To hold of none but of the King of Kings.

_Lew_. Three hundred yeres prescriptions on our sides;
So long thy Ancestors by fealty
Have helde thy Kingdome of the Crowne of France.

_Pem_. Talke not of yeres, yeres limit not a Crowne;
There's no prescription to inthrall a King.
He finds it written in the Rowles of time
Navar's a Kingdome solely absolute,
And by collusion of the Kings of France,
The people speaking all one mother toung,
It hath bin wrested for a Royalty
Untruly due unto the Crowne of France.
That _Pembrook_ speaks the truth, behold my sword,
Which shall approve my words substantiall.

_Rod_. _Pembrooke_, you are too plaine in your discourse.

_Bur_. I tell thee, _Rodoricke, Pembrooke_ soldier-like
Hath truely opened what ten thousand lives
Will hardly doe if warre be made the Judge.

_Rod_. If war be Judge? Why, shallow-witted _Burbon_,
Who shall decide this difference but war?
Hath not the Judge put on his Scarlet Robe?
Is not the field prepar'd? our men in armour?
The trumpets ready for the sound of death,
And nothing hinders us but our owne words?
Leave idle parley, my dread soveraigne Lord,