Act 1 — Scene III.—THE MARKET PLACE.

A great crowd surging along, pushing, fighting, and hallooing in the rear of a compact body of Rovers or freebooters, well armed, bringing with them a band of Spanish prisoners, captured in a ship in the channel, bound from Cadiz to the Low Countries, with a rich cargo of Silks, Wines, and other such articles of value, besides a quantity of money, for the payment of the Troops there. Among the captives, Soldiers of rank, Noblemen, Great Merchants. Some are hauled along in irons, screaming for mercy, to be kept prisoners till ransomed. A group of three, the assumed property of one party, are about being put up to auction. A Sailor stands upon a barrel with an axe in his hand for a hammer, as auctioneer. Jews and Spectators in front, ready to bid, and chaffing the extemporized Auctioneer.

Several Voices. Why don’t you go on, Bill Sayers! go on! go on! put one of the Hidalgos up. (Laughter.)

Whilst the chief is bargaining with a rich Jew aside, a Ruffian grasps at one of the Spanish Captives.

Ruffian. I should like one of those gold buttons.

The leader, Tom Cobham, turning from the Jew, brandishes his axe not very particular whether or not it lopped off an arm.

Tom Cobham, (fiercely.) Back varlet! on your life, I’ll cleave the first man, to the brisket, who dares to lay hand on one of them! (Sweeps round him with his terrible weapon, the crowd fall back. Turning to the Jew again) I’ll tell you what, Isaac! We cannot deal!

Isaac. They’re not worth an Angel more. There’s not an Hidalgo among them. Only traders like myself.

Tom Cobham. You Jews can jabber all the languages in the world. But I have robbed Churches, sacked towns along the coast of Spain, from Cadiz to Finisterra, have plundered her gold ships, and seized her Merchantmen (he pauses musing) ever since the execution of Sir Thomas Wyatt, and I can talk Spanish as well as you. They are Nobles, every one of them.

Isaac (whispering in his ear.) There now! I will do no more.

Tom Cobham (turning away indignant.) Two thousands Rials! Not even Sovereigns! We only count in Sovereigns, you old screw! You mean to rob. It’s not the price of the gold lace and buttons on their coats, not to speak of the jewels, silk, and velvet. Speak up, or be off! I know what to do with them.

Isaac (again whispering). There now! That’s because you are a friend, Tom. By the Holy Moses and all the Prophets, I’ll not advance another Rose Noble.

Tom Cobham (considering). Well! I’ll take your note of hand. I know you, Isaac. I’m in haste. I want to get to sea. There’s something coming down the wind that far beats this. I say, old hard fist, you’ll clear a good fire hundred out of this job. Well! well! business! business! I’m in a hurry. (Exeunt Sailors, Jews and Captives, the latter apparently pleased with the arrangement. The Market Place and its frequenters, Booths, Stalls for Gold and Silver, Casks of Wine being measured out for sale.)

English Spy. There’s a sight for you! Booths where richest silks are sold as basest stuffs to peasants at a rustic fair. Casks of Gascony drawn for the mob like Common Beer.

Foreign Spy (amazed). Gold and Silver weighed on open stalls.

English Spy. Our Seaboard is the Mart of Precious Metals, debased in price by quantity. Merchants come here to buy. It costs the vendors nothing. Our Seamen take it as their right from Spain.

Foreign Spy (in deep refection). What waste of luxury! Masses of wealth surpassing proudest Capitals.

English Spy (scrutinizing his amazed companion). You seem bewildered, Brother, I thought you should be. Engaged about this serious business, ’tis well, you see, to understand the Drama that’s being acted in the world. These are the Actors, not Priests and Politicians, blind with their own cobwebs, self-wove before their eyes. What think you of the scene?

Foreign Spy. Horror-struck—amazed—such lawless violence—such heaps of Gold and Silver—altar-plate made common traffic! Grandees of Spain put up to open auction! It passes comprehension.

English Spy (smiling). Philip knows it all, and cannot help himself. He sees his Gold-ships captured, or sunk, crews and all—his merchants plundered; Cities sacked and churches rifled on his own coast; His Officers and Nobles sold like slaves by public auction; kept in chains till ransomed; shuts his eyes and must endure the affront. (He walks aside with a grim smile, and triumphant air. Then returns and continues solemnly.) There is a Crisis now in the affairs of mankind. Providence re-adjusts his plan to open another chapter in the course of Destiny. ’Tis a New Power that rises from the sea, and has its source at Plymouth; to rule the world, and set the nations free! (He walks aside eyeing his companion exultingly.) I’ve seen it for some time, and in my waking dreams, this little Isle expands and fills the Globe, whilst Spain recoils, and shrinks before it like a burning scroll. (He walks with triumph—then slowly, with emphasis). Here’s food for thought, Brother! (aside) Now for proud Spain’s Ambassador, and learn his plans to murder Queen Elizabeth.

Foreign Spy (serious but firm). The prospect for the Church is ominous and gloomy. Still, Brother, we must cut off the Head of Heresy! Let us be moving, (going).

English Spy (aside as they go off). Cut off the Head! Still the power remains to crush thy Despotism—the stone to strike the Image, and crumble it to dust! (Exeunt).