Exeunt.

(SCENE 2.)

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 ever English horse thus Spanish bitted & 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 of Spaine affoords, 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 bewraying
A sence distracted:  sure his captivity,
His wounds, & hard entreaty make him franticke! 
Pray heare me, sir, & in two words Ile tell you
Enough to win beleeife:  I am the Lady
Of the Knight vanquished by you, Don John.