Mac. Sirra, view well these soldiers,
And freely telle us, thinke you these will prove
Such hens as are your English, when next yeare
They land in your owne Country.
Pike. I thinke they will not, My lord, prove hens, but somewhat neere to hens.
Mac. How mean'st thou?
Pike. Let my speech breed no offence: I thinke they would prove pulletts.
Gyr. Dar'st thou fight With any one of these our Spanish pulletts?
Pike. What heart have I to fight when tis beaten flatt
To earth with sad afflictions? can a prisoner
Glory in playing the Fencer? my life's at stake
Allready; can I putt it in for more?
Our army was some 14000 men
Of which more than 12000 had spirits so high
Mine never shall come neere them: would some of them
Were here to feed your expectations!
Yet, silly as I am, having faire pardon
From all your Graces and your Greatnesses,
Ile try if I have strength in this chayned arme
To breake a rapier.
Mac. Knock off all his gyves; And he that has a stomacke for Spaines honour To combate with this Englishman, appeare.
Pike. May he be never calld an Englishman That dares not looke a divell in the face, [One stepps forth. Come he in face of man, come how he can.
Mac. Your name?
Tia. Tiago.