your drums
Fraunce would have knowne his errour and beg'd peace.

_Lew_. Fraunce beg a peace!

_Nav_. Navar call you his Lord!

_Flan_. Why did you cease the fight and sound retreat.

_Bow_. Not we by this beard, not we by the life of Pharo[154].

_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 shou