A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II | Page 3

Personae.
_The Duke of Macada_, | _The Duke of Girona_, | _The Duke of
Medina_, | Four Grandies. _The Marquesse d'Alquevezzes_, | _Don
Pedro Gusman_, An ancient Lord. _Manuell_, | His Sons. _Henrico_, |
_Don Fernando_, Governor of Cadiz Towne. _Teniente_, A Justicier.
_Bustamente_, Captaine of Cadiz Castle. _Dicke Pike_, The
Devonshire Soldier. _Don John_, A Colonel. _Buzzano_, Servant to
Pedro Guzman. _Eleonora_, Daughter to Fernando. _Catelina_, Wife to
Don John. A Gentlewoman. An English Captaine. _Mr. Jewell_. _Mr.
Hill_. Secretary. _Mr. Woodrow_. A Jaylor. Two Fryers. A Guard.
English Soldiers. Spanish Soldiers.

The Play of Dick of Devonshire.

Actus Primus.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Don Pedro Gusman, Henrico and Manuell, his sons; Don
Fernando and Eleanora, his daughter, and Teniente_.
Pedr. Gentlemen, y'have much honourd me to take Such
entertainement, but y'are welcome all. 'Twas my desire to have your
company At parting: heaven knowes when we shall meete againe.
Ten. You are for France then too?
Man. I wayte on my father.
Pedr. Henrico.
Ferd. Eleonora.
Ten. But how chance, _Manuell_, your younger brother Is at the Goale
before you? What, no Lady To please your eye?
Man. I am not Yet weary of my freedome. May Henrico Meete Joy in
his Election: yet I know not One I would sooner chuse to call a sister
Than Eleonora.
Pedr. At my returne from France all things shall bee Consummate; in

meane time let your owne hearts, Knitt with the strongest tye of love,
be merry In mutuall embraces, and let your prayers Fill our departing
sayles. Our stay will not Bee long, and the necessity of my affaires
Unwillingly doth take me from you.
Hen. Though I could wish your stay, my duty bidds me Expect the
enjoying of my happines Till your returne from France.--Your
blessing.
Eleo. How ever heaven dispose of _Eleonora_, Pray write me in your
thoughts your humblest daughter, That shall make it a part of her
devotions To pray for you.
Fer. Well, sir, since your designe Pulls you away, may your good
Angell guard you.
Ten. The like wish I, Don Pedro.
Fer. _Manuell_, I hope You will not long breath out of Spanish ayre.
Farewell!
Pedr. My thanks to all.--Stay!
[Peeces dischargd.
Fer. The Captaine of the Castle come to interpret That language to us?
What newes?
Enter Bustamente.
Bust. Such as will make all Spaine dance in Canary. The Brasile
fleete--
Pedr. Arriv'd?
Bust. Is putting into harbour, and aloud Calls for a Midwife: she is
great with gold And longs to be delivered.
Pedr. No he Spanyard Is not a true reioycer at the newes: Be't a good

omen to our Journey.
Ten. So we wish all.
Pedr. May we at our returne meet no worse newes Then now at parting.
My noble Don Fernando And _Teniente_, once more farewell, (my
daughter, I hope)
_Eleonora, Henrico_,--Nay, your good newes deserves a farewell.
Bust. A soldier's farewell, a fast hand and heart; Good fate to both.
[_Ex. Pedr. and Man_.
Hen. Come, _Elinor_, let them discourse their Joyes For the safe fleete:
in thee all my delights Embarke themselves.
Bust. Tush, lett 'em come; our shippes have brought with them The
newes of warre.
Per. What is that, Gentlemen?
Ten. I am speaking of a fleete of Enemyes.
Per. From whence?
Ten. From England.
Fer. A castle in the ayre.
Ten. Doe you not believe it?
Fer. I heard such a report, But had no faith in't: a mere Potgun![5]
Bust. Nay, sir, 'Tis certaine there hath bene great preparation, If our
Intelligence be true to us; And a mighty Navy threatens the sea.
Fer. What's that to us? How long hath it bene a voyce they were at sea!
I have ventured to discharge the soldiers Which to keepe here in pay
upon the rumour Of a great fleete a comming, would both pester The

Towne and be unnecessary charge To the King our Master.
Ten. But how if they intend us?
Fer. 'Tis not probable: The time of yeare is past, sir, now; more then
The middle of October. Had they meant us We should have heard their
message in loud Cannon Before this time.
Bust. I am of that opinion.
Ten. But Don Fernando and _Bustamente_, call to mind The time hath
bene, when we supposed too The season past, they have saluted us
With more then friendly Bulletts; tore the ribbs Of our Towne up, made
every house too hott For the Inhabitants; had a spoyle of all, Spight of
our hearts.
Fer. One Swallow makes not Summer: because once Our City was
their prize, is't of necessity It must be so againe?
Bust. Or were the Navy Greater, as fame gives out it is the fayrest That
ever danced upon these Seas, why yet Should we suspect