Excerpt: But was my mother sister vnto those: Art: Shee was my Lord, and onely Issabel, Was all the daughters that this Phillip had, Whome afterward your father tooke to wife: And from the fragrant garden of her wombe, Your gratious selfe the flower of Europes hope: Deriued is inheritor to Fraunce. But not the rancor of rebellious mindes: When thus the lynage of Bew was out; The French obscurd your mothers Priuiledge, And though she were the next of blood, proclaymed Iohn of the house of Valoys now their king: The reason was, they say the Realme of Fraunce, Repleat with Princes of great parentage, Ought not admit a gouernor to rule, Except he be discended of the male,