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 inDevonshire; I would compare with any prince betweeneTavistoke&Parradicefor 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 Dickwas 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 inEngland; theSpaniardsare all fled.
2. Not soe much as the leg of aSpanyardleft 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.
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 trueEnglishmanthat 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 honestDicke 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 asSt. 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.—NowDon Diego, & Don Thunderbolt, orDon 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 doughtyDon 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, goodDon, in recompense of the sweet life I give you; you understand me well. This coyne may passe inEngland: what is your Donship calld, I pray.
Jo.Don John, a knight ofSpaine.
Pike. A knight ofSpaine! and I a Squire ofTavestock: well,Don John, I am a little in hast & am unmannerly constreynd to leave yourCastilianon foote, while myDevonshireworship shall teach yourSpanishJennett anEnglishgallop. A dios, signior.—
Enter12musketiers.
Oh what a tyde of fortunes spight am INow 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 anEnglishman: lett's shoote him.
2. I say the other is aSpanyard&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 theEnglishmanour 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 theSpanishraceRevenge, though nere so bloudy, is not base.Away with himA prisoner into th'Citty!
Pike. Where you please, Although your Law's more merciles then Seas.
[Exeunt.
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 understandAnd but that by the rule of loyaltyUnto my king and country I am madeAttendant to the Law, & in this honourdPresence, the Governour &Teniente,Under whose jurisdiction I hold place,I would not beare nor heare it.
Fer. I'de be gladYou could as easily acquitt your selfeOf guilt as stand up in your owne defence;But,Bustamente, when it doth appeareTo law & reason, on which law is grounded,Your great offence in daring to betrayThe 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 warreInto the bloudyer censure of the Law.Was it my fault that in the first assaultThe Canoniers were slayne, whereby our strength,Our mayne offensive strength, was quite defeatedAnd our defensive part so much enfeebledThat possibility to subsist was lost,Or by resistance to preserve one life?While there was sparke of hope I did maintayneThe fight with fiery resolutionAnd (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 fiftyFell by the adverse shott; whose bodyes with their armesWere cast by my directions downe a wellBecause their armes should neyther arme our foesNor of our losse the sight give them encouragement.
Fer. That pollicy pleades no excuse; you yetHad men enough, had they bene soldiers,Fit for a Leaders Justification.And doe not we know that 6 score at leastOf those base Picaros with which you stuff'dThe fort, to feed, not fight,—unworthy ofThe name ofSpanyards, much lesse of soldiers—At once ran all away like sheep together,Having but ore the walls descryde th'approachOf th'Enemy? Some of the feare-spurrd villainesWere overturnd by slaughter in their flight,Others were taken & are sure to findOur lawes as sharpe as either Sword or Bullet.For your part,Bustamente, for that you haveDone heretofore more for your Countryes love,You shall not doubt of honourable tryall,Which in the Court of warre shalbe determind,AtSherris, whitherward you instantlyShall 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. OfEngland.
Jo. Or of hell.
1. It was our chance to come unto the rescueOf this renowned knight,Don John,Who was his prisoner as he now is ours.Some few more of his mates we shott & slewThat were (out of theirEnglishliquorishness)Bold to robb orchards of forbidden fruite.
2. It was a fine ambition; they would have thoughtThemselves as famous as their CountrymanThat putt a girdle[25] round about the world,Could they have said, at their returne toEngland,Unto their Sons, "Looke Boyes; this fruite your fatherWith his adventurous hands inSpaynedid 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 faceBy 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 manYou 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 & committTheEnglishmanto 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:AFlemmingseeing me led a prisonerCryde, "Whither doe you lead thatEnglishdog,Kill, kill him!" cryde hee, "he's no Christian;"And ran me in the bodie with his halbertAt 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.
Enter Captaine, Hill, Secretary, Jewell.
Cap. Our Generall yet shewd himselfe right noble in offering ransome for poore CaptivePike.
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 theTeniente, 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, poorePike, 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 trueDevonshireblade.
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.
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 everEnglishhorse thusSpanishbitted & 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 ofSpaineaffoords, 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 bewrayingA sence distracted: sure his captivity,His wounds, & hard entreaty make him franticke!Pray heare me, sir, & in two words Ile tell youEnough to win beleeife: I am the LadyOf 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 basenesI had these wounds inflicted, but I mustBe tortured with his wifes uniust reioycings!'Twas well his politicke feare, which durst not comeTo 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 thankesUnto your goodnes, by whose manly temperMy lord and husband reassum'd his life;And aske your Christian pardon for the wrongWhich by your suffering now pleads him guilty.Good sir, let no mistrust of my iust purposeCrosse your affection: did you know my loveTo 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 requestUnto your keeper for best meats and winesThat 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 seeStill how my care provides your good: you maySuppose the Governours humanityTakes 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 & knowMy 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 bedThou 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 groundI would mayntayne the honour of this LadyAgainst 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 theTeniente.I need not, sir, instruct you in your placeTo beare him with a guard as is appointedUnto the publicke tryall held atSherrys.
Ten. It shalbe done.
Fer. How long hath he bene your prisoner?
Jay. 18 days.
Fer. You & the Surgeons out of the Kings payIle see dischargd.—You have, according to the Order,Conveyd alreadyBustamentethitherTo 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. ToSherrys? 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 toSherris?
Jo. No, you shall goe to see your frend there totter.[27]
Pike. I have a suite, my Lord; to see anEnglishman, 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 leaveOf prison fellowship with you. Your fortunesMay call you intoEngland, after paymentOf some few money debts; but I am calldUnto 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 starsShall guide you intoEngland, youle be pleasdTo take my CountryDevonshirein your way;Wheir you may find inTaverstoke(whom I left)My wife & children, wretched in my misfortunes.Commend me to them, tell them & my frendsThat if I be, as I suspect I shalbe,AtSherrisputt to death, I dyed a Christian soldier,No way, I hope, offending my iust KingNor my religion, but theSpanishlawes.
[Exeunt.
Enter Don Pedro, reading a Letter, & Manuell.
Man. Dear sir, let me have power to recallYour graver thoughts out of this violent stormeOf passion that thus oerwhelmes your mind.Remember what you are, and with what strength,What more then manly strength, you have outworneDangers of Battaile, when your warlike lookesHave outfac'd horrour.
Pedro. Oh, my son, my son,Horrour it selfe upon the wings of Death,Stretcht to the uttermost expansionOver the wounded body of an Army,Could never carry an aspect like this,This murthering spectacle, this field of paperStucke all with Basiliskes eyes. Read but this word,'The ravishtEleonora!'—does't not seemeLike a full cloud of bloud ready to burstAnd 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 InscriptionBlazing on's head, 'Henrico the Ravisher!'
Man. Good sir, avoid this passion.
Pedro. In battailes I have lost, and seene the fallsOf many a right good soldier; but they fellLike blessed grayne that shott up into honour.But in this leud exploit I lose a sonAnd thou a brother, myEmanuell,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 weekeReceiving letters from your noble frendesYet 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 servantWhom she may trust to bring by word of mouthHer 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 theGuzmanfamily; And you are greedyest first to take it downe.
Pedro. That villaine is thy brother.
Man. Were you a strangerArmd in the middle of a great BattalionAnd thus should dare to taxe him, I would waveMy weapon ore my head to waft you forthTo 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 passageThrough such an hoast untill I met the TraytourTo 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 TempleOf 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 himBut 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 manHe's Lord of that; his vertues are full seasWhich cast up to the shoares of the base worldAll bodyes throwne into them: he's no drunkard;I thinke he nere swore oath; to him a womanWas worse than any scorpion, till he castHis eye onEleonora: 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 hopeIs 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 soAs wealth of kingdoms could not him enticeTo violate it or his faith to her.Perhapps it is some queint devise of theirsTo hast your journey homeward out ofFrance,To terminate their long-desired marriage.
Pedro. The language of her letter speakes no such comfort,But I will hasten home; &, for you areSo confident as not to thinke his honourAny way toucht, your good hopes be your guideAuspiciously 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 beBetwixt you made to hide it from the worldBy giving her due nuptiall satisfaction,That I may heare no noise of't at my comming.Oh, to preserve the ReputationOf noble ancestry that nere bore stayne,Who would not passe through fire or dive the mayne?
[Exeunt.
Enter Fernando & Eleonora.
Fer. Cease, Eleonora, cease these needles plaints,Less usefull than thy helpe of hands was atThe deed of darkness,—oh, the blackest deedThat ever overclouded[29] my felicity!To speake, or weepe thy sorrow, but allayesAnd quenches anger, which we must now cherishTo further iust revenge. How I could wishBut 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 ennabledWith my owne hands to worke out thy wrongeUpon 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 monsterApproaching towards you! who knowes but nowHe 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 soeAloofe, my Lord? I doe not love to beeUsd 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 daughterAnd not be strooke with horrour of thy shameTo 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 visourTo 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 CittyAnd twice dancd on the Sea before it, wavingFlaggs of defyance & of fury to it,Were nor before nor now this second timeSo cruell as thou. For when they first were hereNow well nigh 40 yeares since, & marched throughThe very heart of this place, trampled onThe bosomes of our stoutest soldiers,The weomen yet were safe, Ladyes were freeAnd that by the especial commandOf the then noble Generall: & now being safeFrom common danger of our enemyes,Thou lyon-like hast broake in on a LambeAnd 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 timeTo speake a litle for my selfe, my Lord.By all the vowes, the oathes & imprecationsThat ere were made, studied, or practised,As I have a soule, as she & you have soules,I doe not know, nor can, nor will confesseAny 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 accusationYou shall toSherrys, and then before the JudgesPlead 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 toSherrys,There to appeale to the high Court of Justice:'Tis time, I thinke, such slanderous accusationsAssayling 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 puttThe 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 spoyleOf 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 ofFrance, 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 concerningEleonora: 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.
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. BrotherManuell!
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 ycurSpanishflyes (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 brotherManuelllay 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 calldBefore a thousand Judges I must sweareIt 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 menIn the proud van, has honour above them,And they his vassailes; must my elder brotherLeave 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 brothersMust sitt beneath the salt[35] & take what dishesThe elder shoves downe to them. I doe not likeThis kind of service: could I, by this tricke,Of a voice counterfeited & confessingThe murther of my father, trusse up this yonkerAnd so make my selfe heire & a yonger brotherOf 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.Franceis 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 &Englishmastives; proud, fantasticke,Yet such a pride & such fantasticknes,It so becomes them, other Nations(Especially the English) hold themselvesNo perfect gentlemen till frenchifyed.
Hen. Tush,Englandbreeds more apes thanBarbary.— 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 intoFrance. And he perhaps will tell you.
Hen. Perhaps? tis well: What part ofFrancedid you leave him in?
Man. What part? why I left him atNancyinLorraine. No, no, I lye, now I remember me twas atChaalonsinBurgundy.
Hen. Hoyda, a most loving childThat knowes not where he left his father, & yetComes but now from him! had you left inFranceYour whore behind you, in your Table bookesYou 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 sorryTo putt forth such a question) but speake truly;Have you not in my fathers absence doneA piece of worke (not your best masterpiece)But such an one as on the house ofGuzmanWill plucke a vengeance, & on the good old man(Our noble father) heape such hills of sorrowTo 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'sdaughter?
Hen. How defacd her?
Man. Hearke, sir: playdTarquin'spart 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 inFrance; a letter, sir, informed My father so.
Hen. Letter? from whom?
Man. A woman.
Hen. She's a whore.
Man. TwasEleonora.
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 feareI shall for ever blush when in my hearingAny namesHenrico Guzmanfor 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 fromFrance!How does your honourd father?
Man. Well, my Lord: I left him late in Paris.
Hen. So, so; inParis!Hath he 3 bodyes?Lorraine, Burgundy, & Paris!My Lord, his Highnes putts into your handA sword of Justice: draw it forth, I charge youBy 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; inFrance.
Man. Oh heavenly powers!
Hen. Oh, intollerable villaine! parricide! Monster of mankind!Spaniardsshame!
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 toSherris, 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 atSherris, 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 toSherrispresently.
Buz. And I?
Hen. And you; but I must schoole you, sirra.
[Exeunt.
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 fromSherrystoTavestockinDevonshire.
Jay. That's farre enough in Conscience.
Pike. Could I shake those Chaines off I would cutt Capers: pooreDick Pikewould 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 inSpaine,Were born inIreland.
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. BrotherPike, for so we heare,Men call you, we are come in pure devotionAnd charity to your soule, being thereto boundBy holy orders of our mother Church.
Pike. What to doe, pray, with me?[41]
1. To point with our fingersOut all such rockes, shelves, quicksands, gulfes, & shallowesLying in the sea through which you are to passeIn 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. ToPalestine, theNew Jerusalem.
2. Say;Will you unlocke the closet of your heartTo one of us? chuse which, & be absolvdFor 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 youGive me a little respite to retireInto the next roome, & I will instantlyReturne 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 twoAt our last being inPlymouthin disguise,When there the King ofEnglandrode aboutTo see the soldiers in their musteringsAnd what their armes were, just before this fleetSett 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 placeAnd greater power then you to cure my sickeInfected part, though maladies as infiniteAs the sea sands, the grassy spears on earth,Or as the dropps of raine & stars in the firmamentStucke 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 wellAs you inEngland.
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 anEnglishman. 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. AnEnglishman.
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,Englishdog, 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 betterSpanishgaiters: 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: nobleBustamente, 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.