Chapter II: Introduction: To Dick of Devonshire (1)

The play of _Dick of Devonshire_, now first printed (from Eg. MS., 1994[1]), is distinctly a well-written piece, the work of a practised hand. There is nothing amateurish in the workmanship; the reader is not doomed to soar into extravagances at one moment, and sink into flatnesses at another. Ample opportunities were offered for displays of boisterous riot, but the playwright's even-balanced mind was not to be disturbed. Everywhere there are traces of studious care; and we may be sure that a style at once so equable and strong was not attained without a long apprenticeship. Nor will the reader fail to note the lesson of charitableness and Christian forbearance constantly, yet unobtrusively, inculcated.

The hero of the play, Richard Pike, published, under the title of _Three to One_, a pamphlet (reprinted in vol. i. of Mr. Arber's valuable _English Garner_) describing his exploits. There is no date to the pamphlet; but it was no doubt issued very shortly after Pike's return, which took place on April 20, 1626. At the outset the writer apologises for the rudeness of his style, "I know not," he says, "what the court of a king means, nor what the fine phrases of silken courtiers are. A good ship I know, and a poor cabin; and the language of a cannon: and therefore as my breeding has been rough, scorning delicacy; and my present being consisteth altogether upon the soldier (blunt, plain and unpolished), so must my writings be, proceeding from fingers fitter for the pike than the pen." In those days a soldier was never at a loss to express himself, and honest Dick Pike was no exception to the rule. He goes straight to the point, and relates his adventures very vividly in the homeliest language. Returning from an expedition against Algiers "somewhat more acquainted with the world, but little amended in estate," he could not long rest inactive; and soon, "the drum beating up for a new expedition," set out to try his fortunes again. The design was against Cadiz; the fleet, under the command of the Earl of Essex, numbered some 110 sail. There is no need to continue the story, for I have nothing to add to the facts set forth in the pamphlet and the play. If _Britannia's Pastorals_ had been written a few years later, we may be sure that William Browne would have paid a fitting compliment to his fellow-townsman's bravery. But Pike's famous deeds were not forgotten by his countymen; for in a broadside of the late seventeenth century, bearing the title of _A Panegyric Poem; or, Tavestock's Encomium_,[2] he is thus enthusiastically praised:--

"Search whether can be found again the like
For noble prowess for our Tav'stock Pike,
In whose renowned never-dying name
Live England's honour and the Spaniard's shame."

There is a curious notice of our hero in a private letter, dated May 19, 1626, of Dr. Meddus to the Rev. Joseph Mead:[3]--"Yesterday being Holy Thursday, one Pyke, a common soldier, left behind the fleet at Cadiz, delivered a challenge to the Duke of Buckingham from the Marquis of ----, brother-in-law to the Conde d'Olivares, in defence of the honour of his sister; affirming, moreover, that he had wronged Olivares, the King of Spain, and the King of England, and therefore he would fight with him in any part of France. This Pike, a Devonshire man, being presented prisoner to the Duke of Medina, he would needs have him fight at rapier or dagger with a Spaniard, supposing he would not stand him two thrusts: but Pyke, by a dexterous sleight, presently disarmed the Spaniard of his rapier without hurting him, and presented it to the Duke," &c.

As to the authorship of the play, though I should be loth to speak with positiveness, I feel bound to put forward a claim for Thomas Heywood. Through all Heywood's writings there runs a vein of generous kindliness: everywhere we see a gentle, benign countenance, radiant with love and sympathy. On laying down one of his plays, the reader is inclined to apply to him Tacitus' judgment of Agricola, "bonum virum facile crederes, magnum libenter." Now, when we open _Dick of Devonshire_, the naturalness and simplicity of the first scene at once suggest Heywood's hand. In the second scene, the spirited eulogy on Drake--

"That glory of his country and Spayne's terror,
That wonder of the land and the seas minyon,
_Drake_, of eternall memory--"

and the fine lines descriptive of the Armada are just such as we might expect from the author of the closing scenes of the second part of _If you know not me, you know nobody_. Heywood was fond of stirring adventures: he is quite at home on the sea, and delights in nothing more than in describing a sea-fight; witness his _Fortunes by Land and Sea_, and the two parts of the _Fair Maid of the West_. But the underplot bears even clearer traces of Heywood's manner. Manuel is one of those characters he loved to draw--a perfect Christian gentleman, incapable of baseness in word or deed. Few situations could be found more touching than the scene (iii. 3), where Manuel defends with passionate earnestness the honour of his absent brother, Henrico, and tries to comfort his heart-broken father. Heywood dealt in extremes: his characters are, as a rule, either faultless gentlemen or abandoned scoundrels. Hence we need not be surprised that Henrico exceeds other villains in ruffianism as much as his brother, the gentle Manuel, surpasses ordinary heroes in virtue. The characters of Henrico's contracted bride, Eleonora, and Catalina, the good wife of a vicious husband, are drawn tenderly and skilfully. Heywood's eyes were oftener dim with tears than radiant with laughter; yet, with all his sympathy for the afflicted and the fallen, he never took a distorted view of society, but preserved untainted to the end a perennial spring of cheerfulness.

I now leave the reader to the enjoyment of this old play, which, whether it be Heywood's or not, certainly deserves the attention of all faithful students of our inexhaustible dramatic literature.

NOTE.--I gratefully acknowledge the assistance that I have received from F.G. Fleay, Esq., in preparing this volume for the press. To ensure as much accuracy as possible, Mr. Fleay has read the proof-sheets throughout.[4] By the same gentleman's kindness I am able to correct the following misprints in the first volume:--

p. 37, l. 23, for "Yet can give," read, "Yet can I give."

p. 71, l. 18, del. comma after "live."

p. 103, l. 9, del. "we."

p. 119, 7 from bottom, for "she doth preferd doth see," read "she thus preferd," &c.

p. 142, 9 from bottom, for "vouchsafed," read "vouchsafe."

p. 154, l. 19, for "There they are," read "I, here they are."

p. 190, l. 24, for "woman" read "women."

p. 194, l. 12, for "unwist," read "unjust."

p. 228, last line, for "Equire," read "Squire."

p, 258, l. 29, for "1639," read "1612."

p. 274, l. 16, for "whore," read "whore's;" and in the next line, for "sunnes," read "sinnes."

p. 276, l. 4, after "Do not my Dons know," add "me."

p. 281, 4 from bottom, for "wo," read "two."

p. 311, l. 12, for "sol-Re-fa-mi," read "sol-Re-me-fa-mi." In l. 19, for "Ra." read "Re."

p. 317, l. 21, for "goon," read "good."

p. 331, l. i, for "Med,," read "King."

THE PLAY OF DICKE OF DEVONSHIRE.

_A Tragi-Comedy_.

Hector adest secumque Deos in praelia ducit.

Drammatis Personae.

_The Duke of Macada_, | _The Duke of Girona_, | _The Duke of Medina_, | Four Grandies. _The Marquesse d'Alquevezzes_, | _Don Pedro Gusman_, An ancient Lord. _Manuell_, | His Sons. _Henrico_, | _Don Fernando_, Governor of Cadiz Towne. _Teniente_, A Justicier. _Bustamente_, Captaine of Cadiz Castle. _Dicke Pike_, The Devonshire Soldier. _Don John_, A Colonel. _Buzzano_, Servant to Pedro Guzman. _Eleonora_, Daughter to Fernando. _Catelina_, Wife to Don John. _A Gentlewoman_. _An English Captaine_. _Mr. Jewell_. _Mr. Hill_. _Secretary_. _Mr. Woodrow_. _A Jaylor_. _Two Fryers_. _A Guard_. _English Soldiers_. _Spanish Soldiers_.

The Play of Dick of Devonshire.

_Actus Primus_.

(SCENE 1.)

_Enter Don Pedro Gusman, Henrico and Manuell, his sons;
Don Fernando and Eleanora, his daughter, and Teniente_.

_Pedr_. Gentlemen, y'have much honourd me to take Such entertainement, but y'are welcome all. 'Twas my desire to have your company At parting: heaven knowes when we shall meete againe.

_Ten_. You are for _France_ then too?

_Man_. I wayte on my father.

_Pedr_. _Henrico_.

_Ferd_. _Eleonora_.

_Ten_. But how chance, _Manuell_, your younger brother Is at the Goale before you? What, no Lady To please your eye?

_Man_. I am not Yet weary of my freedome. May _Henrico_ Meete Joy in his Election: yet I know not One I would sooner chuse to call a sister Than _Eleonora_.

_Pedr_. At my returne from France all things shall bee Consummate; in meane time let your owne hearts, Knitt with the strongest tye of love, be merry In mutuall embraces, and let your prayers Fill our departing sayles. Our stay will not Bee long, and the necessity of my affaires Unwillingly doth take me from you.

_Hen_. Though I could wish your stay, my duty bidds me Expect the enjoying of my happines Till your returne from _France_.--Your blessing.

_Eleo_. How ever heaven dispose of _Eleonora_, Pray write me in your thoughts your humblest daughter, That shall make it a part of her devotions To pray for you.

_Fer_. Well, sir, since your designe Pulls you away, may your good Angell guard you.

_Ten_. The like wish I, _Don Pedro_.

_Fer_. _Manuell_, I hope You will not long breath out of _Spanish_ ayre. Farewell!

_Pedr_. My thanks to all.--Stay!

[_Peeces dischargd_.

_Fer_. The Captaine of the Castle come to interpret That language to us? What newes?

_Enter Bustamente_.

_Bust_. Such as will make all _Spaine_ dance in Canary. The _Brasile_ fleete--

_Pedr_. Arriv'd?

_Bust_. Is putting into harbour, and aloud Calls for a Midwife: she is great with gold And longs to be delivered.

_Pedr_. No he _Spanyard_ Is not a true reioycer at the newes: Be't a good omen to our Journey.

_Ten_. So we wish all.

_Pedr_. May we at our returne meet no worse newes Then now at parting. My noble _Don Fernando_ And _Teniente_, once more farewell, (my daughter, I hope)

_Eleonora, Henrico_,--Nay, your good newes deserves a farewell.

_Bust_. A soldier's farewell, a fast hand and heart; Good fate to both. [_Ex. Pedr. and Man_.

_Hen_. Come, _Elinor_, let them discourse their Joyes For the safe fleete: in thee all my delights Embarke themselves.

_Bust_. Tush, lett 'em come; our shippes have brought with them The newes of warre.

_Per_. What is that, Gentlemen?

_Ten_. I am speaking of a fleete of Enemyes.

_Per_. From whence?

_Ten_. From _England_.

_Fer_. A castle in the ayre.

_Ten_. Doe you not believe it?

_Fer_. I heard such a report, But had no faith in't: a mere Potgun![5]

_Bust_. Nay, sir, 'Tis certaine there hath bene great preparation, If our Intelligence be true to us; And a mighty Navy threatens the sea.

_Fer_. What's that to us? How long hath it bene a voyce they were at sea! I have ventured to discharge the soldiers Which to keepe here in pay upon the rumour Of a great fleete a comming, would both pester The Towne and be unnecessary charge To the King our Master.

_Ten_. But how if they intend us?

_Fer_. 'Tis not probable: The time of yeare is past, sir, now; more then The middle of October. Had they meant us We should have heard their message in loud Cannon Before this time.

_Bust_. I am of that opinion.

_Ten_. But _Don Fernando_ and _Bustamente_, call to mind The time hath bene, when we supposed too The season past, they have saluted us With more then friendly Bulletts; tore the ribbs Of our Towne up, made every house too hott For the Inhabitants; had a spoyle of all, Spight of our hearts.

_Fer_. One Swallow makes not Summer: because once Our City was their prize, is't of necessity It must be so againe?

_Bust_. Or were the Navy Greater, as fame gives out it is the fayrest That ever danced upon these Seas, why yet Should we suspect for this Citty?

_Fer_. Because we dreame soe.

_Ten_. If you did dreame it may be as neare truth: I wish the contrary, but know them daring Enemyes.

_Fer_. The world, we doe acknowledge, cannot boast More resolution then the _English_ hearts Seasond for action.

_Ten_. _Francisco Bustamente_, how is the Castle? what strength?

_Bust_. A fort impregnable, wanting neyther soldiers nor munition.

_Ten_. Well, looke to't.

_Fer_. How ere That wilbe necessary; the fort lyes in The mouth of danger, and it will become You to discharge that duty, _Bustamente_.

_Bust_. With my best care.

_Ten_. I wish all well, and that you had not yet Discharg'd your Companyes, _Don Fernando_.

_Fer_. Come, come; putt of your Jelousy, Drinke downe the remembrance. We forget Our fleetes arrivall; send your feares away; Nothing but wine and mirth should crowne this day.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE 2.

_Enter two Devonshire Merchants, as being in Sherryes_[6]

1. Heare you the newes?

2. Yes, that an English fleete Is making up to Cales.[7]

1. Our _Sherryes_ merchants, Though few of us be heere, shall soundly pay To the furnishing of this Navy.

2. Nay, I assure you Our shipps wilbe fast bound by _Spanish_ charmes Not to get hence in hast.

1. The Divell allready Is furling up the sayles; would all the sackes Which we have bought for _England_ were in _Devonshire_ Turnd to small Beere, so we were but in _Tavistocke_ To see it drawne out; were it nere so thin I'de drink a health to all the Dons in _Sherryes_ And cry a pox upon 'em.

2. That word heard By any lowsy _Spanish_ Picardo[8] Were worth our two neckes. Ile not curse my Diegoes But wish with all my heart that a faire wind May with great Bellyes blesse our _English_ sayles Both out and in; and that the whole fleete may Be at home delivered of no worse a conquest Then the last noble voyage made to this Citty, Though all the wines and merchandize I have here Were ith' Seas bottome.

1. Troth, so would I mine.

2. I nere could tell yet from what roote this huge Large spreading Tree of hate from _Spayne_ to us, From us agayne to _Spayne_, took the first growth.

1. No? then lie tell you: let us season our sorrow With this discourse.

2. With all my heart I long for't.

1. You shall not loose your longing: then, sir, know The hate a _Spanyard_ beares an _Englishman_ Nor naturall is, nor ancient; but as sparkes, Flying from a flint by beating, beget flames, Matter being neere to feed and nurse the fire, So from a tinder at the first kindled[9] Grew this heartburning twixt these two great Nations.

2. As how, pray?

1. Heare me: any _Englishman_ That can but read our Chronicles can tell That many of our Kings and noblest Princes Have fetcht their best and royallest wives from _Spayne_, The very last of all binding both kingdomes Within one golden ring of love and peace By the marriage of Queene _Mary_ with that little man (But mighty monarch) _Phillip_, son and heire To _Charles_ the Emperour.

2. You say right.

1. Religion Having but one face then both here and there, Both Nations seemd as one: Concord, Commerce And sweete Community were Chaynes of Pearle About the neckes of eyther. But when _England_ Threw of the Yoake of _Rome, Spayne_ flew from her; _Spayne_ was no more a sister nor a neighbour, But a sworne Enemy. All this did but bring Dry stickes to kindle fire: now see it burne.

2. And warme my knowledge and experience by't.

1. Spaines anger never blew hott coales indeed Till in Queene _Elizabeths_ Raigne when (may I call him so) That glory of his Country and _Spaynes_ terror, That wonder of the land and the Seas minyon, _Drake_, of eternall memory, harrowed th'_Indyes_.

2. The King of _Spaynes_ west _Indyes_?

1. Yes, when his Hands _Nombre de Dios, Cartagena, Hispaniola_, With _Cuba_ and the rest of those faire Sisters, The mermaydes of those Seas, whose golden strings Give him his sweetest musicke, when they by _Drake_ And his brave Ginges[10] were ravishd; when these red apples Were gather'd and brought hither to be payrd-- Then the _Castilian_ Lyon began to roare.

2. Had he not cause, being vexd soe?

1. When our shipps Carrying such firedrakes in them that the huge _Spanish_ Galleasses, Galleons, Hulkes and Carrackes[11] Being great with gold, in labour with some fright, Were all delivered of fine redcheekt Children At _Plymouth, Portsmouth_ and other _English_ havens And onely by men midwives: had not _Spayne_ reason To cry out, oh Diables _Ingleses_!

2. It had not spoke such _Spanish_ else.

1. When we did sett our feete even on their Mynes And brought their golden fagotts thence, their Ingotts And silver wedges; when each ship of ours Was able to spread sayles of silke; the tacklings Of twisted gold; when every marryner At his arrivall here had his deepe pockets Crammd full of Pistoletts; when the poorest ship-boy Might on the _Thames_ make duckes and drakes with pieces Of eight fetchd out of _Spayne_: These were the Bellowes Which blew the _Spanish_ bonfires of revenge; These were the times in which they calld our Nation Borachos,[12] Lutherans and Furias del Inferno.

2. Would we might now give them the selfe same cause To call us soe.

1. The very name of _Drake_ Was a Bugbear to fright Children; Nurses still'd Their little _Spanish_ Nynnyes when they cryde "Hush! the _Drake_ comes."

2. All this must needs beget Their mortall hate to us.

1. It did; yet then We lovd them beyond measure.

2. Why?

1. Why, did not _Spaine_ fetch gold from the _West Indies_ for us To spend here merrily? She planted vines, We eate the Grapes; she playd the _Spanish_ Pavine[13] Under our windowes, we in our bedds lay laughing To heare such Mynstrelsy.

2. How then turnd the windes? Why did this beauteous face of love in us Put on so blacke a Visour of hate to them?

1. Oh, sir, doe but looke backe to Eighty Eight, That _Spanish_ glasse shall tell you, shew each wrinckle. _England_ that yeare was but a bit pickd out To be layd on their Kinges Trencher. Who were their Cookes? Marry, sir, his Grandees and great Dons of _Spaine_, A Navy was provided, a royall fleete, Infinite for the bravery of Admiralls, Viceadmirall [sic], Generalls, Colonells and Commanders, Soldiers, and all the warlike furniture Cost or experience or mans witt could muster For such a mayne designe.

2. Stay; Eighty Eight,-- Thirty eight yeares agoe: much about then Came I into the world.--Well, sir, this fleete?

1. Which made the Sea fish wonder what new kingdome Was building over theirs, beate downe the Billowes Before them to gett thither. 'Twas such a Monster In body, such a wonder in the eyes, And such a[14] thunder in the eares of Christendome That the Popes Holynes would needes be Godfather To this most mighty big limbd Child, and call it Th'Invincible Armado.

2. Thats to say A Fleete of Shipps not to be overcome By any power of man.

1. These were the Whales, These were the huge Levyathans of the Sea Which roaring came with wide and dreadfull Jawes To swallow up our Kingdom, Shipps & Nation. The fame of this Armado flew with Terrour Riding on Envyes wing; the preparation Was wayted on with wonder, and the approach Shewd the grim face of horrour: yet gainst all these Our Country and our Courages were armd.

2. _St. George_ for _England_!

1. And _St. George_ we cryde, Albeit, we heard, the _Spanish_ Inquisition Was aboord every ship with torture, torments, Whipps strung with wyre, and knives to cutt our throates. But from the armed winds an hoast brake forth Which tare their shipps and sav'd ours.--Thus I have read Two storyes to you; one, why _Spayne_ hates us, T'other why we love not them.

2. Oh, sir, I thank you.

[_Exeunt_.

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.