_Pike_. The freshnes of this Ayre does well after the saltnes of the Sea. A pleasant Country, too, to looke upon, & would serve well to live upon if a man had it & knew how to place it out of this hott Clymate! I would I had a matter, or a Mannour, indeede, of a 1,000 acres of these woodlands & roome to sett it in _Devonshire_; I would compare with any prince betweene _Tavistoke_ & _Parradice_ for an Orchard. But I could wish I were not alone here in this Conceit, dreaming of Golden Apples, least they prove bitter fruite. Whether are our land soldiers straggeld, troe? I would faine sett eye on some of them; Ile venture a little farther; _Devonshire Dick_ was never afraid yet.--How now, my hearts? upon a retreat so soone? _Enter Three Soldiers_. 1. I, to the shipps; we have our loades here of the best merchandise we can find in this Quarter. 2. Will you taste a Lymon? excellent good to coole you. _Pike_. They are goodly ones; where gott you them? 3. A little above here in an Orchard, where we left some of our Company. _Pike_. But may one goe safe, without danger? 1. As safely as ever you gatherd nutts in _England_; the _Spaniards_ are all fled. 2. Not soe much as the leg of a _Spanyard_ left to squayle at their owne appletrees. [_Exeunt Soldiers_. _Pike_. Ile have a pull at these pomcitrons for my noble Captaine; & if I had a Porters basket full of 'em I would count them no burthen in requitall of some part of the love he hath shewen me. [_Exit_. (SCENE 4.) _Enter 3 other Soldiers_. 1. They cannot be far before us, I am sure. 2. But for the hedge we might descry them within two muskett shott. 3. Pray God the enemy be not within one musket shott of us behind their hedges; for I am sure I saw an Harquebuse whip ore the way before us but even now. Oh, oh! [_Three or 4 shott dischargd, 2 soldiers slaine, the other falls on his belly_. _Enter Pike_. _Pike_. Are you bouncing? Ile no further. Sure these can be no Crowkeepers nor birdscarers from the fruite! what rascalls were my Countrymen to tell me there was no danger!--alas, what's here? 3 of our soldiers slaine! dead, shott through the very bowells! so, is this quite dead too? poore wretches, you have payd for your Capon sauce. 3. Oh, oh!