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 I have deserv'd a scourge I must confesse, Yet is there pacience of another sort, Then to misdoe the welfare of their King: God graunt my neerest freends may prove no worse. O holde me up, my sight begins to faile, My sinnewes shrinke, my braines turne upside downe, My heart doth break I faint and dye.

Queene. What art thou dead, sweet sonne speak to thy Mother. O no, his soule is fled from out his breast, And he nor heares, nor sees us what we doe: My Lords, what resteth there now for to be done? But that we presently despatch Embassadours To Poland, to call Henry back againe, To weare his brothers crowne and dignity. Epernoune, goe see it presently be done, And bid him come without delay to us.

Eper. Madam, I will.

Queene. And now my Lords after these funerals be done, We will with all the speed we can provide, For Henries coronation from Polonie: Come let us take his body hence.

Navar. And now Navarre whilste that these broiles doe last, My opportunity may serve me fit, To steale from France, and hye me to my home.