Enter Jaylor.
Jay. The Prisoners are upon comming.
Mac. Stand by, Englishman.
Enter Teniente, Henrico, Manuell, Pedro (as a fryer); at another dore Eleonora.
Mac. Give the Lady roome there!
Clark. Peace!
Mac. Your facts are both so foule your hated lives
Cannot be too soone shortned; therefore these Lords
Hold it not fitt to lend you breath till morning,
But now to cutt you off.
Both. The stroke is welcome.
Pedro. Shall I prepare you?
Hen. Save your paynes, good father.