What this detested Iacobin hath done.Tell her for all this that I hope to liue,Which if I doe, the Papall Monarck goes to wrack.And antechristian kingdome falles.These bloudy hands shall teare his triple Crowne,And fire accursed Rome about his eares.He fire his crased buildings and incense,The papall to wers to kisse the holy earth.Nauarre, giue me thy hand, I heere do sweare,To ruinate that wicked Church of Rome,That hatcheth vp such bloudy practises.And heere protest eternall loue to thee,And to the Queene of England specially,Whom God hath blest for hating Papestry.Nauarre.These words reuiue my thoughts and comforts me,To see your highnes in this vertuous minde.King.Tell me Surgeon, shall I liue?Sur.Alas my Lord, the wound is dangerous, for you are stricken with a poysoned knife.King.A poysoned knife, what shall the French king dy e,Wounded and poysoned, both at once?Eper.O that that damned villaine were aliue againe,That we might torture him with some new found death.Bar.He died a death too good, the deuill of hell torture his wicked soule.0