_Lew_. What meanes our sonne? _Phil_. To hunt him for revenge. The darkest angle of this universe Shall not contayne him: through the bounded world Ile prosecute his flight with ceaslesse steps, And when long travell makes them dull or faynt, Bayting[138] them fresh with Bellamiraes wrongs, Like Eagles they shall cut the flaxen ayre And in an instant bring me where he is. _Lew_. Where goes our sonne? _Phil_. To hell, so that in that kingdome Fate would assertayne me to meet with Burbon. Where ever I confront him, this shall kill him. _Nav_. Thou shalt have ayd to compasse thy revenge. _Phil_. No ayd but this strong arme. Farewell, farewell! Since Bellamira hath forsooke her friend, I seeke destruction (Burbon) and mine ende. [_Exit_. _Lew_. Stay him: this fury will betray thy life. _Nav_. Poore king made wretched by thy daughters losse! _Lew_. Poore king made wretched by thy desperat sonne! _Enter Messenger_. _Mess_. Spend not your woes too fast, but save some teares To dew the obsequies of your dead sonne. _Nav_. What? Ferdinand? _Mess_. Hee's slaine by Pembrokes hands And Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand. Theire quarrell is uncertain and their bodies By some uncivill hands convayed away, And no inquiry can discover them. _Nav_. Our sonne slaine? Bellamira poysoned? Navarre, teare off these hayres and raging die. _Enter Rodoricke_. _Lew_. More Tragedies at hand? what newes brings Rodoricke? _Rod_. Such as will make the hearers sencelesse truncks. Why doth your highnes in your foe-mens tents Revell away the time and yield your person To the knowne malice of your enemies, Whilst in your owne tents rapine and foule lust Graspes your fayre daughter to dishonour her? _Lew_. Our daughter? _Rod_. She is slily stolen from thence, Yet none knows whither save one Sentinell, Who doth report he heard a wretched Lady Exclaime false Ferdinand would ravish her. _Lew_. That was my child, dishonor'd by thy sonne. _Nav_. You wrong him, France. _Lew_. Thou hast betrayed us, king, And traynd us to a loathed festivall, The mariage of thy staynd and leprous child, Whilst in our absence Ferdinand unjust Hath staind our daughters beautie with vild lust. _Flaun_. If you remember, he & English Pembroke Last day forsooke your Campe as discontent. _Lew_. That proov'd their loves were fayn'd, and of set malice He came to view our Campe, how he might act That deed of obloquy and scape with lyfe. _Nav_. Tis Fraunce hath done the wrong: you have commenst This deed of death on Pembrook & our son, And now, to cover it, suggest and fayne Our guiltlesse sonne a guilty ravisher. But render me their bodies. _Lew_. Where's our Child? _Nav_. Seeke her. _Lew_. Seeke Ferdinand. _Nav_. Fraunce! _Lew_. Petty king, For this our wrong looke to be underling. _Nav_. What Drum is this? _Lew_. Are we intrapt, Navar?