_Pike_. Againe, I stand heere To lay my own life downe, please his high Maiesty To take it: for what's lost his fate to fall Was _fortune de la guerre_, & at the feete Of his most royal Maiesty & at yours (My Princely Lords & Judges) low as th'earth I throw my wretched selfe & begg his mercy. _Mac_. Stand up; that mercy which you aske is signd By our most royall master. _Pike_. My thankes to heaven, him & your Graces. _Mac_. The King further writes heere, That though your Nation came in Thunder hither Yet he holds out to you his Enemy 2 friendly proffers: serve him in his dominions Eyther by land or sea, & thou shalt live Upon a golden pension, such a harvest As thou nere reapst in _England_. _Pike_. His kingly favours Swell up in such high heapes above my merit, Could I reare up a thousand lives, they cannot Reach halfe the way. Ime his, to be his Vassaile, His Gally Slave, please you to chaine me to the oare; But, with his highnes pardon & your allowance, I beg one Boone. _All_. What is't? _Pike_. That I may once more See my owne Country Chimneys cast out smoake. I owe my life and service to the King, (The king of _England_) let me pay that Bond Of my allegeance; &, that being payd, There is another obligation, One to a woefull Wife & wretched Children Made wretched by my misery. I therefore beg, Intreat, emplore, submissively hold up my hands To have his Kingly pitty & yours to lett me goe. _All_. [_Alq_.?] Let him ene goe. _Mac_. Well, since we cannot win you to our service, We will not weane you from your Countryes love. The king, our lord, commands us here to give you A hundred pistoletts to beare you home. _Pike_. A royall bounty, which my memory Shall never loose; no, nor these noble favours Which from the _Lady Marquesse Alquevezze_ Raynd plenteously on me. _Alq_. What did she to thee? _Gyr_. How did she entertaine thee? _Pike_. Rarely; it is a brave, bounteous, munificent, magnificent Marquezza! the great Turke cannot tast better meat then I have eaten at this ladies Table. _Alq_. So, so. _Pike_. And for a lodging, if the curtaines about my bed had bene cutt of Sunbeames, I could not lye in a more glorious Chamber. _Mac_. You have something, then, to speake of our weomen when y'are in _England_. _Pike_. This Box, with a gold chaine in't for my Wife & some pretty things for my Children, given me by your honourd Lady would else cry out on me. There's a _Spanish_ shirt, richly lacd & seemd, her guift too; & whosoever layes a foul hand upon her linnen in scorne of her bounty, were as good flea[54] the Divells skin over his eares. _Mac_. Well said: in _England_ thou wilt drinke her health? _Pike_. Were it a glasse as deepe to the bottome as a _Spanish_ pike is long, an _Englishman_ shall doe't. Her health, & _Don Johns_ wives too. _Enter Jaylor_. _Jay_. The Prisoners are upon comming. _Mac_. Stand by, _Englishman_.