SCENE II.—The Same.
Reading edition
Enter Musgrove with King James prisoner; Jane-a-Barley on the walls.
Mus. Now, King James, thou art my prisoner. K. James. Not thine, but fortune's prisoner.
Enter Cuddy.
Cud. Father, the field is ours: their colours we have seiz'd, And Humes is slain; I slew him hand to hand. Mus. God and Saint George! Cud. O father, I am sore athirst! Jane. Come in, young Cuddy, come and drink thy fill: Bring in King Jamy with you as a guest; For all this broil was 'cause he could not enter. [Exit above.—Exeunt below, the others.