FOREIGN SPY. He repaired to the palace at Delft, petitioned for protection and aid, he pretended to be a Calvinist whose father was executed, and himself a fugitive for his religion. The mask was sufficient, he obtained employment, and was at length received into the palace. There he watched his opportunity, and as the Prince was passing through his hall to dinner fired into him three poisoned bullets. The victim dropped, “William the Silent” was no more. ENGLISH SPY, (_with emotion_), Villain! He was cut down, or seized, tortured, hung! FOREIGN SPY. Quick as his bullets he bounded from the hall, crossed the court-yard, and gained the city wall, where aid was ready. ENGLISH SPY, (_Hurriedly_), Good God! The perfidious traitor escaped. FOREIGN SPY. There, just as the tiger was about to spring, a strong hand arrested him. His Spanish title, his broad lands, his order of St. Jago vanished, and the dread spectre of rack and dungeon rose before his eyes, but Balthazzar was a hero and accepted death. They dragged him to the rack, ’twas vain! They tried every torture ingenuity could invent, or the wickedness of Heretics employ to tear from this soldier of the church a confession of his employees. Balthazzar fixed his eye upon his Martyr’s crown, and pointing to his dislocated limbs, with grim but triumphant smile, heaved his last breath, said “_Ecce Homo_,” and expired. ENGLISH SPY, (_Shocked and excited_), Oh! Brother, this is horrible! FOREIGN SPY, (_Rather Surprised_), But the end, Brother, justifies the means. You see the good cause advances! ’Tis Philip’s most successful warfare; thus Murray in Scotland, Coligny at Paris, and now the Prince of Orange at Delft have paid the penalty of heresy. These were only the horns Brother, the head itself shall be cut off. In England is the very head of Heresy! She must fall next, and then the Church’s triumph is complete. Philip himself, great as he is, must bow as kings of yore, and hold the stirrup. ENGLISH SPY, (_Aside_), This will do for Walsingham, he’ll trap the wolves! (_To his companion_), We’ll talk of this anon, Brother. _Cheers and shouts without_, _tumult_, _rushing_, _and cheers_. _Shouts of_ “_To the Market-place_.” _The cheers taken up by the sailors within_, _who brandish their gold goblets and shout_, “_Hurrah for old Plymouth_,” “_Hurrah for the Craft_!” 1st SAILOR. What’s up messmates? 2nd SAILOR. Some Spanish prize, I’ll warrant; It’s no mere row that, I know the heavy tread of a Rover’s crew. That’s the game for me. Let’s out and join the fray. (_Exeunt sailors_, _rushing in confusion_). ENGLISH SPY, (_hurriedly_), Come! Brother come, there is much that you must see here before you make up your horoscope of the future. (_Exeunt spies_). SCENE III.—THE MARKET PLACE.