at Paris.
Navarre.
The power of vengeance now incampes it selfe,
Upon the hauty mountains of my brest:
plaies with her goary coulours of revenge,
Whom I respect as leaves of boasting greene,
That change their coulour when the winter comes,
When I shall vaunt as victor in revenge.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
My Lord, as by our scoutes we understande,
A mighty army comes from France with speed:
Which is already mustered in the land,
And meanes to meet your highnes in the field.
Na.
In Gods name, let them come.
This is the Guise that hath incenst the King,
To leavy armes and make these civill broyles:
But canst thou tell who is their generall?
Mes.
Not yet my Lord, for thereon doe they stay:
But as report doth goe, the Duke of Joyeux
Hath made great sute unto the King therfore.
Na.
It will not countervaile his paines I hope,
I would the Guise in his steed might have come,
But he doth lurke within his drousie couch,
And makes his footstoole on securitie:
So he be safe he cares not what becomes,
Of King or Country, no not for them both.
But come my Lords, let us away with speed,
And
