A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II - Various
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24
_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--
_Buz_. In my fleabitten Trundle bed.[52]
_Clark_. Peace, sirra.
_Hen_. About midnight I awaking,
And this _Buzzano_ too, my brother in his sleepe
Thus cryde out, "Oh, twas I that murtherd him,
This hand that killd him"!
_Gyr_. Heard you this, sirra?
_Buz_. As sure as I heare you now.
_Alq_. And you'le be sworne 'twas he that so cryde out?
_Buz_. If I were going to be hangd Ide sweare.
_Clark_. Forbeare the Court.
[_Exit Buzzano_.
_Mac_. All this is but presumption: if this be all
The shott you make against him your bullets stick
In a mud wall, or if they meete resistance
They backe rebound & fly in your owne face.
_Med_. Bring your best forces up, for these are weak ones.
_Hen_. Then here I throw my glove & challenge him
To make this good upon him: that at comming home
He first told me my father dyed in France,
Then some hours after that he was not dead
But that he left him in _Lorraine_ at _Nancy_,
Then at _Chaalons_ in _Burgundy_, & lastly
He said to _Don Fernando_ he was in _Paris_.
_Fer_. He did indeed.
_Mac_. What then?
_Hen_. Then, when in's chamber we were going to bed,
He suddenly lookd wild, catchd me by the hand
And, falling on his knees, with a pale face
And troubled conscience he confessed he killd him,
Nay, swore he basely murtherd him.
_Mac_. What say you to this?
_Alq_. Now he comes close up to you.
_Man_. He is my murtherer
For I am none, so lett my Innocence guard me.
I never spake with a distracted voice;
Nere fell to him on my knees; spake of no father,
No murtherd father. He's alive as I am,
And some foule divell stands at the fellowes elbow,
Jogging him to this mischefe. The Villaine belyes me,
And on my knees, my lord, I beg that I
And my white Innocence may tread the path
Beaten out before us by that man, my brother.
Command a case of rapiers to be sent for,
And lett me meete his daring. I know him valiant;
But I am doubly armd, both with a Courage
Fiery as his can be, and with a cause
That spitts his accusation full in the face.
_Mac_. The combate in this case cannot be granted,
And here's the reason: when a man accuses
A frend, much more a brother, for a fact
So foule as murther (murther of a father),
The Law leapes straight way to the Challenger
To take his part. Say he that doth accuse
Should be decrepitt, lame and weake, or sickly,
The other strong and lusty; thinke you a kingdome
Will hazard so a subject, when the quarrell
Is for a kingdomes right? If y'are so valiant
You then must call the law into the field
But not the man.
_Man_. I have done; let law proceed.
_Mac_. This cannot serve your turne, say he does belye you;
He stakes against your body his owne soule.
Say there is no such murther, yet the Law
Fastens on you; for any man accusd
For killing of his father may be rackd
To draw confession from him. Will you confesse?
_Man_. I cannot, must not, will not.
_Mac_. Jaylour, take & prepare him for the racke:
Wele see it done here.
_Hen_. You are righteous Judges.
_Man_. Oh villaine, villaine, villaine!
[_Exit with the Jaylour_.
_Med_. Where's the wrongd Lady?
_Alq_. Stand you still at the Barre.
You are now another man, sir; your scale turnes.
_Fernando fetches in Eleonora_.
_Mac_. Looke on the prisoner: doe you know him, Lady?
_Ele_. Would I had nere had cause to say I know him.
_Mac_. Of what doe you accuse him?
_Ele_. As the murtherer
Both of my name and honour. In the hurry,
When the Citty (they said) was ready to be taken,
I being betrothed to this young gentleman,
My father brought me to his father's house,
Telling me their dwelt safety.--There dwelt villany,
Treason, lust, basenes! for this godlesse man
(The storme being ore) came in & forcd from me
The Jewell of my virgin honour.
_Hen_. False!
_Fer_. I would not have thee thinke (thou graceles wretch)
She, being contracted to thee, loving thee,
Loving thee far more dearly then her selfe,
Would wound her vertue soe, so blott her fame
And bring a scandall on my house & me,
Were not the fact most true.
_Hen_. Most false by all that ever man can sweare by.
We falling out, I told her once I nere
Would marry her; & soe she workes this mischiefe.
_Gyr_. You here stand chargd for ravishing her, & you
Must marry her or she may have your life.
_Mac_. Lady, what say you? which had you rather have,
His life or him?
_Ele_. I am not cruell; pay me my first Bond
Of marriage, which you seald to, & I free you
And shall with Joy run flying to your armes.
_All_. Law you?[53]
_Mac_. That's easy enough.
_Hen_. Rackes, Gibbetts, wheeles make sausages of my flesh first!
Ile be ty'd to no man's Strumpet.
_Alq_. Then you muste look to dye.
_Mac_. Lady, withdraw.
_Hen_. Well, if I doe, somebody shall packe.
_Ele_. Oh me, unfortunate Creature! [_Exit_.
_Enter Manuell to be rackt; Jaylour & Officers_.
_Med_. _Don Manuell Guzman_ ere you taste the tortures,
Which you are sure to feele, will you confesse
This murther of your father?
_Man_. Pray, give me privacy a little with my brother.
_All_. [_Alq_.?] Take it.
_Man_. O brother your owne Conscience knowes you wrong me:
Ile rather suffer on the Gallow Tree
Then thus be torne in pieces. Canst thou see mee
Thus worryed amongst hangmen? deare _Henrico_,
For heavens sake, for thine owne sake pitty mee.
_All_. [_Alq_.?] What sayes he?
_Hen_. Cunning, cunning, cunning Traytour!
In my eare he confesses all again and prayes me
To speake to you.
_Mac_. Will you openly confesse?
_Man_. No, no, I cannot. Caytiffe, I spake not soe:
I must not wound my Conscience to lay on it
A guilt it knowes not. Ile not so dishonour
My father, nor my ancestours before me,
Nor my posterity with such an earthquake
To shake our noble house.
_Mac_. Give him the Law then.
_Man_. Ile meete a thousand deaths first.
_Hen_. Plucke, & plucke home, for he's a murtherous Villaine.
_Man_. Thou worse, a divell.
_Mac_. Racke him!
_Man_. Oh stay! for heavens sake spread your mercy!
I doe confesse the murther; I killd my father.
_All_. Take him off!
_Man_. This hand stabbd him.
_Mac_. Where?
_Man_. Neere _St. Germains_
In _Paris_, in a darke night, & then I fled.
_Mac_. Thy owne tongue is thy Judge; take him away:
To-morrow looke to dye: send him a Confessour.
_Jay_. Ile have a holy care of him.
[_Exit Manuell, led by the Jaylour_.
_Hen_. Who's now, my lords, the Villaine?
_Enter Eleonora & Buzzano_.
_Ele_. Oh Justice, here's a witnesse of my Rape.
_Mac_. Did you see't, sirra?
_Buz_. See't! no, sir, would I had; but when she was in labour I heard
her cry out "helpe! helpe!" & the Gamboll being ended she came in like
a mad woman, ruffled & crumpled, her haire about her eares; & he all
unbrac'd, sweating as if he had bene thrashing; & afterwards he told me,
my lords, that he had downe diddled her.
_Hen_. I now am lost indeed, & on my knee
Beg pardon of that goodnes, that pure Temple
Which my base lust prophand, & will make good
My wrongs to her by marriage.
_Mac_. What say you, Lady?
_Ele_. He spurnd my mercy when it flew to him
And courted him to kisse it; therefore now
Ile have his life.
_Fer_. That life, so had, redeemes
Thine & thy fathers infamy. Justice! my Lords.
_Hen_. Cruell Creature!
_Mac_. Take him away & lead him to his brother;
You both must die next morning.
_Hen_. I deserve it;
And so that Slave, too, that betrayed his Master.
_Buz_. Why should I not betray my Master, when he betrayed his Mistris.
_Ele_. Get you gone, sirra.
[_Exeunt Henrico & Buzzano_.
_Mac_. You are dismissd: Faire Lady,
You shall have Law, your Ravisher shall dye.
_Ele_. Oh that my life from death could sett him free!
[_Exit_.
_Mac_. Pray, _Don Fernando_, follow her & soften
Her heart to pitty the poore gentleman:
The Crime is not so Capitall.
_Fer_. Ile doe my best.
[_Exit_.
_Mac_. That such a noble _Spanyard_ as _Don Pedro_
Should be so cursed in's Children!
_Enter Buzzano, Don Pedro, Fernando & Eleonora_.
_Buz_. Hee's come, hee's come, my Lord! _Don Pedro Gusman_ is still
alive,--see, see!
_Mac_. Let us descend to meet a happinesse
Crownes all our expectations.
_Pedro_. Whilst I meet
A Thunder strikes me dead. Oh, poore, wrongd Lady,
The poyson which the villaine poures on thy honour
Runs more into my veines then all the Venome
He spitts at me or my deare Boy, his brother.
My Lords, your pardon that I am transported
With shame & sorrow thus beyond my selfe,
Not paying to you my duty.
_All_. Your love, _Don Pedro_.
_Mac_. Conceale your selfe a while; your sons wele send for,
And shew them deaths face presently.
_Pedro_. Ile play a part in't. [_Exit_.
_Mac_. Let them be fetcht, & speake not of a father.
_Ten_. This shall be done. [_Exit_.
_Mac_. Is your Compassion, Lady, yet awake?
Remember that the scaffold, hangman, sword,
And all the Instruments death playes upon,
Are hither calld by you; 'tis you may stay them.
When at the Barre there stood your Ravisher
You would have savd him, then you made your choyce
To marry him: will you then kill your husband?
_Ele_. Why did that husband then rather chuse death
Then me to be his bride? is his life mine?
Why, then, because the Law makes me his Judge,
Ile be, like you, not cruell, but reprieve him;
My prisoner shall kisse mercy.
_Mac_. Y'are a good Lady.
_Med_. Lady, untill they come, repose your selfe.
[_Exit Eleonora_.
_Mac_. How now? so soone come back? why thus returned?
_Enter Pike & a Gentleman, with Letters_.
_Gen_. Our Journey to _Madrid_ the Kinge himselfe
Cutts off, by these his royall letters sent
Upon the wings of speed to all your Graces.
He lay one night since at your house, my Lord
Where, by your noble Wife, he had a wellcome
Fitting his greatnes & your will.
_Alq_. I'me glad of't.
_Mac_. The King, our Master, writes heere, _Englishman_,
He has lost a subiect by you; yet referres
Himselfe to us about you.
_Pike_. Againe, I stand heere
To lay my own life downe, please his high Maiesty
To take it: for what's lost his fate to fall
Was _fortune de la guerre_, & at the feete
Of his most royal Maiesty & at yours
(My Princely Lords & Judges) low as th'earth
I throw my wretched selfe & begg his mercy.
_Mac_. Stand up; that mercy which you aske is signd
By our most royall master.
_Pike_. My thankes to heaven, him & your Graces.
_Mac_. The King further writes heere,
That though your Nation came in Thunder hither
Yet he holds out to you his Enemy
2 friendly proffers: serve him in his dominions
Eyther by land or sea, & thou shalt live
Upon a golden pension, such a harvest
As thou nere reapst in _England_.
_Pike_. His kingly favours
Swell up in such high heapes above my merit,
Could I reare up a thousand lives, they cannot
Reach halfe the way. Ime his, to be his Vassaile,
His Gally Slave, please you to chaine me to the oare;
But, with his highnes pardon & your allowance,
I beg one Boone.
_All_. What is't?
_Pike_. That I may once more
See my owne Country Chimneys cast out smoake.
I owe my life and service to the King,
(The king of _England_) let me pay that Bond
Of my allegeance; &, that being payd,
There is another obligation,
One to a woefull Wife & wretched Children
Made wretched by my misery. I therefore beg,
Intreat, emplore, submissively hold up my hands
To have his Kingly pitty & yours to lett me goe.
_All_. [_Alq_.?] Let him ene goe.
_Mac_. Well, since we cannot win you to our service,
We will not weane you from your Countryes love.
The king, our lord, commands us here to give you
A hundred pistoletts to beare you home.
_Pike_. A royall bounty, which my memory
Shall never loose; no, nor these noble favours
Which from the _Lady Marquesse Alquevezze_
Raynd plenteously on me.
_Alq_. What did she to thee?
_Gyr_. How did she entertaine thee?
_Pike_. Rarely; it is a brave, bounteous, munificent, magnificent
Marquezza! the great Turke cannot tast better meat then I have eaten
at this ladies Table.
_Alq_. So, so.
_Pike_. And for a lodging, if the curtaines about my bed had bene cutt
of Sunbeames, I could not lye in a more glorious Chamber.
_Mac_. You have something, then, to speake of our weomen when y'are in
_England_.
_Pike_. This Box, with a gold chaine in't for my Wife & some pretty
things for my Children, given me by your honourd Lady would else cry
out on me. There's a _Spanish_ shirt, richly lacd & seemd, her guift
too; & whosoever layes a foul hand upon her linnen in scorne of her
bounty, were as good flea[54] the Divells skin over his eares.
_Mac_. Well said: in _England_ thou wilt drinke her health?
_Pike_. Were it a glasse as deepe to the bottome as a _Spanish_ pike is
long, an _Englishman_ shall doe't. Her health, & _Don Johns_ wives too.
_Enter Jaylor_.
_Jay_. The Prisoners are upon comming.
_Mac_. Stand by, _Englishman_.