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.