1. And St. George we cryde,
Albeit, we heard, the Spanish Inquisition
Was aboord every ship with torture, torments,
Whipps strung with wyre, and knives to cutt our throates.
But from the armed winds an hoast brake forth
Which tare their shipps and sav'd ours.—Thus I have read
Two storyes to you; one, why Spayne hates us,
T'other why we love not them.
2. Oh, sir, I thank you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE 3.
Ent. Teniente, Don John, Henrico.
Ten. I ever feard some ill fate pointed at This Citty.
Jo. Makes the fleete this way?
Hen. Buzzano!
Ten. I did dreame every night of't, and the Ravens With their unlucky throates never leave croaking Some danger to us all.
Hen. Where's Buzzano? Villaine!