But that thou art so fast mine enemie

Clif. Nor should thy prowesse want praise & esteeme,
But that 'tis shewne ignobly, and in Treason

Yorke. So let it helpe me now against thy sword,
As I in iustice, and true right expresse it

Clif. My soule and bodie on the action both

Yor. A dreadfull lay, addresse thee instantly

Clif. La fin Corrone les eumenes

Yor. Thus Warre hath giuen thee peace, for y art still,
Peace with his soule, heauen if it be thy will.
Enter yong Clifford.

Clif. Shame and Confusion all is on the rout,
Feare frames disorder, and disorder wounds
Where it should guard. O Warre, thou sonne of hell,
Whom angry heauens do make their minister,
Throw in the frozen bosomes of our part,
Hot Coales of Vengeance. Let no Souldier flye.
He that is truly dedicate to Warre,
Hath no selfe-loue: nor he that loues himselfe,
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance
The name of Valour. O let the vile world end,
And the premised Flames of the Last day,
Knit earth and heauen together.