Majestie her rightfull Lord and Soveraigne. Navarre Truth Pleshe, and God so prosper me in all, As I entend to labour for the truth, And true profession of his holy word:    Come Pleshe, lets away while time doth serve. Exeunt. 

  

       [Scene xii]     

         Sound Trumpets within, and then all crye vive le Roy two or three times. Enter Henry crowned: Queene [Mother], Cardinall [of Loraine], Duke of Guise, Epernoone, [Mugeroun,] the kings Minions, with others, and the Cutpurse. ALL. Vive le Roy, vive le Roy. Sound Trumpets. QUEENE MOTHER. Welcome from Poland Henry once agayne, Welcome to France thy fathers royall seate, Heere hast thou a country voice of feares, A warlike people to maintaine thy right, A watchfull Senate for ordaining lawes, A loving mother to preserve thy state, And all things that a King may wish besides:    All this and more hath Henry with his crowne. CARDINALL. And long may Henry enjoy all this and more. ALL. Vive le Roy, vive le Roy. Sound trumpets. KING. Thanks to you al. The guider of all crownes, Graunt that our deeds may wel deserve your loves:    And so they shall, if fortune speed my will,    And yeeld our thoughts to height of my desertes. What say our Minions, think they Henries heart Will not both harbour love and Majestie? Put of that feare, they are already joynde, No person, place, or time, or circumstance, Shall slacke my loves affection from his bent. As now you are, so shall you still persist, Remooveles from the favours of your King. MUGEROUN. We know that noble minces change not their thoughts For wearing of a crowne: in that your grace, Hath worne the Poland diadem, before You were withvested in the crowne of France. KING. I tell thee Mugeroun we will be freends, And fellowes to, what ever stormes arise. MUGEROUN. Then may it please your Majestie to give me leave, To punish those that doe prophane this holy feast. He cuts of the Cutpurse eare, for cutting of the golde buttons off his cloake. KING. How meanst thou that? CUTPURSE. O Lord, mine eare. MUGEROUN. Come sir, give me my buttons and heers your eare. GUISE. Sirra, take him away. KING. Hands of good fellow, I will be his baile For this offence: goe sirra, worke no more, Till this our Coronation day be past:    And now, Our rites of Coronation done, What now remaines, but for a while to feast, And spend some daies in barriers, tourny, tylte, And like disportes, such as doe fit the Coutr? Lets goe 

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