And freedom in our country, that conceal

The least part of our custom due to us,
Shall forfeit ship and goods.

Joff. There are appointed

Unto that purpose careful officers.

Mull. Those forfeitures must help to furnish up Th' exhausted treasure that our wars consumed. Part of such profits as accrue that way

We have already tasted.

Ale. 'Tis most fit

Those Christians that reap profit by our land
Should contribute unto so great a loss.

Mull. Alcade, they shall.—But what's the style of king,
Without his pleasure? Find us concubines,
The fairest Christian damsels you can hire,

Or buy for gold: the loveliest of the Moors
We can command, and negroes every where.
Italians, French, and Dutch, choice Turkish girls,
Must fill our Alkedavy, the great palace
Where Mullisheg now deigns to keep his court.
Joff. Who else are worthy to be libertines
But such as bear the sword?

Mull. Joffer, thou pleasest us.

If kings on earth be termed demigods,

Why should we not make here terrestrial heaven?
We can, we will: our God shall be our pleasure;
For so our Meccan Prophet warrants us.
And now the music of the drums surcease:
We'll learn to dance to the soft tunes of peace.

[Hautboys.

Enter Bess, like a Sea-captain, Goodlack, Roughman, Forset, and Clem.

Bess. Good morrow, Captain. Oh, this last sea-fight Was gallantly perform'd! It did me good

To see the Spanish carvel vail her top

Unto my maiden flag. Where ride we now?
Goodl. Among the Islands.

Bess. What coast is this we now descry from far?
Goodl. Yon fort's called Fayal.

Bess. Is that the place where Spencer's body lies?
Goodl. Yes; in yon church he's buried.

Bess. Then know, to this place was my voyage bound,

To fetch the body of my Spencer thence;

In his own country to erect a tomb

And lasting monument, where, when I die,
In the same bed of earth my bones may lie.
Then, all that love me, arm and make for shore:
Yours be the spoil, he mine; I crave no more.

Rough. May that man die derided and accurs'd
That will not follow where a woman leads.

Goodl. Roughman, you are too rash, and counsel ill. Have not the Spaniards fortified the town? In all our ging we are but sixty-five.

Rough. Come, I'll make one.

Goodl. Attend me, good Lieutenant;

And, sweet Bess, listen what I have devis'd.
With ten tall fellows I have mann'd our boat,
To see what straggling Spaniards they can take.
And see where Forset is return'd with prisoners.

Enter Forset, with two Spaniards.

Fors. These Spaniards we by break of day surpris'd, As they were ready to take boat for fishing.

Goodl. Spaniards, upon your lives, resolve us truly, How strong's the town and fort?

Span. Since English Raleigh won and spoil'd it first, The town's re-edified, and fort new built,

And four field pieces in the block-house lie,
To keep the harbour's mouth.

Goodl. And what's one ship to these?

Bess. Was there not, in the time of their abode,
A gentleman call'd Spencer buried there,
Within the church, whom some report was slain,
Or perish'd by a wound?

Span. Indeed, there was,

And o'er him raised a goodly monument;
But when the English navy were sail'd thence,
And that the Spaniards did possess the town,
Because they held him for a heretic,

They straight remov'd his body from the church.

Bess. And would the tyrants be so uncharitable

To wrong the dead! Where did they then bestow him? Span. They buried him i' th' fields.

Bess. Oh, still more cruel!

Span. The man that ought the field, doubtful his corn Would never prosper whilst a heretic's body Lay there, he made petition to the Church

To ha' it digg'd up and burnt; and so it was.

Bess. What's he, that loves me, would persuade me

live?

Not rather leap o'er hatches into the sea?

Yet, ere I die, I hope to be reveng'd

Upon some Spaniards, for my Spencer's wrong.

Rough. Let's first begin with these.

Bess. 'Las, these poor slaves! Besides their pardon'd

lives,

One give them money.—And, Spaniards, where you

come,

Pray for Bess Bridges, and speak well o' th' English.
Span. We shall.

Bess. Our mourning we will turn into revenge.
And since the Church hath censur'd so my Spencer,
Bestow upon the Church some few cast pieces.—
Command the gunner do't.

Goodl. And, if he can, to batter it to the earth.

Enter Clem, falling for haste.

Clem. A sail! a sail!

Bess. From whence?

[A piece.

Clem. A pox upon yon gunner! Could he not give warning, before he had shot?

Rough. Why, I prithee?

Clem. Why? I was sent to the top-mast, to watch, and there I fell fast asleep. Bounce, quoth the gun; down tumbles Clem; and, if by chance my foot had not hung in the tackles, you must have sent to England for a bone-setter, for my neck had been in a pitiful taking. Rough. Thou told'st us of a sail.

Enter Sailor, above.

Sailor. Arm, gentlemen! a gallant ship of war Makes with her full sails this way; who, it seems, Hath took a bark of England.

Bess. Which we'll rescue,

Or perish in th' adventure. You have sworn
That, howsoe'er we conquer or miscarry,

Bess. Then, for your country's honour, my revenge, For your own fame, and hope of golden spoil,

Stand bravely to't.—The manage of the fight

We leave to you.

Goodl. Then, now up with your fights, and let your ensigns,

Blest with St. George's Cross, play with the winds.— Fair Bess, keep you your cabin.

Bess. Captain, you wrong me: I will face the fight; And where the bullets sing loud'st 'bout mine ears, There shall you find me cheering up my men.

Rough. This wench would of a coward make a Her

cules.

Bess. Trumpets, a charge! and with your whistles shrill,

Sound, boatswains, an alarum to your mates.

With music cheer up their astonished souls,
The whilst the thund'ring ordnance bear the bass.
Goodl. To fight against the Spaniards we desire.
Alarum, trumpets!

Rough. Gunners, straight give fire!

[Alarum.

[Shot.

[Exeunt Goodlack, Bess, &c.

Re-enter Goodlack, hurt, Bess, Roughman, Forset,

Clem.

Goodl. I am shot, and can no longer man the deck: Yet let not my wound daunt your courage, mates. Bess. For every drop of blood that thou hast shed, I'll have a Spaniard's life.—Advance your targets, And now cry all, Board! board! Amain for England!

[Alarum.

[Exeunt Goodlack, Bess, &c.

Re-enter, with victory, Bess, Roughman, Forset,
Clem, &c. The Spaniards prisoners.

Bess. How is it with the Captain?

Rough. Nothing dangerous;

But being shot i' th' thigh, he keeps his cabin,

And cannot rise to greet your victory.

Bess. He stood it bravely out, whilst he could stand. Clem. But for these Spaniards: now, you Don Diegos, you that made Paul's to stink.

aboard.

Rough. Before we farther censure them, let's know What English prisoners they have here Span. You may command them all.

now

We that were