SCENE 3.

_Ent. Teniente, Don John, Henrico_.

_Ten_. I ever feard some ill fate pointed at

This Citty.

_Jo_. Makes the fleete this way?

_Hen_. _Buzzano_!

_Ten_. I did dreame every night of't, and the Ravens

With their unlucky throates never leave croaking

Some danger to us all.

_Hen_. Where's _Buzzano_? Villaine!

_Jo_. Be not discomforted.

_Ten_. Don _Fernando_, too,

Hath cut our strength off, taken away our swords

Should save our throates. I did preiudicate

Too rashly of the _English_; now we may

Yield up the Towne.--Sirra, get you up to th'highest _Enter Buzzano_.

Turret, that lookes three leagues into the Sea,

And tell us what you can discover there.

_Buz_. Why, I can tell you ere I goe.

_Hen_. What?

_Buz_. Why there are fishes and shipps too in the sea; they were made

for that purpose.

_Ten_. The fellow doates? climbe quickly, sirra, and tell us

Whither any bend to this place: there's a fleete

Abroad; skud, rascall.

_Hen_. Villayne, away; and cast your eyes into the Sea.

_Buz_. Ile be hangd first; some wiser then some: mine Eyes into the Sea?

I see no reason for't.

_Ten_. Why stayest thou?--this slave is without sence.

Get up and see, and report the truth.

_Buz_. Thats another matter: I will orelooke you all presently.

[_Exit_.

_Jo_. What were I best to doe? I doe not like these Navyes.

_Hen_. 'Tis past question,

If they were kenn'd this way, that they intend

To make another meale of this Citty.

_Ten_. The first was but a Breakfast: they have shrewd stomakes.

Oh for a lusty storme to bury all

Their hopes in the waves now! one good swelling Gust

Would breake their ribbs in pieces.

_Jo_. No witches abroad?

_Buz_. I see, I see, I see!

_Enter Buzzano above_.

_All_. What?

_Buz_. Nay, I cannot tell what yet:

Something it is; I thinke it be a Towne.

_Hen_. Some Iland in the Sea!

_Buz_. It swims on the water.

_Jo_. 'Tis the fleete: come they this way?

_Buz_. Yes, th'are ships; I know 'em by their foule linen; now I see

them plainely; they come, they come, they come!

_Hen_. How far off?

_Ten_. Speake, sirra.

_Buz_. If you would peace I might heare what they say; the wind serves

to bring every word they speake: they make towards, yes, towards this

Citty. A great fleete! stay, stay, look to your selves, Don: they spitt

fire allready, and have hung up a thousand flaggs of defyance. They are

at the fort, the castle, at the castle: would I were pelted to death

with Oranges and Lymons.

_Ten_. Here comes _Don Fernando_. What newes?

_Enter Fernando with Eleonora_.

_Fer_. Assured danger, gentlemen, for all our men

Already are in a palsye and doe flye

They know not whither. They are _English_:

The Citty's allmost desperate.

_Ten_. _Don John_, come with me

And helpe to encourage the remayning soldiers.

_Fer_. New supply shall quickly cheare you hearts.--

_Henrico_!

_Hen_. Sir?

_Fer_. In this confusion, when a thousand feares

Present themselves & danger with full face

Lookes on the generall Towne, let me locke up

This Treasure in your armes; &, for you have

At least an equall interest with mee

In _Eleonora_, in your fathers house

She may hope more security, being of strength;

For this storme cannot last. But in your love

She hath a stronger guard.

_Hen_. This act of confidence

Binds me for ever to _Fernando_: come,

Halfe of my soule, for we two must not bee

In life devided. Though the Citty lye

At mercy of the Enemy, yet from

_Don Pedro Gusman's_ house not all mankind

Shall take thee from me.

_Enter Buzzano and Spanyards flying_.

_Buz_. They come, they come, they come!

_Fer_. Committing this my Jewell to your trust

I must unto my charge: my blessing!

_Ele_. Oh doe not leave me, sir; for without you

What safety can I have? you are my father:

Pray, stay you with me.

_Fer_. Oh, my Girle, I cannot,

Dare not be so unfaithfull to the trust

His maiesty put me in, though I would stay.

_Ele_. I feare if you goe hence all will not long be well.

_Hen_. Distrust you me, Eleonora?

_Ele_. No, indeed:

You ever had with me th'opinion

Of a most noble gentleman.

_Fer_. What then?

_Ele_. I know not what besides my feare; and that

Beggs I may share your fortune, since you may not

Take up such safety here as I have.

_Fer_. Come,

You are to blame: this heaven that now lookes on us

With rugged brow may quickly smile againe

And then I shall revisite my _Eleonora_.

So, farewell. [_Exit_.

_Hen_. Till then with greater care then were the Dragons

Supposd to watch the Golden Apples growing

In the _Hesperides_, shall _Henrico_ wayte

On his best loved. Oh, my _Eleonora_,

I would to heaven there were no war but here

To shoote love darts! each smile from this fayre Eye

May take an Army prisoners: let me give

My life up here unto these lipps, and yet

I shall, by the sweetnes of a kisse, take back

The same againe. Oh thou in whom alone

Vertue hath perfect figure, hide not day

In such a Cloud: what feare hath enterd here?

My life is twisted in a Thread with thine;

Were't not defenced, there could nothing come

To make this cheeke looke pale, which at your Eye

Will not fall dead before you.--

_Enter Buzzano_.

Sirra, let all your care and duty bee

Employed to cheere this Lady: pray, be merry.

_Buz_. Oh, sir, yonders such doings.

_Hen_. Hell on your bawling! not a sillable to affright her,

or I shall tune your instrument there.

_Buz_. Hele breake the head of my instrument!

Why, sir, weomen are not affraid to heare of doings.

_Hen_. Still jarring?

_Buz_. When the whole towne is altogether by th'eares you might give

me leave to jar a little my selfe:--I have done, sir.

_Hen_. Putt on thy merryest face, _Buzzano_.

_Buz_. I have but one face, but I can make a great many.

_Hen_. My best _Eleonora_, I shall soone returne:

In the meane time be owner of this house,

The possesour. All danger, sweet, shall dwell

Far off: Ile but enquire the state of things

In the Citty, and fly back to thee with loves wings.

[_Exit_.

_Ele_. I prithee call him backe.

_Buz_. Signior _Henrico_,

She has something more to say to you. [_Redit_.

_Hen_. To me, sweetest?

_Ele_. _Henrico_, doe you love me?

_Hen_. By this faire hand.

_Ele_. And will you leave me, too?

_Hen_. Not for the wealth of _Spaine_.

_Ele_. Since I must be your prisoner let me have

My keepers company, for I am afraid

Some enemy in your absence, like a woolfe

May ceize on me. I know not whither now

I ere shall see my father: doe not you

Ravish yourselfe from me, for at the worst

We may dye here, _Henrico_; and I had rather

Fall in your eye than in your absence be

Dishonord; if the destinyes have not

Spun out a longer thread, lets dye together.

_Hen_. Oh doe not racke my soule with these sad accents.

Am I _Henrico_? there is not any place

Can promise such security as this

To _Eleonora_. Doe not talke of dying,

Our best dayes are to come: putt on thy quiet,

And be above the reach of a misfortune.

Ile presently wayte on thee, by this kisse.

_Buz_. Would I might keepe your oath: so please you, lady,

_Buzzano_ will sweare too.

_Hen_. What?

_Buz_. That you'le be there and here agen presently.

_Hen_. Attend here, sirra.

_Buz_. If you must needes goe, pray, sir, keepe yourselfe out of

Gun-shott.

_Hen_. Mind you your charge.

_Buz_. You shall heare a good report of my piece, I warrant you.

Take heed you be not sent to heaven with a powder: a company of hott

shotts[15] are abroad, I can tell you.

_Ele_. If you will goe may your successe be faire.

_Hen_. Farewell; heaven cannot chuse but heare your prayer.

[_Exit_.

_Buz_. Now what please you, madam? that I shall amble, trott, or walke?

_Ele_. Any pace.

_Buz_. Yet, if you would referre it to me, I'de use none of them.

_Ele_. What wouldst doe?

_Buz_. Why I would gallop or run, for I think long till I be at home in

our Castle of comfort. If it please you Ile lead you a hand gallop in

the plaine ground, trott up hill with you & racke[16] downewards.

_Ele_. Talke not of rackes, prithee; the times present too many.

_Buz_. Ride me as you will, then; I am used both to curbe and snaffle.

_Ele_. I prithee tell me, _Buzzano_,--so, I heare thy master call thee--

_Buz_. He may call me at his pleasure, forsooth.

_Ele_. Dost thou know the nature of the _English_?

_Buz_. Both men and women: I travelled thither with an Embassadour. For

the men Ile not misse you a haire of their condition; and for the women

I know 'em as well as if I had bene in their bellyes.

_Ele_. Are they not cruell?

_Buz_. As Tygers, when they set on't: no mercy unlesse we aske them

forgiveness.

_Ele_. That's somewhat yet.

_Buz_. But not to you; that's onely to men; for lett the women fall

downe afore 'em never so often they'le rather fall upon them. Nay, some

of them are so spitefull they'le breake their owne backes before they

let 'em rise againe.

_Ele_. Foole, I meane not your way.

_Buz_. Keepe your owne way, madam; I meane the playne way.

_Ele_. Are they not unmercifull in their natures to such as are in their

power, their Enemyes as we may be?

_Buz_. Their enemyes as we may be in their power! I had rather be

cramm'd into a cannon and shott against their ships then you should

prove a witch & tell true now. The _Tartar_ is not halfe so grim; not

a _Turke_ would use us so like _Jewes_ as they will.

If it come to that once that they take the Towne

You will see _Spanish_ Dons heads cryed up and downe:

as they doe our Orenges and Lymons; and the woemens heads shall off,

too,--not a maydenhead of gold shall scape 'em.

_Ele_. It is no valour to use Tyranny

Upon the conquerd: they have been reported

A noble nation; and when last the pride

Of this Citty adornd their victory, by command

Or their brave Generall, no outrage ever

The soldiers durst committ upon our persons:

Though all our wealth ran in full streames upon them

Our honours were preserved, or fame belys them.

_Buz_. No matter what fame sayes, perhaps I know more than she does;

& yet, now you talk of valour, they are not comparable to us.

_Ele_. How?

_Buz_. Why, valour is but the courage of a man; courage is, as they say,

the spirit of a man; and the spirit of a man is the greatnes, as we call

it, of his stomake. Now 'tis well knowen to the whole world they feed

better and eate more then we: ergo, we have better stomackes then they.

But, see! we have talk't our selves at home already, and the point

(port?) is open. Will't please you enter, or shall I enter before you?

I am your man, madam.

_Ele_. You know the way best:--whilst abroad they are

At fight, twixt hope and feare at home I warre.

[_Exeunt_.

_Actus Secundus_.

(SCENE 1.)

_Alarum; as the soft musicke begins a peale of ordnance

goes off; then Cornetts sound a Battaile; which ended

enter Captaine, Master of a ship, Dick Pike, with musketts_.

_Cap_. Fought bravely, countrymen! Honour all this while

Sate in a Throne of smoake with sparckling eyes

Looking upon your courages & admiring

Your resolutions, and now rewards your sweat

With victory. The castle groanes at heart;

Her strongest ribbs are bruizd with battering Cannons,

And she hath tane into her bowells fire

Enough to melt her.

_Ma_. My Lord came bravely up to her & shewd a spirit

That commands danger; his honorable example

Gave us new hearts.

_Sol_. Faith, give the _Spanyards_ their due; they entertaind us

handsomely with hott meat; 'twas no cold welcome.

_Pike_. But I would not willingly swallow their plums; they would rise

shrewdly in a man's stomacke.

_Cap_. At the first shott, when the _Convertine_ came in, 3 men were

killd.

_Ma_. At the second 4, was't not?

_Cap_. At the third two more: one salutation

Came so close that, with the very wind,

My hands have almost lost the sense of feeling.

_Jewell_, thou mad'st thy muskett spitt fire bravely.

_Ma_. And my _Devonshire_ blade, honest _Dick Pike_,

Spard not his Sugar pellets among my _Spanyards_.

_Cap_. He did like a soldier, as he that chargd his muskett told me:

in this service he hath dischargd 70 bulletts.

_Pike_. I did my part, sir, and wish I had bene able to have layd 'em

on thicker; but I have lynd somebodyes gutts, much good doe 'em with it;

some of them have wishd well to me.

_Cap_. Art hurt?

_Ma_. Where?

_Pike_. Nowhere; one of my flanckes itches a little; if a piece of lead

have crept in to hide it selfe cowardly I am not much in debt for't.

_Cap_. Let my Surgeons search it.

_Pike_. Search a pudding for plums; let my flesh alone; perhaps it wants

souldering. Shall we to't agen: I have halfe a score pills for my

_Spanyards_--better then purging comfitts.

_Enter a Soldier_.

_Cap_. What newes?

_Sol_. The fort is yielded.

_Pike_. They have bene speechlesse a good while; I thought they'de yield

up the ghost shortly.

_Sol_. But on condition to march away with flying colours, which was

granted.

_Cap_. What's become of the Captaine of the fort?

_Sol_. _Don Francisco Bustament_ is carryed aboord our Generalls ship,

where he had a soldier like welcome; but he & all his company are put

over to _Port Reall_ upon the maine land because they should not succour

the Citty.

_Cap_. Unles he will swim to th'Iland.--And how fares the _Convertine_?

_Sol_. Her shroudes are torne to pieces & her tacklings to raggs.

_Cap_. No matter; she carryes the more honour.

_Sol_. 5 hundred Bulletts sticke in her sides.

_Pike_. 'Tis well they scaped her heart, lying all the fight little more

than pistoll shott from 'em; her Starboard still to the fort & at least

200 Musketts playing upon her. I wish'd heartily some of our London

roaring Boyes[17] had bene in the heate of't.

_Sol_. Wouldst have 'em twice burnt.

_Pike_. They should have found a difference betwixt the smoake of

Tobacco and of a muskett; another manner of noise than _dam me & refuse

me_[18], which they vomitt dayly. It might have done some of 'em good,

for by that meanes they might have prayd heartily once in their lives.

_Cap_. The _Whitehall_[19] men did good service.

_Ma_. Who? the Collyers?

_Sol_. 4000 Bulletts their ordnance & the _Hollanders_ dischargd upon

the Castle.

_Cap_. 'Twas well done of all sides, Bullyes[20]: but, since our forces

are landed, let it be your care to looke well to the Ships: and honest

_Dick_ of _Devonshire_ be not too carelesse of your hurts; he meanes to

fight againe that provides for his recovery soonest. Hold thee, here is

something to pay the Surgeon and to wash your wound withall.

_Pike_. My noble Captaine, I'le have care of my owne and drinke your

health with it.

_Ma_. Thou deservest more than common encouragement: prithee, remember

me too.

[_Exeunt Capt. & Mast_.

_Pike_. Why, now am I sorry I have no more hurt, gentlemen; but I tooke

it as earnest to receive more if occasion bee. I have but a barrell to

bestow among my Dons; while that lasts let 'em come & welcome,--the

drinke shalbe spicd to their hands. Their complexions are blacke, they

shall want no Balls to wash their faces; if any doe light in their

bodies they may chance be scourd all over.

_Sol_. 2. We may hap to be in the suddes ourselves.

_Pike_. There will be charges savd then; for my part I am but one, and

there are shotts enough.

_Sol_. 2. More by a score then I hope wilbe payd these two dayes.

_Pike_. Talke not of paying: here's more then a month comes to. Well,

if our service be done, & there be any other liquor to be gott, wele

drinke no salt water as long as this lasts.

_Sol_. 2. Come, let's have a dish to our countrymen & let's remember

_Tavestock_.

_Pike_. Godamercy for that, boy. A match, a match!

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Henrico Gusman, his sword drawne, & Eleonora_.

_Hen_. Yet the Citty is safe enough; feare not, _Eleonora_;

The Bullets make no noyse here: if the Towne

Should yield her strength up to th'invader, thou

Art lockd up like a spirit in a Christall:

Not an enchanted Castle, held up by

Strong charme, is halfe so safe. This house, though now

It carry not the figure & faire shape

Which the first workeman gave it, eating Time

Having devourd the face of't, is within

A Sanctuary, & hath so much cunning

Couchd in the body not a Laborinth

Is so full of Meanders.

_Ele_. Sir, your presence

Confirmes me in opinion of my safety;

Not of my life so much, for that's a thing

I owe to nature & should one day be

A-weary of it; like to Innes we take

Our houses up, having but here a place

Of _Lodging_ not of _dwelling_:--but of _honour_

You give me my assurance, for in such

A time of thicke confusions I much feare

That might be hazarded. And who knowes what

The soldier that hath no lawe but that

Of cruelty and rapine, when like a Bird

Of prey his Tallents are possessd of one

So weake as I am--

_Hen_. He that durst offend

Thee with a sillable or but fright that bloud

Out of thy Cheekes to seeke another place,

Not daring to be seene there where it now

Is of itselfe sufficient to ravish

A mortall that with just eyes can looke on it,

Had better be a divell. But a haire,

The poorest part of thee & in this excellent

Because 'tis thine, should any dare to ravish

From these his soft companions, which the wind

Would be for ever proud to play withall,

H'had better dig his mothers coffin up

And with his teeth eate what the wormes have left.

_Ele_. I know you will defend me.

_Hen_. Will defend thee!

Have I a life, a soule that in thy service

I would not wish expird! I doe but borrow

My selfe from thee.

_Ele_. Rather you put to Interest

And, for that principall you have credited

To _Eleonora_ her heart is paid backe

As the iust Usury.

_Hen_. You undoe me, sweet,

With too much love; if ere I marry thee

I feare thou'lt kill me.

_Ele_. How?

_Hen_. With tendring me too much, my _Eleonora_;

For in my conscience thou'lt extreamely love me,

And extreames often kill.

_Ele_. There can be no extreme of love[21], sir.

_Hen_. Yes, but there may; and some say Jealousy

Runs from the Sea, a rivolet but deducted

From the mayne Channell.

_Ele_. This is a new language.

_Hen_. Have you not heard men have been killd with Joy?

Our griefe doth but contract the heart, & gladnesse

Dilate the same; and soo too much of eyther

Is hott i'th' fourth degree.

_Ele_. Sir, your discourse

Is stuff of severall pieces and knitts not

With that you usd but now: if we can practize

A vertuous love there's no hurt to exceed in't.

--What doe you, Sir?

_Hen_. Looke on thee.

_Ele_. Why doe you eye me soe? this is not usuall.

Are you well?

_Hen_. Well, never better.

_Ele_. Pray heaven it bode me no unhappinesse!

How doth my father?

_Hen_. He's very well, too; feare not.

_Ele_. Still I read in your eyes--

_Hen_. What Babyes[22], prety one? Thy owne face, naught else;

I receive that way all this beauty into

My heart, and 'tis perhaps come backe to looke

Out at the window. Come, Ile winke againe,

It shall not trouble you:--hence my trayterous thoughts.

_Ele_. Indeed you are not well.

_Hen_. Indeed I am not; all's not well within me.

Why should I be a villaine? _Eleonora_

Doe not looke on me; turne those eyes away,

They would betray thee to thy sorrow; or

Lett me by parting carry along with me

That which to know undoes thee.

_Ele_. Are you not hurt?

_Hen_. Yes.

_Ele_. Good heaven defend! I have a soveraigne Balme.

[_Exit_.

_Hen_. Vanish, you ugly shapes, & with her presence

Quitt your sharp stings! into what monstrous creature

Feele I myself a-growing! yet I cannot

Force backe the streame, it comes so fast upon me;

I cannot.

_Enter Eleonora_.

_Ele_. Here, good _Henrico_, let me see your wound.

_Hen_. No, I am well againe; thankes, my best love.

Come, let us walke and talke; I had a fancy,

But 'tis no matter:--_Buzzano_!

_Enter Buzzano_.

_Buz_. Did you call?

_Hen_. Yes, the Balme here--

_Buz_. What shall I doe with it?

_Hen_. Lay it up safe; 'tis good for a greene wound

But mines a blacke one:--and d'you heare, sirra,

Draw up the bridge, give entrance unto none.

_Buz_. All my fellowes are abroad, sir; there's nobody at home but I.

_Hen_. No matter, let none enter; were my father

Brought with a whirlwind backe, he finds all shutt

Till I have done.

_Buz_. Well, sir;--madam, all this is that you should not b' afraid:

you now see what a kind man he is,--he will suffer none to enter but

himselfe. [_Exit_.

_Ele_. If all this proceed out of your care of me, how much am I bound

to acknowledge you. Sir, methinkes you minde me not.

_Hen_. Yes, I doe nothing else but thinke of thee, & of my father, too,

_Don Pedro_.

_Ele_. Ha! I hope he's well.

_Hen_. I wish he were returned, my _Eleonora_, for both our sakes.

_Ele_. The same wish I, sir.

_Hen_. That then our Joys, which now like flowers nippd

With frost, hang downe the head as if the stalkes

Could not sustaine the toppes, they droope to much;--

At his returne th'art mine.

_Ele_. I am yours now

In holyest Contract.

_Hen_. That's the ground we build on:

Faith, since allready the foundation's layd,

Let's work upon't. Y'are mine, you say, allready--

Mine by all tearmes of Law, & nothing wanting

But the possession: let's not then expect

Th'uncertainety of a returne from France,

But be all one ymediately.

_Ele_. I understand you not.

_Hen_. Since y'are a Tree reservd for me what now

Should hinder me from climbing? All your apples

I know are ripe allready; 'tis not stealth,

I shall rob nobody.

_Ele_. You'le not be a divell?

_Hen_. No, I will but play the man with you: why, you know 'tis nothing.

_Ele_. Will you enforce mine honour? oh, _Henrico_,

Where have you left your goodnesse? sure you cannot

Be so ignoble, if you thinke me worthy

To be your wife at least, to turne _Eleonora_

Into a whore.

_Hen_. Pish! some hungry Landlords would have rent before

The Quarter day,--I doe no more: by faire meanes

Yield up your fort; the Tenement is mine owne

And I must dwell in't.

_Ele_. My feares pointed wrong:

You are no enemy, no wolfe; it was

A villaine I disturbed: oh, make me not

Find in your presence that destruction

My thoughts were so affrighted with.

_Hen_. We shall have such adoe now!

_Ele_. Your fathers house will prove no castle to mee

If you at home doe wound mee. 'Twas an Angell

Spoke in you lately not my Cheeke should bee

Made pale with feare. Lay not a lasting blush

On my white name:--No haire should perish here

Was vowed even now:--Oh let not a blacke deed,

And by my sworne preserver, be my death

My ever living death. _Henrico_, call

To mind your holy vowes; thinke on our parents,

Ourselves, our honest names; doe not kill all

With such a murthering piece. You are not long

T'expect, with the consent of men and angells,

That which to take now from me will be losse

A losse of heaven to thee. Oh, do not pawne it

For a poore minutes sin.

_Hen_. If't be a worke, madam, of so short time,

Pray let me beg a minutes privacy;

'Twill be soone done.

_Ele_. Yes, but the horrour of

So foule a deed shall never: there's layd up

Eternity of wrath in hell for lust:

Oh, 'tis the devill's exercise! _Henrico_,

You are a man, a man whom I have layd up

Nearest my heart: in you 'twill be a sin

To threaten heaven & dare that Justice throw

Downe Thunder at you. Come, I know you doe

But try my vertue, whether I be proofe

Against anothers Battery: for these teares--

_Hen_. Nay, then I see you needs will try my strength:

My bloud's on fire, I boyle with expectation

To meete the pleasure and I will.

[_He forces her in_.

_Ele_. Helpe, helpe!

_Enter Buzzano_.

_Buz_. Helpe? what nightingale was that? did one cry out for helpe?

there's no Christian soule in the house but they two & my selfe; and

'twas not mine, I know by the smallnes of the voice; twas some woman

cryde out, & therefore can be none but my young Lady,--it was she as

sure as I am hungry; he's with her. But why, having one man did she cry

out for more? oh, our _Spanish_ ovens are not heated with one Bavyn.[23]

Well, I must say nothing; my young Cocke has bene treading. Ile tread

softly & see what they doe:--but, see!

_Enter Henrico & Eleonora, loose haired and weeping_.

_Hen_. What doe you looke after?

_Buz_. Why, sir, I looke after a voyce that appeard to me even now,

crying "helpe,"--a very small one.

_Hen_. If what thou seest or heard'st be ever muttered by thee

Though in thy sleep, villaine, Ile pistol thee.

_Buz_. Hum, it will not be safe to dreame of a knave shortly. Are you so

good at a gun? if you use this too often your birding piece will scarce

carry a yard levell.

_Hen_. Come, dresse your hayre up & be wise at last:

No more, I have done.

_Buz_. So I thinke in my conscience,--he hath done with her.

_Hen_. If you can be so simple to proclaime it,

I can be impudent.

_Ele_. Yet dar'st thou live? & doe I live to see

Myselfe the shame of weomen? have I not

Wept teares enough to drowne me? then let fire

Enthrone it selfe within me & beget

Prodigious Cometts, that with flaming haires

May threaten danger to thee!

_Hen_. Nay, nay, nay, if you be so hott Ile brave you: like wine that's

burnt you must be set light by, & then you'le come to a temper.

[_Exit_.

_Ele_. Oh, helpe me out of hell!

_Buz_. Sh'has bene at Barleybreake.[24]--Madam I must say nothing:

--there is a Pistol and so forth:--but if you have occasion to use me,

try mee; if I doe not prove an honester man to you then my Master,

would my Cod piece point were broake. I know what I know, and yet Ile

tell no tales;--but if ever I come to speake once--I say nothing.

_Ele_. Oh that I could not breath! how can I have

A Joy in life whose honour's in the Grave!

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 3.)

_Enter Pike with his sword in his hand, a Cloake in his Arme_.

_Pike_. The freshnes of this Ayre does well after the saltnes of the

Sea. A pleasant Country, too, to looke upon, & would serve well to live

upon if a man had it & knew how to place it out of this hott Clymate! I

would I had a matter, or a Mannour, indeede, of a 1,000 acres of these

woodlands & roome to sett it in _Devonshire_; I would compare with any

prince betweene _Tavistoke_ & _Parradice_ for an Orchard. But I could

wish I were not alone here in this Conceit, dreaming of Golden Apples,

least they prove bitter fruite. Whether are our land soldiers straggeld,

troe? I would faine sett eye on some of them; Ile venture a little

farther; _Devonshire Dick_ was never afraid yet.--How now, my hearts?

upon a retreat so soone?

_Enter Three Soldiers_.

1. I, to the shipps; we have our loades here of the best merchandise we

can find in this Quarter.

2. Will you taste a Lymon? excellent good to coole you.

_Pike_. They are goodly ones; where gott you them?

3. A little above here in an Orchard, where we left some of our Company.

_Pike_. But may one goe safe, without danger?

1. As safely as ever you gatherd nutts in _England_; the _Spaniards_

are all fled.

2. Not soe much as the leg of a _Spanyard_ left to squayle at their

owne appletrees.

[_Exeunt Soldiers_.

_Pike_. Ile have a pull at these pomcitrons for my noble Captaine;

& if I had a Porters basket full of 'em I would count them no burthen

in requitall of some part of the love he hath shewen me.

[_Exit_.

(SCENE 4.)

_Enter 3 other Soldiers_.

1. They cannot be far before us, I am sure.

2. But for the hedge we might descry them within two muskett shott.

3. Pray God the enemy be not within one musket shott of us behind their

hedges; for I am sure I saw an Harquebuse whip ore the way before us but

even now. Oh, oh!

[_Three or 4 shott dischargd, 2 soldiers slaine,

the other falls on his belly_.

_Enter Pike_.

_Pike_. Are you bouncing? Ile no further. Sure these can be no

Crowkeepers nor birdscarers from the fruite! what rascalls were my

Countrymen to tell me there was no danger!--alas, what's here? 3 of

our soldiers slaine! dead, shott through the very bowells! so, is this

quite dead too? poore wretches, you have payd for your Capon sauce.

3. Oh, oh!

_Pike_. Here's some life in yt yet: what cheare? how is't, my heart of

gold? speake, man, if thou canst; looke this way; I promise thee 'tis an

honest man & a true _Englishman_ that speakes to thee. Thou look'st away

as if thou didst not trust me: I prithee speake to me any thing, Ile

take thy word & thanke the, too. Alas, I feare he's past it; he strives

and cannot speake.--'Tis good to shift this ground; they may be charging

more hidden villany while I stand prating heere.--He breathes still;

come, thou shalt not stay behind for want of leggs or shoulders to beare

thee. If there be surgery in our ships to recover the use of thy tongue,

thou mayst one day acknowledge a man & a Christian in honest _Dicke of

Devonshire_. Come along;--nay now I feare my honesty is betrayd;--a

horseman proudly mounted makes towards me, and 'tis a Don that thinkes

himselfe as brave as _St. Jaques_. What shall I doe? there is no

starting; I must stand th'encounter.--Lye still a while & pray if thou

canst, while I doe my best to save my owne & the litle breath thou hast

left. But I am in that prevented too: his breath's quite gone allready,

and all the Christian duty I have now left for thee is to close thy eyes

with a short prayer: mayst thou be in heaven, Amen.--Now _Don Diego, &

Don Thunderbolt_, or _Don Divell_, I defye thee.

_Enter Don John arm'd. Pike drawes & wrapps

his Cloake about his arme_.

_Jo_. Oh viliaco, diable, _Anglese_!

[_They fight_.

_Pike_. A pox upon thee, _Hispaniola_! Nay, if you be no better in the

Reare then in the Van I shall make no doubt to vanquish, & vanquash you,

too, before we part, my doughty _Don Diego_.

[_He hath him downe, & disarmes him_.

_Jo_. Mercy, _Englishman_, oh spare my life! pardonne moye je vous pre.

_Pike_. And take your goods? is that your meaning, _Don_, it shall be

so; your horse and weapons I will take, but no pilferage. I am no

pocketeer, no diver into slopps: yet you may please to empty them your

selfe, good _Don_, in recompense of the sweet life I give you; you

understand me well. This coyne may passe in _England_: what is your

Donship calld, I pray.

_Jo_. _Don John_, a knight of _Spaine_.

_Pike_. A knight of _Spaine_! and I a Squire of _Tavestock_: well, _Don

John_, I am a little in hast & am unmannerly constreynd to leave your

_Castilian_ on foote, while my _Devonshire_ worship shall teach your

_Spanish_ Jennett an _English_ gallop. A dios, signior.--

_Enter_ 12 _musketiers_.

Oh what a tyde of fortunes spight am I

Now to swim through! beare up yet, Jovyall heart,

And while thou knowest heavenly mercy doe not start.

Once more let me embrace you, signior.

1. I say he is an _Englishman_: lett's shoote him.

2. I say the other is a _Spanyard_ & _Don John_; & we dare not shoote

the one for feare of killing th'other.

_Jo_. Oh hold and spare us both, for we are frends.

1. But by your leave we will part your embraces: so disarme, disarme.

_Jo_. I thanke you, Countrymen; I hope you'le trust my honour with my

armes.

1. Yes, take them signior; but you will yeild the _Englishman_ our

prisoner?

_Jo_. Yes, with a Villaines marke. [_He woundes him_.

1. A villaines mark, indeed! wound a disarmed souldier!

_Jo_. He triumphd in the odds he had of me,

And he shall know that from the _Spanish_ race

Revenge, though nere so bloudy, is not base.

Away with him

A prisoner into th'Citty!

_Pike_. Where you please,

Although your Law's more merciles then Seas.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 5.)

_Enter Don Ferdinando, the Teniente, with

attendants; Bustamente brought in with a Guard_.

_Fer_. _Francisco Bustamente_, late Captaine of the Castle,

Stand forth accusd of Treason gainst his Maiesty.

_Bust_. It is a language I not understand

And but that by the rule of loyalty

Unto my king and country I am made

Attendant to the Law, & in this honourd

Presence, the Governour & _Teniente_,

Under whose jurisdiction I hold place,

I would not beare nor heare it.

_Fer_. I'de be glad

You could as easily acquitt your selfe

Of guilt as stand up in your owne defence;

But, _Bustamente_, when it doth appeare

To law & reason, on which law is grounded,

Your great offence in daring to betray

The Spanish honour unto Infamy,

In yeilding up the fort on such slight cause,

You can no lesse then yeild yourselfe most guilty.

_Bust_. Farre be it from your thought, my honourd Lord,

To wrest the hazardous fortune of the warre

Into the bloudyer censure of the Law.

Was it my fault that in the first assault

The Canoniers were slayne, whereby our strength,

Our mayne offensive strength, was quite defeated

And our defensive part so much enfeebled

That possibility to subsist was lost,

Or by resistance to preserve one life?

While there was sparke of hope I did maintayne

The fight with fiery resolution

And (give me leave to speake it) like a Sodier.

_Ten_. To my seeming your resolution

Was forwardest to yeild then to repell;

You had else stood longer out.

_Bust_. We stood the losse of most of our best men,

And of our musketiers no lesse then fifty

Fell by the adverse shott; whose bodyes with their armes

Were cast by my directions downe a well

Because their armes should neyther arme our foes

Nor of our losse the sight give them encouragement.

_Fer_. That pollicy pleades no excuse; you yet

Had men enough, had they bene soldiers,

Fit for a Leaders Justification.

And doe not we know that 6 score at least

Of those base Picaros with which you stuff'd

The fort, to feed, not fight,--unworthy of

The name of _Spanyards_, much lesse of soldiers--

At once ran all away like sheep together,

Having but ore the walls descryde th'approach

Of th'Enemy? Some of the feare-spurrd villaines

Were overturnd by slaughter in their flight,

Others were taken & are sure to find

Our lawes as sharpe as either Sword or Bullet.

For your part, _Bustamente_, for that you have

Done heretofore more for your Countryes love,

You shall not doubt of honourable tryall,

Which in the Court of warre shalbe determind,

At _Sherris_, whitherward you instantly

Shall with a guard be sent.--See't done: away.

_Bust_. The best of my desire is to obey.

[_Exit with a Guard_.

_Enter Don John, Pike (with his face wounded}, a Guard of musketts_.

_Fer_. Whence is that soldier?

1. Of _England_.

_Jo_. Or of hell.

1. It was our chance to come unto the rescue

Of this renowned knight, _Don John_,

Who was his prisoner as he now is ours.

Some few more of his mates we shott & slew

That were (out of their _English_ liquorishness)

Bold to robb orchards of forbidden fruite.

2. It was a fine ambition; they would have thought

Themselves as famous as their Countryman

That putt a girdle[25] round about the world,

Could they have said, at their returne to _England_,

Unto their Sons, "Looke Boyes; this fruite your father

With his adventurous hands in _Spayne_ did gather."

_Fer_. 'Tis a goodly fellow.

1. Had you not better have gone home without Lymons to eate Capons with

your frends then to stay here without Capons to taste Lymons with us

that you call Enemyes?

_Pike_. I could better fast with a noble Enemy then feast with unworthy

frends.

_Fer_. How came he by these woundes?

_Pike_. Not by noble Enemyes: this on my face

By this proud man, yet not more proud then base;

For, when my hands were in a manner bound,

I having given him life, he gave this wound.

_Fer_. 'Twas unadvisd.

_Ten_. The more unmanly done:

And though, _Don John_, by law y'are not accusd,

He being a common Enemy, yet being a man

You in humanity are not excusd.

_Jo_. It was my fury & thirst of revenge.

_Fer_. Reason & manhood had become you better;

Your honour's wounded deeper then his flesh.

Yet we must quitt your person & committ

The _Englishman_ to prison.

_Ten_. To prison with him; but let best care be taken

For the best surgeons, that his wounds be look'd to.

_Pike_. Your care is noble, and I yeild best thankes;

And 'tis but need, I tell your Seignioryes,

For I have one hurt more then you have seene,

As basely given & by a baser person:

A _Flemming_ seeing me led a prisoner

Cryde, "Whither doe you lead that _English_ dog,

Kill, kill him!" cryde hee, "he's no Christian;"

And ran me in the bodie with his halbert

At least four inches deepe.

_Fer_. Poore man, I pitty thee.--But to the prison with him.

_Ten_. And let him be carefully lookt to.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

_Actus Tertius_.

(SCENE 1.)

_Enter Captaine, Hill, Secretary, Jewell_.

_Cap_. Our Generall yet shewd himselfe right noble in offering ransome

for poore Captive _Pike_.

_Sec_. So largely, too, as he did, Captaine.

_Cap_. If any reasonable price would have bene accepted it had bene

given Mr. Secretary, I assure you.

_Jew_. I can testify that at our returne, in our Generalls name & my

owne, I made the large offer to the _Teniente_, who will by no meanes

render him. Sure they hold him for some great noble purchace.

_Sec_. A Barronet at least, one of the lusty blood, Captaine.

_Cap_. Or perhaps, Mr. Secretary, some remarkable Commonwealths man, a

pollitician in Government.

_Sec_. 'Twere a weake state-body that could not spare such members.

Alas, poore _Pike_, I thinke thy pate holds no more pollicy than a

Pollax.

_Hill_. Who is more expert in any quality then he that hath it at his

fingers ends; & if he have more pollicy in his braines then dirt under

his nayles Ile nere give 2 groates for a Calves head. But without all

question he hath done some excellent piece of villany among the Diegoes,

or else they take him for a fatter sheep to kill then he is.

_Cap_. Well, gentlemen, we all can but condole the losse of him; and

though all that we all come hither for be not worth him, yet we must be

content to leave him. The fleete is ready, the wind faire, and we must

expect him no longer.

_Hill_. He was a true _Devonshire_ blade.

_Sec_. My Countryman, sir: therefore would I have given the price of a

hundred of the best Toledoes rather then heare the misse of him at home

complayned by his Wife and Children.

_Jew_. Your tendernes becomes you, sir, but not the time, which wafts us

hence to shun a greater danger.

_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Pike in shackles, nightcap, playsters on his face; a Jaylor_.

_Pike_. The fleete is gone & I have now no hope of liberty; yet I am

well refreshd in the care hath bene taken for my cure. But was ever

_English_ horse thus _Spanish_ bitted & bossd![26]

_Jay_. Sir, the care of your keeper, by whom this ease hath been

procured, requires remuneration.

_Pike_. Here's for you, my frend.

_Jay_. I assure you, the best Surgeons this part of _Spaine_ affoords,

through my care taken of you; & you may thanke me.

_Pike_. What an arrogant rascall's this!--Sir, I thought my thankes

herein had chiefly appertaind to the humanity of the Governour, & that

your especiall care had bene in providing these necessary shackles to

keepe me from running into further danger: these I tooke to be the

strong bonds of your frendship.

_Jay_. Sir, I hope they fitt you as well as if they had bene made for

you. Oh, I am so much your servant that I doe wish 'em stronger for your

sake.

_Pike_. 'Tis overwell as it is, sir.

_Jay_. You are most curteous. [_Exit_.

_Pike_. A precious rogue! If the Jaylors be so pregnant what is the

hangman, troe? By the time my misery hath brought me to climbe to his

acquaintance I shall find a frend to the last gaspe. What's here? a

Lady? are the weomen so cruell here to insult ore Captive wretches.

_Enter Catelyna & Jaylor_.

_Cat_. Is this the English prisoner?

_Jay_. Yes, madam.

_Cat_. Trust me, a goodly person.

_Pike_. She eyes me wistly; sure she comes not to instruct her selfe in

the art of painting by the patternes of my face!

_Cat_. Sir, shall I speake with you?

_Pike_. Yes, Lady, so you will not mock mee.

_Cat_. Indeed I cannot, but must needs acknowledge

Myselfe beholding to you.

_Pike_. This I must beare; I will doe soe & call't my sweet affliction.

_Cat_. Will you heare me, sir? I am the Lady--

_Pike_. Yes, I doe heare you say you are the Lady; but let me tell you,

madam, that Ladyes, though they should have tenderest sence of honour &

all vertuous goodnesse, & so resemble Goddesses as well in soule as

feature, doe often prove dissemblers & in their seemely breasts beare

cruelty & mischiefe. If you be one of those, oh, be converted; returne

from whence you came & know 'tis irreligious, nay divelish to tread &

triumph over misery.

_Cat_. How well he speakes, yet in the sence bewraying

A sence distracted: sure his captivity,

His wounds, & hard entreaty make him franticke!

Pray heare me, sir, & in two words Ile tell you

Enough to win beleeife: I am the Lady

Of the Knight vanquished by you, _Don John_.

_Pike_. Y'have said enough, indeed: pitty of heaven,

What new invented cruelty is this!

Was't not enough that by his ruthlesse basenes

I had these wounds inflicted, but I must

Be tortured with his wifes uniust reioycings!

'Twas well his politicke feare, which durst not come

To glory in his handy worke himselfe,

Could send your priviledg'd Ladyship.

_Cat_. Indeed, you much mistake me; as I live,

As I hope mercy & for after life,

I come for nothing but to offer thankes

Unto your goodnes, by whose manly temper

My lord and husband reassum'd his life;

And aske your Christian pardon for the wrong

Which by your suffering now pleads him guilty.

Good sir, let no mistrust of my iust purpose

Crosse your affection: did you know my love

To honour and to honest actions,

You would not then reiect my gratulations.

And since that deeds doe best declare our meaning,

I pray accept of this,

This money and these clothes and my request

Unto your keeper for best meats and wines

That are agreable to your health and taste.

And, honest frend, thou knowst and darest, I hope,

Believe me I will see thee payd for all.

_Jay_. Yes, my good Lady.--Loe you, sir, you see

Still how my care provides your good: you may

Suppose the Governours humanity

Takes care for you in this, too.

_Pike_. Excellent Ladye I doe now beleive

Virtue and weomen are growne frends againe.

_Enter Don John_.

_Jo_. What magicall Illusion's this? 'tis she!

Confusion seize your charitable blindnesse!

Are you a prison visiter for this,

To cherish my dishonour for your merit?

_Cat_. My lord, I hope my Charity workes for your honour,

Releiving him whose mercy spard your life.

_Jo_. But that I'me subiect to the law & know

My blowes are mortall, I would strike thee dead.

Ignoble & degenerate from Spanish bloud,

Darst thou maintaine this to be charity?

Thy strumpett itch & treason to my bed

Thou seekst to act in cherishing this villaine.

_Cat_. Saints be my witnesses you doe me wrong!

_Jo_. Thou robbst my honour.

_Pike_. You wound her honour and you robb yourselfe,

And me and all good Christians, by this outrage.

_Jo_. Doe you prate, sir?

_Pike_. Sir, I may speake; my tongue's unshackled yet,

And, were my hands and feete so, on free ground

I would mayntayne the honour of this Lady

Against an Hoast of such ignoble husbands.

_Jo_. You are condemnd allready by the Law

I make no doubt; and therefore speake your pleasure.

--And here come those fore whom my rage is silent.

_Enter Ferdinando, Teniente, Guard_.

_Fer_. Deliver up your prisoner to the _Teniente_.

I need not, sir, instruct you in your place

To beare him with a guard as is appointed

Unto the publicke tryall held at _Sherrys_.

_Ten_. It shalbe done.

_Fer_. How long hath he bene your prisoner?

_Jay_. 18 days.

_Fer_. You & the Surgeons out of the Kings pay

Ile see dischargd.--You have, according to the Order,

Conveyd already _Bustamente_ thither

To yeild account for yeilding up the Castle?

_Ten_. 'Tis done, my Lord.

_Fer_. _Don John_, you likewise in his Maiesties name

Stand chargd to make your personall appearance

To give in evidence against this prisoner.

_Jo_. I shall be ready there, my Lord.

_Pike_. To _Sherrys_? they say the best sackes there.

I meane to take one draught of dying comfort.

_Cat_. I hope you'le not deny my company

To waite on you to _Sherris_?

_Jo_. No, you shall goe to see your frend there totter.[27]

_Pike_. I have a suite, my Lord; to see an _Englishman_,

A merchant, prisoner here, before I goe.

_Fer_. Call him; that done, you know your charge.

[_Exit Jaylor_.

_Ten_. And shall performe it.

[_Ex. Fer., John, Catalina_.

_Enter Jaylor & Woodrow_.

_Pike_. Oh, Mr. _Woodrow_, I must now take leave

Of prison fellowship with you. Your fortunes

May call you into _England_, after payment

Of some few money debts; but I am calld

Unto a further tryall: my debt is life,

Which if they take not by extortion,

I meane by tortures, I shall gladly pay it.

_Wo_. I have heard, & thought you by what I had heard

Free from feares passion: still continue soe,

Depending on heavens mercy.

_Pike_. You doe instruct me well; but, worthy Countryman,

Once more let me give you this to remember,

And tis my last request:--that when your better stars

Shall guide you into _England_, youle be pleasd

To take my Country _Devonshire_ in your way;

Wheir you may find in _Taverstoke_ (whom I left)

My wife & children, wretched in my misfortunes.

Commend me to them, tell them & my frends

That if I be, as I suspect I shalbe,

At _Sherris_ putt to death, I dyed a Christian soldier,

No way, I hope, offending my iust King

Nor my religion, but the _Spanish_ lawes.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 3.)

_Enter Don Pedro, reading a Letter, & Manuell_.

_Man_. Dear sir, let me have power to recall

Your graver thoughts out of this violent storme

Of passion that thus oerwhelmes your mind.

Remember what you are, and with what strength,

What more then manly strength, you have outworne

Dangers of Battaile, when your warlike lookes

Have outfac'd horrour.

_Pedro_. Oh, my son, my son,

Horrour it selfe upon the wings of Death,

Stretcht to the uttermost expansion

Over the wounded body of an Army,

Could never carry an aspect like this,

This murthering spectacle, this field of paper

Stucke all with Basiliskes eyes. Read but this word,

'The ravisht _Eleonora_!'--does't not seeme

Like a full cloud of bloud ready to burst

And fall upon our heads?

_Man_. Indeed you take too deepe a sence of it.

_Pedro_. What? when I see this meteor hanging ore it?

This prodigy in figure of a man,

Clad all in flames, with an Inscription

Blazing on's head, 'Henrico the Ravisher!'

_Man_. Good sir, avoid this passion.

_Pedro_. In battailes I have lost, and seene the falls

Of many a right good soldier; but they fell

Like blessed grayne that shott up into honour.

But in this leud exploit I lose a son

And thou a brother, my _Emanuell_,

And our whole house the glory of her name:

Her beauteous name that never was distayned,

Is by this beastly fact made odious.

_Man_. I pray, sir, be your selfe and let your Judgement

Entertaine reason: From whom came this Letter?

_Pedro_. From the sad plaintiffe, _Eleonora_.

_Man_. Good;

And by the common poast: you every weeke

Receiving letters from your noble frendes

Yet none of their papers can tell any such tidings.

_Pedro_. All this may be too, sir.

_Man_. Why is her father silent? has she no kindred,

No frend, no gentleman of note, no servant

Whom she may trust to bring by word of mouth

Her dismall story.

_Pedro_. No, perhaps she would not

Text up his name in proclamations.

_Man_. Some villaine hath filld up a Cup of poyson

T'infect the whole house of the _Guzman_ family;

And you are greedyest first to take it downe.

_Pedro_. That villaine is thy brother.

_Man_. Were you a stranger

Armd in the middle of a great Battalion

And thus should dare to taxe him, I would wave

My weapon ore my head to waft you forth

To single combatt: if you would not come,

Had I as many lives as I have hayres,[28]

I'de shoot 'em all away to force my passage

Through such an hoast untill I met the Traytour

To my dear brother.--Pray, doe not thinke so, sir.

_Pedro_. Not? when it shall be said one of our name

(Oh heaven could I but say he were not my son!)

Was so dishonorable,

So sacrilegious to defile a Temple

Of such a beauty & goodnes as she was!

_Man_. As beauteous is my brother in his soule

As she can be.

_Pedro_. Why dost thou take his part so?

_Man_. Because no dropp of honour falls from him

But I bleed with it. Why doe I take his part?

My sight is not so precious as my brother:

If there be any goodnes in one man

He's Lord of that; his vertues are full seas

Which cast up to the shoares of the base world

All bodyes throwne into them: he's no drunkard;

I thinke he nere swore oath; to him a woman

Was worse than any scorpion, till he cast

His eye on _Eleonora_: and therefore, sir,

I hope it is not so.

_Pedro_. Was not she so?

_Man_. I doe not say, sir, that she was not so,

Yet women are strange creatures; but my hope

Is that my brother was not so ignoble.

Good sir, be not too credulous on a Letter:

Who knowes but it was forgd, sent by some foe,

As the most vertuous ever have the most?

I know my Brother lov'd her honour so

As wealth of kingdoms could not him entice

To violate it or his faith to her.

Perhapps it is some queint devise of theirs

To hast your journey homeward out of _France_,

To terminate their long-desired marriage.

_Pedro_. The language of her letter speakes no such comfort,

But I will hasten home; &, for you are

So confident as not to thinke his honour

Any way toucht, your good hopes be your guide

Auspiciously to find it to your wish.

Therefore my counsaile is you post before,

And, if you find that such a wrong be done,

Let such provision instantly be

Betwixt you made to hide it from the world

By giving her due nuptiall satisfaction,

That I may heare no noise of't at my comming.

Oh, to preserve the Reputation

Of noble ancestry that nere bore stayne,

Who would not passe through fire or dive the mayne?

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 4.)

_Enter Fernando & Eleonora_.

_Fer_. Cease, Eleonora, cease these needles plaints,

Less usefull than thy helpe of hands was at

The deed of darkness,--oh, the blackest deed

That ever overclouded[29] my felicity!

To speake, or weepe thy sorrow, but allayes

And quenches anger, which we must now cherish

To further iust revenge. How I could wish

But to call backe the strength of Twenty yeares!

_Ele_. That I might be in that unborne againe, sir.

_Fer_. No, _Eleonora_, that I were so ennabled

With my owne hands to worke out thy wronge

Upon that wretch, that villaine, oh, that Ravisher!

But, though my hands are palsyed with rage,

The Law yet weares a sword in our defence.

_Enter Henrico_.

_Ele_. Away, my Lord & Father! see the monster

Approaching towards you! who knowes but now

He purposeth an assassinate on your life,

As he did lately on my Virgin honour?

_Fer_. Fury, keepe off me!

_Hen_. What life, what honour meane you? _Eleonora_,

What is the matter? Who hath lost anything?

_Ele_. Thou impudent as impious, I have lost--

_Hen_. Doe you call me names?

_Ele_. The solace of my life, for which--

_Hen_. A fine new name for a maydenhead!

_Ele_. May all the curses of all iniured weomen

Fall on thy head!

_Hen_. Would not the curses of all good ones serve?

So many might perhaps be borne: but, pray,

Tell me what moves you thus? Why stand you soe

Aloofe, my Lord? I doe not love to bee

Usd like a stranger: welcome's all I looke for.

_Fer_. What boldnesse beyond madnesse gives him languadge!

Nothing but well-bred stuffe! canst see my daughter

And not be strooke with horrour of thy shame

To th' very heart? Is't not enough, thou Traytour,

To my poore Girles dishonour to abuse her,

But thou canst yett putt on a divells visour

To face thy fact & glory in her woe?

_Hen_. I would I were acquainted with your honours meaning all

this while.

_Fer_. The forreine Enemy which came to the Citty

And twice dancd on the Sea before it, waving

Flaggs of defyance & of fury to it,

Were nor before nor now this second time

So cruell as thou. For when they first were here

Now well nigh 40 yeares since, & marched through

The very heart of this place, trampled on

The bosomes of our stoutest soldiers,

The weomen yet were safe, Ladyes were free

And that by the especial command

Of the then noble Generall: & now being safe

From common danger of our enemyes,

Thou lyon-like hast broake in on a Lambe

And preyd upon her.

_Hen_. How have I preyd?

_Fer_. Dost thou delight

To heare it named, villaine, th'hast ravisht her.

_Hen_. I am enough abusd, & now 'tis time

To speake a litle for my selfe, my Lord.

By all the vowes, the oathes & imprecations

That ere were made, studied, or practised,

As I have a soule, as she & you have soules,

I doe not know, nor can, nor will confesse

Any such thing, for all your Circumventions:

Ile answer all by Law.

_Ele_. Oh, my Lord, heare me!

By all that's good--

_Fer_. Peace, _Eleonora_; I have thought the Course.

If you dare justify the accusation

You shall to _Sherrys_, and then before the Judges

Plead your owne cause.

_Hen_. And there Ile answer it.

_Fer_. There, if you prove the Rape, he shalbe forcd

Eyther to satisfy you by marriage

Or else to loose his periurd head.

_Hen_. I am content.

And instantly I will away to _Sherrys_,

There to appeale to the high Court of Justice:

'Tis time, I thinke, such slanderous accusations

Assayling me; but there I shalbe righted.

_Fer_. You shall not need to doubt it:--come, _Eleonora_.

[_Exeunt_.[30]

_Hen_. What will become of me in this, I know not:

I have a shrewd guese though of the worst.

Would one have thought the foolish ape would putt

The finger in the eye & tell it daddy!

'Tis a rare guift 'mong many maides of these dayes;

If she speed well she'le bring it to a Custome,

Make her example followed to the spoyle

Of much good sport: but I meane to looke to't.

Now, sir, your newes?

_Enter Buzzano_.

_Buz_. The most delicious, rare, absolute newes that ere came out

of _France_, sir!

_Hen_. What's done there? have they forsaken the Divell & all his

fashions? banishd their Taylors & Tyrewomen?

_Buz_. You had a father & a Brother there; & can you first thinke upon

the Divell & his Limetwiggs.

_Hen_. Had, _Buzzano_? had a father & a Brother there? have I not so,

still, _Buzzano_?

_Buz_. No, sir, your Elder Brother is--

_Hen_. What? speake, _Buzzano_: I imagine, dead.

_Buz_. Nay, you shall give me something by your leave; you shall pay the

poast:--good newes for nothing?

_Hen_. Here, here, _Buzzano_; speake quickly, crowne me with the

felicity of a younger brother: is he dead, man?

_Buz_. No, he's come home very well, sir; doe you thinke I goe on dead

men's errands.

_Hen_. Pox on the Buzzard! how he startled my bloud!

_Buz_. But he is very weary & very pensive, sir; talkes not at all,

but calls for his bed;--pray God your Father be not dead!--and desires

when you come in to have you his Bedfellow, for he hath private speech

with ye.

_Hen_, Well, sir, you that are so apt to take money for newes, beware

how you reflect one word, sillable or thought concerning _Eleonora_:

you knowe what I meane?

_Bus_. Yes, & meane what you know, sir.

_Hen_. What's that?

_Buz_. Ile keepe your Counsaile

_Hen_. My life goes for it else.

{_Exeunt_.

_Actus Quartus_.

(SCENE 1.)

_Enter Henrico (as newly risen)_.

_Hen_. _Buzzano_! slave! _Buzzano_!

_Enter Buzzano with Cloake & Rapier_.

_Buz_. Signior, what a buzzing you make, as if you were a fly at

Bartholomew-tyde at a Butchers stall: doe you think I am deafe?

_Hen_. No, but blind; do'st sleepe as thou goest?

_Buz_. No, but I goe as I sleepe, & that's scurvily.

_Hen_. Call my brother Manuell.

_Buz_. Brother _Manuell_!

_Hen_. How? pray (goodman rascall) how long have he & you bene Brothers?

_Buz_. I know not; may be ever since we were borne, for your father used

to come home to my mother, & why may not I be a chipp of the same blocke

out of which you two were cutt? Mothers are sure of their children, but

no man is able to sweare who was his father.

_Hen_. You are very lusty.

_Buz_. I eate eringoes[31] and potchd eggs last night.

_Hen_. Goe & call him.

_Buz_. What?

_Hen_. You hound, is he up?

_Buz_. No, he's in Bed, and yet he may be up too; Ile goe see.

_Hen_. Stay, and speake low.--How now?

[_Buz. falls downe_.

_Buz_. I can speake no lower unlesse I creepe into the Cellar.

_Hen_. I'me glad you are so merry, sir.

_Buz_. So am I; my heart is a fiddle; the strings are rozend with ioy

that my other young Mr. is come home, & my tongue the sticke that makes

the fiddle squeake.

_Hen_. Come hither, leave your fooling & tell me truely: didst sleepe

to night or no?

_Buz_. Sleepe? Not that I remember: Ile sweare (& my eyes should come

out as 2 witnesses) that I nere slept worse; for what with ycur

_Spanish_ flyes (the pocky, stinging musquitoes) & what with your skip

Jacke fleas, the nap of my sleepe was worne off.

_Hen_. Didst heare nothing?

_Buz_. Not in my sleepe.

_Hen_. Collect thy sences; when thou wert awake didst thou heare

nothing?

_Buz_. Nothing.

_Hen_. Twixt 12 & one?

_Buz_. 12 & one? Then was I in my dead sleepe, cursing the fleas.

_Hen_. Or about one & two.

_Buz_. That's Three:--Now the Beetle[32] of my head beates it into my

memory that as you & your brother _Manuell_ lay in the high Bed, & I

trondling[33] underneath, I heard one of you talke most stigmatically in

his sleepe--most horriferously.

_Hen_. Right, now thou com'st to me,--so did I.

_Buz_. And then once or twice the sleepy voice cryde out, "Oh it was I

that murthered him! this hand killd him!"

_Hen_. Art sure thou heardst this?

_Buz_. Am I sure these are my eares?

_Hen_. And dar'st thou sweare thou heardst it?

_Buz_. Lay downe 20 oathes, and see if Ile not take them.

_Hen_. And whose voice was it did appeare to thee?

_Buz_. Whose voice was it? Well said, yong Master! make an asse of your

fathers man!

_Hen_. Come, come, be serious: whose voice?

_Buz_. Whose voice? why then, if your windpipe were slitt now and opend,

there should the voice be found. I durst at midnight be sworne that the

Ghost of your voice appeard before me.

_Hen_. No; me it frighted too; up stood my haire stiffe & on end.

_Buz_. As a Catts does at sight of a dog.

_Hen_. A cold sweat pearld in dropps all ore my body;

For 'twas my Brothers voice, & were I calld

Before a thousand Judges I must sweare

It could be no mans els.

_Buz_. Why, then, I must sweare so, too.

_Hen_. "Oh it was I that murthered him! this hand killed him!"

[_Within, Man_] _Buzzano_!

_Hen_. He's up.

[_Man_.] _Buzzano_!

_Buz_. I come.

_Hen_. Helpe to make him ready,[34] but not a word on thy life.

_Buz_. Mum. [_Exit_.

_Hen_. So let it worke; thus far my wheeles goe true.

Because a Captaine, leading up his men

In the proud van, has honour above them,

And they his vassailes; must my elder brother

Leave me a slave to the world? & why, forsooth?

Because he gott the start in my mother's belly,

To be before me there. All younger brothers

Must sitt beneath the salt[35] & take what dishes

The elder shoves downe to them. I doe not like

This kind of service: could I, by this tricke,

Of a voice counterfeited & confessing

The murther of my father, trusse up this yonker

And so make my selfe heire & a yonger brother

Of him, 'twere a good dayes worke. Wer't not fine angling?

Hold line and hook: Ile puzzle him.

_Enter Manuell & Buzzano_.

_Man_. Morrow, brother.

_Hen_. Oh, good morrow: you have slept soundly.

_Man_. Travellers that are weary have sleepe led in a string.

_Buz_. So doe those that are hangd: all that travell & are weary doe

not sleepe.

_Man_. Why, Mr. _Buzzano_, why?

_Buz_. Midwives travell at night & are weary with eating groaning

pyes[36], & yet sleepe not: shall I hooke you?

_Man_. Hooke me? what meanst?

_Buz_. These Taylors are the wittyest knaves that live by bread.

_Hen_. And why witty, out of your wisdome?

_Buz_. In old time gentlemen would call to their men & cry, "Come,

trusse me": now the word is "Come, hooke me"; for every body now lookes

so narrowly to Taylors bills (some for very anger never paying them)

that the needle lance knights, in revenge of those prying eyes, put so

many hookes & eyes to every hose & dubblet.

_Man_. Well, sir, Ile not be hookd then now.

_Buz_. Tis well if you be not. [_Exit_.

_Hen_. _France_ is an excellent country.

_Man_. Oh, a brave one.

_Hen_. Your Monsieurs gallant sparkes.

_Man_. Sparkes? oh, sir, all fire,

The soule of complement, courtship & fine language;

Witty & active; lovers of faire Ladyes,

Short naggs & _English_ mastives; proud, fantasticke,

Yet such a pride & such fantasticknes,

It so becomes them, other Nations

(Especially the English) hold themselves

No perfect gentlemen till frenchifyed.

_Hen_. Tush, _England_ breeds more apes than _Barbary_.--

How chance my father came not home with you?

_Man_. He was too hard tyed by the leg with busines.

_Hen_. What busines?

_Man_. Tis but stepping into _France_.

And he perhaps will tell you.

_Hen_. Perhaps? tis well:

What part of _France_ did you leave him in?

_Man_. What part? why I left him at _Nancy_ in _Lorraine_. No, no,

I lye, now I remember me twas at _Chaalons_ in _Burgundy_.

_Hen_. Hoyda, a most loving child

That knowes not where he left his father, & yet

Comes but now from him! had you left in _France_

Your whore behind you, in your Table bookes

You would have sett downe the streets very name,

Yes, and the baudy signe, too.

_Man_. Hum, you say well, sir.

Now you are up to th'eares in Baudery,

Pray tell me one thing, Brother; (I am sorry

To putt forth such a question) but speake truly;

Have you not in my fathers absence done

A piece of worke (not your best masterpiece)

But such an one as on the house of _Guzman_

Will plucke a vengeance, & on the good old man

(Our noble father) heape such hills of sorrow

To beate him into his grave?

_Hen_. What's this your foolery?

_Man_. Pray heaven it prove soe: have not you defac'd

That sweet & matchles goodnes, _Eleonora_,

_Fernando's_ daughter?

_Hen_. How defacd her?

_Man_. Hearke, sir: playd _Tarquin's_ part and ravisht her.

_Hen_. 'Tis a lye.

_Man_. I hope so too.

_Hen_. What villaine speakes it?

_Man_. One with so wide a throat, that uttering it

'Twas heard in _France_; a letter, sir, informed

My father so.

_Hen_. Letter? from whom?

_Man_. A woman.

_Hen_. She's a whore.

_Man_. Twas _Eleonora_.

_Hen_. She's, then, a villanous strumpet so to write,

And you an asse, a coxcomb to beleeve it.

_Man_. Nettled? then let me tell you that I feare

I shall for ever blush when in my hearing

Any names _Henrico Guzman_ for my brother.

In right of vertue & a womans honour

(This deare wrongd Ladies) I dare call thee Villaine.

_Hen_. Villaine!

_They fight: Enter Ferdinand and attendants_.

_Fer_. Part them, part them!

_Hen_. Let me see his heart

Panting upon my weapons point; then part us.

Oh, pray, forbeare the roome.

_Fer_. Fy, Fy! two Brothers.

Two Eaglets of one noble Aery,

Pecke out each others eyes!--Welcome from _France_!

How does your honourd father?

_Man_. Well, my Lord:

I left him late in Paris.

_Hen_. So, so; in _Paris_!

Hath he 3 bodyes? _Lorraine, Burgundy, & Paris_!

My Lord, his Highnes putts into your hand

A sword of Justice: draw it forth, I charge you

By the oath made to your king, to smite this Traytour,

The murtherer of my father!

_Man_. I?

_Hen_. Yes, thou:

Thou, slave, hast bene his Executioner.

_Man_. Where? when?

_Hen_. There, there; in _France_.

_Man_. Oh heavenly powers!

_Hen_. Oh, intollerable villaine! parricide!

Monster of mankind! _Spaniards_ shame!

_Fer_. Pray, heare me:

Are you in earnest?

_Hen_. Earnest?

_Fer_. Be advisd.

_Hen_. Lay hold on him, the murtherer of my father:

I have armd proofes against him.

_Man_. An armd devill,

And that's thy selfe! Produce thy proofes.

_Hen_. I will, sir;

But I will doe't by law.

_Fer_. You are up allready

Too deepe, I feare, in Law.

_Hen_. If you can, sett then

Your foote upon my head & drowne me, your worst:

Let me have Justice here.

_Fer_. Well, sir, you shall.

_Manuell_, I can no lesse than lay upon you

The hand of my authority. In my Caroach[37]

You shall with mee to _Sherris_, 3 leagues off,

Where the Lords sitt to-morrow: there you must answer

This most unbrotherly accusation.

_Man_. And prove him a false caytiffe.

_Fer_. I will be both your guard, sir, and your bayle

And make no doubt to free you from this Viper.

_Hen_. Viper!

_Fer_. Y'are bound to appeare at _Sherris_, sir;

And you were best not fayle.

I have a certaine Daughter there shall meete you. Come.

[_Exit Fer., Man., &_[38]

_Hen_. Thither I dare you both, all three.--_Buzzano_!

_Buz_. Sir?

_Hen_. Saddle my Jennet? Ile to _Sherris_ presently.

_Buz_. And I?

_Hen_. And you; but I must schoole you, sirra.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Pike, shackled, & his Jaylour_.

_Jay_. Boon Coragio, man! how is't?

_Pike_. Not very well & yet well enough, considering how the cheating

dice of the world run.

_Jay_. I dare not, though I have a care of you, ease you of one Iron

unles I desire such Gyves my selfe.

_Pike_. Las, if they were all knockt off I'me loaden with Gyves,

Shackles, and fetters enough for the arrantest theefe that ever lay in

my owne country in Newgate.

_Jay_. Shackles, gyves, and fetters enough! I see none but these at your

heeles, which come on without a shoeing horne.

_Pike_. Yes, at my heart I weare them--a wife & children (my poore

Lambes at home); there's a chaine of sighes and sobbes and sorrow,

harder then any Iron; and this chaine is so long it reaches from

_Sherrys_ to _Tavestock_ in _Devonshire_.

_Jay_. That's farre enough in Conscience.

_Pike_. Could I shake those Chaines off I would cutt Capers: poore

_Dick Pike_ would dance though Death pip'd to him; yes, and spitt in

your Hangman's face.

_Jay_. Not too much of that nayther: some 2 dayes hence he will give you

a choake peare[39] will spoyle your spitting.

_Pike_. Pheu!

_Jay_. For, let me see, to-day is Sunday; to-morrow the Lords sitt, and

then I must have a care--a cruell care--to have your leggs handsome and

a new cleane ruff band about your necke, of old rusty iron; 'twill purge

your choller.

_Pike_. I, I, let it, let it: Collers, halters, & hangmen are to me

bracelets and frendly companions.

[_Knocking-within_.

_Jay_. So hasty? stay my leasure.--(_Enter 2 fryers_)

Two fryers come to prepare you. [_Exit_.

I. Hayle, Countryman! for we, though fryers in _Spaine_,

Were born in _Ireland_.

_Pike_. Reverend sir, y'are welcome:

Too few such visitants, nay none at all,

Have I seen in this damnable Limbo.

2. Brother, take heed; doe not misuse that word

Of Limbo.[40]

1. Brother _Pike_, for so we heare,

Men call you, we are come in pure devotion

And charity to your soule, being thereto bound

By holy orders of our mother Church.

_Pike_. What to doe, pray, with me?[41]

1. To point with our fingers

Out all such rockes, shelves, quicksands, gulfes, & shallowes

Lying in the sea through which you are to passe

In the most dangerous voyage you ere made:

Eyther by our care to sett you safe on land,

Or, if you fly from us your heavenly pilotts,

Sure to be wrackt for ever.

_Pike_. What must I doe?

2. Confesse to one of us what rancke and foule impostumes

Have bred about your soule.

1. What Leprosies

Have run ore all your Conscience.

2. What hott feavers

Now shake your peace of mind.

1. For we are come

To cure your old Corruptions.

2. We are come

To be your true and free Physitians.

1. Without the hope of gold, to give you health.

2. To sett you on your feete on the right way.

1. To _Palestine_, the _New Jerusalem_.

2. Say;

Will you unlocke the closet of your heart

To one of us? chuse which, & be absolvd

For all your blacke Crimes on a free confession?

1. To him or me, for you must dye to morrow.

_Pike_. Welcome!

To morrow shall I be in another country,

Where are no Examiners, nor Jayles,

Nor bolts, nor barres, nor irons. I beseech you

Give me a little respite to retire

Into the next roome, & I will instantly

Returne to give you satisfaction.

[_Exit_.

_Ambo_. Goe, brother.

1. A goodly man!

2. Well limbd & strong of heart.

1. Now I well view his face did not we two

At our last being in _Plymouth_ in disguise,

When there the King of _England_ rode about

To see the soldiers in their musterings

And what their armes were, just before this fleet

Sett out, did we not see him there?

2. May be we did; I know not; if he were there 'tis now out of my

memory.

_Enter Pike_.

1. Are you resolvd?

_Pike_. Yes.

2. To confesse?

_Pike_. I ha' don't already.

1. To whom?

_Pike_. To one who is in better place

And greater power then you to cure my sicke

Infected part, though maladies as infinite

As the sea sands, the grassy spears on earth,

Or as the dropps of raine & stars in the firmament

Stucke on me he can cleare all, cleanse me throughly.

2. You will not then confesse?

_Pike_. No, I confesse I will not.

1. We are sorry for you;

For Countryes sake this Counsaile do I give you:

When y'are before the Lords rule well your tongue,

Be wary how you answer, least they tripp you;

For they know the whole number of your shipps,

Burthen, men & munition, as well

As you in _England_.

_Pike_. I thanke you both.

2. Prepare to dye.

[_Exeunt Fryers_.

_Pike_. I will so.--Prepare to dye! An excellent bell & it sounds

sweetly. He that prepares to dye rigges a goodly ship; he that is well

prepard is ready to launch forth; he that prepares well & dyes well,

arrives at a happy haven. Prepare to dye! preparation is the sauce,

death the meate, my soule & body the guests; & to this feast will I goe,

boldly as a man, humbly as a Christian, & bravely as an _Englishman_. Oh

my Children, my Children! my poore Wife & Children!

_Enter Jaylour, & 3 Spanish Picaroes chayned_.

_Jay_. Here's a chearefull morning towards, my brave blouds!

1. Yes, Jaylor, if thou wert to be hangd in one of our roomes.

_Jay_. On, on; the Lords will sitt presently.

2. What's hee?

_Jay_. An _Englishman_.

3. A dog!

1. A divell!

2. Let's beate out his braines with our Irons.

_Jay_. On, on; leave rayling, cursing & lying: had you not run from the

Castle the hangman & you had bene "hayle fellow! well met:" On!

_All_. Crowes pecke thy eyes out, _English_ dog, curre, toad, hell

hound!

[_Exeunt_.

_Pike_. Patience is a good armour, humility a strong headpiece, would

I had you all three, I know where.

_Enter Bustamente shackled, & Jaylor_.

_Bust_. Whither dost lead me?

_Jay_. To a roome by your selfe: 'tis my office to have a care of my

nurse children.

_Bust_. I have worne better _Spanish_ gaiters: thus rewarded for my

service!

_Jay_. See, Capt. _Bustamente_; doe you know this fellow?

_Bust_. No.

_Jay_. The Englishman brought prisoner into the Citty, & from thence

hither.

_Pike_. Oh, Captaine, I saw you at the fort performe the part of a man.

_Bust_. And now thou seest me acting the part of a slave. Farewell,

soldier. I did not hate thee at the first, though there we mett enemyes;

and if thou & I take our leaves at the Gallowes, prithee letts part

friends.

[_A Table out, sword & papers[42]

_Jay_. Come along, you two.

_Pike_. Hand in hand, if the Captaine please: noble _Bustamente_,

at the winning of the fort we had a brave breakfast.

_Bust_. True, but I doubt not we shall have worse cheare at dinner.

_Jay_. When was ever any meat well dressd in the hangmans kitchen!

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 3.)

_Enter Fernando, bareheaded, talking with the Duke of

Macada; Duke Gyron, Medyna, Marquesse d'Alquevezzas;

2 Gen., one with Pikes sword, which is laid on a table;

Jaylour, Teniente; Clarke with papers_.

_Mac_. Where's the _Teniente_?

_Clarke_. The Duke calls for you.

_Ten_. Here, my Lord.

_Mac_. 'Tis the King's pleasure that those fugitives

Which basely left the fort should not be honourd

With a judiciall tryall, but presently

(Both those you have at home & these in _Sherrys_)

To dye by martiall law.

_Ten_. My Lord, Ile see it done.

_Mac_. Dispatch the rest here.

_Jay_. Yes, my Lord; Ile bring them carefully together to end

the busines.

_Gyr_. Bring _Bustamente_ in.

[_Exit Jaylour_.

_Mac_. My Lords, here's _Don Fernando_ relates to me

Two stories full of wonder; one of his daughter,

Fam'd for her vertues, faire _Eleonora_,

Accusing _Don Henrico_, youngest sonne

To noble _Pedro Guzman_, of a rape;

Another of the same _Henrico's_, charging

His elder brother _Manuell_ with the murther

Of _Pedro Guzman_, who went late to _France_.

_Gyr_. Are all the parties here?

_Fer_. Yes.

[_Exit Fernan_.

_Enter Jaylour, Bustamente, Guard_.

_Gyr_. Bring them in.

_Mac_. _Bustamente_,

The King, our master, looking with sharpe eyes,

Upon your trayterous yeilding up the fort,

Putts off your Tryall here; you must abide

Longer imprisonment.

_Bust_. I have allready quitted

My selfe, my lord, of that which you call Treason,

Which had in any here (he doing the like)

Bene a high point of honour.

_Alq_. These braves[43] cannot serve you.

_Gyr_. You must not be your owne Judge.

_Mac_. You gave the _English_

More glory by your base ignoble rendring

That fort up then our Nation gott from them

In all our undertakings.

_Bust_. Heare me, my Lords,

_Mac_. Sir, sir, w'have other anviles; _Bustamente_,

Prepare your selfe for death.

_Bust_. For all my service!

_All_. Take him away!

_Bust_. You are Lyons & I your prey.

[_Exit with Jaylour_.

_Mac_. Which are _Don Pedro's_ sons?

_Enter Fernando, Henrico, Manuell_.

_Fer_. These two.

_Mac_. Which youngest?

_Hen_. I, my Lord.

_Enter Jaylour_.

_Mac_. You charge this Gentleman, your elder brother,

With murther of your father.

_Hen_. Which I can prove.

_Mac_. And hither flyes a ravisht Ladyes voice

To charge you with a Rape; the wronged Daughter

Of this most noble Gentleman.

_Hen_. Let them prove that

_Mac_. These accusations & the proofes shall meete

Here face to face, in th' afternoone. Meantime

Pray, _Don Fernando_, let it be your care

To see these gentlemen attended on

By a strong guard.

_Fer_. The wrongs done to my selfe

Work me, my lord, to that.

_Man_. I would your Grace would heare me speake a little.

_All_. You shall have time.

_Med_. Take them away,

And at their Tryall have the Lady here.

[_Ex. Fer., Hen., Man., & Jaylour_.

_Gyr_. Where is the _Englishman_?

_Clarke_. The _Englishman_!

_Alq_. What do you call him? _Dick of Devonshire_?

_Med_. Because he is a soldier let him have

A soldier's honour; bring him from his prison

Full in the face of the whole Towne of _Sherrys_,

With drums and musketts.

_Mac_. How many soldiers are in the Towne?

_Clarke_. 5000.

_Med_. Let 200 march hither along with him as his guard: where's

the _Teniente_?

_Ten_. Here, my Lord.

_Med_. Pray, see this done & in good order.

_Ten_. I shall. [_Exit_.

_Enter Don John below_.

_Gyr_. What makes _Don John_ here? Oh, now I remember:

You come against the _Englishman_.

_Jo_. Yes, my Lord.

_Enter his Lady and a Gentlewoman above_.

_Mac_. Give me the Note there of the _English_ advertisements.

[_They all conferre_.

_Lady_. Here may we see & heare: poore _Englishman_!

Sadnes! I cast on thee a noble pitty,

A pitty mixt with sorrow that my Husband

Has drawne him to this misery, to whom

The soldier gave life being at his mercy.

_Gent_. Twas bravely done, no doubt he'le speed the better

For his mind.

_Lady_. I visited him in prison,

And did with much adoe win from _Don John_

This journey, for I vowd to see th'event

How they will deale with him.

_Gent_. I hope most fairely.

_Enter 2 drums, Teniente, divers musketts, Fernando

with Pike (without band, an Iron about his necke, 2

Chaines manackling his wrists, a great chaine at his

heeles); Jaylour, 3 or 4 halberts. A Barre sett out_.

_Clarke_. Silence!

_Mac_. You see how much our _Spanish_ soldiers love you

To give this brave attendance; though your Nation

Fought us & came to hunt us to our deathes.

_Pike_. My Lords, this, which in shew is brave attendance

And love to me, is the worldes posture right,

Where one man's falling downe setts up another.

My sorrowes are their triumphes; so in kings courts,

When officers are thrust out of their roomes,

Others leape laughing in while they doe mourne.

I am at your mercy.

_Mac_. Sirra _Englishman_,

Know you that weapon?--reach it him.

_Pike_. Yes, it

Was once mine; and drawes teares from me to think

How 'twas forced from me.

_Mac_. How many _Spanyards_

Killd you with that sword?

_Pike_. Had I killd one

This Barre had nere bene guilty of my pleading

Before such Princely Judges: there stands the man.

_Gyr_. _Don John_, sett he on you or you on him?

_Jo_. He upon me first.

_Pike_. Let me then be torne

Into a thousand pieces.

_Lady_. My Husband speaks untruth.

_Alq_. Sett he on you first? more coward you to suffer an enemy be

aforehand.

_Pike_. Indeed in _England_ my countrymen are good at bidding stand; but

I was not now upon a robbery but a defence, sett round with a thousand

dangers. He sett upon me; I had him at my feete, sav'd him, and for my

labour was after basely hurt by him.

_Fer_. This was examined by me, my Lords;

And _Don John_, thus accusd, was much ashamd

Of his unmanly dealing.

_Gyr_. He may be now soe.

_Lady_. I blush for him my selfe.

_Alq_. Disgrace to _Spanyards_!

_Mac_. Sirra, you _English_, what was the ship you came in?

_Pike_. The _Convertine_.

_Mac_. What Ordnance did she carry?

_Pike_. 40 peeces.

_Gyr_. No, sir, but 38; see here, my Lord.

_Alq_. Right, no more then 38.

_Mac_. Your fort at _Plymouth_ strong?

_Pike_. Yes, very strong.

_Mac_. What Ordnance in't?

_Pike_. 50 Peeces.

_Gyr_. Oh fye, doe not belye your country; there's not so many.

_Alq_. How many soldiers keepe you in that fort?

_Pike_. 200.

_Mac_. Much about such a number.--There is a little iland before

_Plymouth_: What strength is that of?

_Pike_. I doe not know.

_Gyr_. We doe, then.

_Alq_. Is _Plymouth_ a walld Towne?

_Pike_. Yes, it is walld.

_Mac_. And a good wall?

_Pike_. A very good strong wall.

_Gyr_. True tis a good strong wall, and built so high

One with a leape staffe may leape over it.

_Mac_. Why did not your good navy, being in such bravery,

As it tooke _Puntall_ seize _Cales_?

_Pike_. Our Generall

Might easily have tane it, for he had

Almost a thousand scaling ladders to sett up;

And without mayme to's army he might loose

A thousand men: but he was loath to robb

An almes-house when he had a richer market

To buy a conquest in.

_Mac_. What was that market?

_Pike_. _Genoa or Lisbon_: wherefore should we venture

Our lives to catch the wind, or to gett knockes

And nothing else.

[_They consult_.

_Mac_. A poast with speed, to _Lisbon_,

And see't well mand.

_Ten_. One shalbe sent, my Lord.

[_Exit. The soldiers laugh_.

_Alq_. How now, why is this laughter?

_Fer_. One of the soldiers, being merry among themselves, is somewhat

bold with th'_English_, and sayes th'are dainty Hennes.

_All_. [_Alq_.?] Hens! ha, ha, ha!

_Mac_. Sirra, view well these soldiers,

And freely telle us, thinke you these will prove

Such hens as are your _English_, when next yeare

They land in your owne Country.

_Pike_. I thinke they will not,

My lord, prove hens, but somewhat neere to hens.

_Mac_. How mean'st thou?

_Pike_. Let my speech breed no offence:

I thinke they would prove pulletts.

_Gyr_. Dar'st thou fight

With any one of these our _Spanish_ pulletts?

_Pike_. What heart have I to fight when tis beaten flatt

To earth with sad afflictions? can a prisoner

Glory in playing the Fencer? my life's at stake

Allready; can I putt it in for more?

Our army was some 14000 men

Of which more than 12000 had spirits so high

Mine never shall come neere them: would some of them

Were here to feed your expectations!

Yet, silly as I am, having faire pardon

From all your Graces and your Greatnesses,

Ile try if I have strength in this chayned arme

To breake a rapier.

_Mac_. Knock off all his gyves;

And he that has a stomacke for _Spaines_ honour

To combate with this _Englishman_, appeare.

_Pike_. May he be never calld an _Englishman_

That dares not looke a divell in the face, [_One stepps forth_.

Come he in face of man, come how he can.

_Mac_. Your name?

_Tia_. _Tiago_.

_All_. Well done _Tiago_.

_Mac_. Let drums beate all the time they fight.

_Lady_. I pray for thee.

_Gent_. And I.

[_They fight: Pike disarmes & tripps him downe_.

_Pike_. Onely a _Devonshire_ hugg, sir:--at your feete

I lay my winnings.

_Tia_. Diable!

[_Exit, biting his thumb[44]; the soldiers stampe_.

_Gyr_. Wilt venter on oanother?

_Pike_. I beseech you

To pardon me, and taske me to no more.

_Alq_. Come, come, one more; looke you, here's a young Cockerell[45]

Comes crowing into the pitt.

[_Another steps in_.

_All_. Prithee, fight with him.

_Pike_. I'me in the Lyon's gripe & to gett from him

There's but one way; that's death.

_Mac_. _English_, What say you? will you fight or no?

_Pike_. Ile fight.

_All_. Give 'em roome! make way there!

_Pike_. Ile fight till every Joynt be cutt in pieces

To please such brave spectators; yes Ile fight

While I can stand, be you but pleasd, my Lords,

The noble Dukes here, to allow me choice

Of my owne Country weapon.

_All_. What?

_Pike_. A Quarter staffe,--this, were the head off.

_Mac_. Off with the head, and roome!

How dost thou like this _Spaniard_?

_Pike_. Well: he's welcome.

Here's my old trusty frend: are there no more?

One! what, but one? why, I shall make no play,

No sport before my princely Judges with one.

More sackes to the Mill! come, another! what, no more?

_Mac_. How many wouldst thou have?

_Pike_. Any number under six.

_All_. Ha, ha, sure he's mad!

_Mac_. Dar'st coape with Three?

_Pike_. Where are they? let 'em shew their faces: so; welcome!

_Mac_. How dost thou like these chickens?

_Pike_. When I have drest them

With sorrell sopps Ile tell you.

_Lady_. Now guard him heaven!

[_Drums. They fight, one is killd, the other 2 disarmed_.

1. Hell take thy Quarter staffe!

2. Pox on thy quarters!

_Mac_. The matter? why this noyse?

[_A noyse within of Diable Englese_.

_Jay_. The soldiers rayle, stampe & stare, and sweare to cutt

His throat for all the Jaylors care of him.

_Mac_. Make proclamation, my lord _Fernando_,

That who soever dares but touch his finger

To hurt him, dyes.

_Fer_. I will, sir. [_Exit_.

_Lady_. This is done nobly.

_Mac_. Here, give him this gold.

_Ten_. The Duke _Macada_ gives you this gold.

_All_. And this.

_Ten_. The Duke of _Medina_ this; Duke _Gyron_ this;

&, looke you, the Marquesse _Alqueveza_ as much as all the rest.

_Alq_. Where's any of my men? give him your Cloake, sirra;

Fetch him cleane Band and Cuffs. I embrace thee, _Pike_;

And hugg thee in my armes: scorne not to weare

A _Spanish_ livery.

_Pike_. Oh, my Lord, I am proud of't.

_Mac_. He shalbe with a Convoy sent to the King.

_Alq_. 4 of my gentlemen shall along with him:

Ile beare thy charges, soldier, to _Madrid_,

5 peeces of 8 a day in travell, &

Lying still thou shalt have halfe that.

_Pike_. On my knees

Your vassaile thankes heaven, you, and these Princes.

_Mac_. Breake up the Court till afternoon: then the 2 _Guzmans_ tryall.

_All_. Come, _Englishman_.

_Med_. How we honour valour thus our loves epresse:

Thou hast a guard of Dukes and Marquesses.

[_Exeunt all_.

_Actus Quintus_.

(SCENE 1.)

_Enter Teniente & Henrico_.

_Ten_. The Lords are not yett risen: let us walke & talke.

Were not you better yeild to marry her

Then yeild to suffer death? know you the law?

_Hen_. Law! yes; the spiders Cobweb[46], out of which great flyes breake

and in which the little are hangd: the Tarriers snaphance[47],

limetwiggs, weavers shuttle & blankets in which fooles & wrangling

coxcombes are tossd. Doe I know't now or not?

_Ten_. If of the rape she accuse you 'tis in her choise

To have you marry her or to have you hangd[48].

_Hen_. Hangd, hangd by any meanes! marry her? had I

The King of _Spaines_ 7 Kingdomes,

_Gallicia, Navarre_, the 2 _Castiles,

Leon, Arragon, Valentia, Granada_,

And _Portugall_ to make up 8, Ide lose them

All to be rid of such a piece of flesh.

_Ten_. How? such a piece of flesh? Why, she has limbes

Mad out of wax.[49]

_Hen_. Then have her to some faire

And shew her for money.

_Ten_. Is she not sweet complexiond?

_Hen_. As most Ladyes are that studye painting.

_Ten_. What meate will downe your throat, when you scorne pheasant,

partridge, woodcocke & coney? Would I had such a dish.

_Hen_. Woodcocke and coney take to you, my _Don Teniente_; Ile none; and

because you keepe such a wondering why my stomach goes against the wench

(albeit I might find better talke, considering what ladder I stand upon)

Ile tell you, signior, what kind of wife I must have or none.

_Ten_. Pray let me see her picture.

_Hen_. Draw then this curtaine:

Give me a wife that's sound of wind and limbe;

Whose teeth can tell her age; whose hand nere felt

A touch lascivious; whose eyes are balls

Not tossd by her to any but to me;

Whose breath stinkes not of sweatmeates; whose lippes kisse

Onely themselves and mine; whose tongue nere lay

At the signe of the _Bell_. She must not be a scold,

No, nor a foole to be in love with Bables[50];

No, nor too wise to think I nere saile true

But when she steares the rudder. I'de not have

Her belly a drum, such as they weave points on,

Unles they be taggd with vertue; nor would I have

Her white round breasts 2 sucking bottles to nurse

Any Bastards at them.

_Ten_. I believe you would not.

_Hen_. I would not have her tall, because I love not

To dance about a May pole; nor too lowe

(Litle clocks goe seldome true); nor, sir, too fatt

(Slug[51] shipps can keepe no pace); no, nor too leane,

To read Anatomy lectures ore her Carcas.

Nor would I have my wife exceeding faire,

For then she's liquorish meate; & it would mad me

To see whoremasters teeth water at her,

Red haird by no meanes, though she would yeild money

To sell her to some Jew for poyson. No,

My wife shall be a globe terrestriall,

Moving upon no axeltree but mine;

Which globe when I turne round, what land soever

I touch, my wife is with me, still Ime at home.

_Ten_. But where will you find such a wife on earth?

_Hen_. No, such a wife in the Moone for me doth tarry:

If none such shine here I with none will marry.

_Ten_. The Lordes are come.

_Hen_. I care neyther for Lords nor Ladies.

_Enter the Nobles as before; Fernando, Manuell, Clarke, Jaylor_.

_Mac_. Where are these gentlemen? sett 'em both to a Barre

And opposite, face to face: a Confrontation

May perhaps daunt th'offender & draw from him

More then he'de utter. You accuse your Brother

As murtherer of your father: where's the proofe?

_Hen_. First call my fathers man in.

_Clark_. What's his name?

_Hen_. _Buzzano_.

_Clark_. Call _Buzzano_ in!

_Enter Buzzano_.

_Buz_. Here I am, here.

_Clark_. Stand out: whither goe you?

_Buz_. To stand out.

_Clark_. Stand there.

_Mac_. Now what can he say?

_Hen_. First, my Lord, heare mee:

My brother & I lying in one bed together,

And he just under us--