Mac.  How many wouldst thou have?

Pike.  Any number under six.

All.  Ha, ha, sure he’s mad!

Mac.  Dar’st coape with Three?

Pike.  Where are they? let ’em shew their faces:  so; welcome!

Mac.  How dost thou like these chickens?

Pike.  When I have drest them With sorrell sopps Ile tell you.

Lady.  Now guard him heaven!

        [Drums.  They fight, one is killd, the other 2 disarmed.

1.  Hell take thy Quarter staffe!

2.  Pox on thy quarters!

Mac.  The matter? why this noyse?

[A noyse within of Diable Englese.

Jay.  The soldiers rayle, stampe & stare, and sweare to cutt His throat for all the Jaylors care of him.

Mac.  Make proclamation, my lord Fernando, That who soever dares but touch his finger To hurt him, dyes.

Fer.  I will, sir. [Exit.

Lady.  This is done nobly.

Mac.  Here, give him this gold.

Ten.  The Duke Macada gives you this gold.

All.  And this.

Ten.  The Duke of Medina this; Duke Gyron this; &, looke you, the Marquesse Alqueveza as much as all the rest.

Alq.  Where’s any of my men? give him your Cloake, sirra; Fetch him cleane Band and Cuffs.  I embrace thee, Pike; And hugg thee in my armes:  scorne not to weare A Spanish livery.

Pike.  Oh, my Lord, I am proud of’t.

Mac.  He shalbe with a Convoy sent to the King.

Alq. 4 of my gentlemen shall along with him:  Ile beare thy charges, soldier, to Madrid, 5 peeces of 8 a day in travell, & Lying still thou shalt have halfe that.

Pike.  On my knees Your vassaile thankes heaven, you, and these Princes.

Mac.  Breake up the Court till afternoon:  then the 2 Guzmans tryall.

All.  Come, Englishman.

Med.  How we honour valour thus our loves epresse:  Thou hast a guard of Dukes and Marquesses.

[Exeunt all.

Actus Quintus.

(SCENE 1.)

Enter Teniente & Henrico.

Ten.  The Lords are not yett risen:  let us walke & talke. 
Were not you better yeild to marry her
Then yeild to suffer death? know you the law?

Hen.  Law! yes; the spiders Cobweb[46], out of which great flyes breake and in which the little are hangd:  the Tarriers snaphance[47], limetwiggs, weavers shuttle & blankets in which fooles & wrangling coxcombes are tossd.  Doe I know’t now or not?

Ten.  If of the rape she accuse you ’tis in her choise To have you marry her or to have you hangd[48].