of this Armado flew with Terrour
Riding on Envyes wing; the preparation
Was wayted on with wonder, and the approach
Shewd the grim face of horrour: yet gainst all these
Our Country and our Courages were armd.

2. _St. George_ for _England_!

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!

_Jo_. Be not discomforted.

_Ten_. Don _Fernando_, too,
Hath cut our strength off, taken away our swords
Should save our throates. I did preiudicate
Too rashly of the _English_; now we may
Yield up the Towne.--Sirra, get you up to th'highest _Enter Buzzano_.
Turret, that lookes three leagues into the Sea,
And tell us what you can discover there.

_Buz_. Why, I can tell you ere I goe.

_Hen_. What?

_Buz_. Why there are fishes and shipps too in the sea; they were made
for that purpose.

_Ten_. The fellow doates? climbe quickly, sirra, and tell us
Whither any bend to this place: there's a fleete
Abroad; skud, rascall.

_Hen_. Villayne, away; and cast your eyes into the Sea.

_Buz_. Ile be hangd first; some wiser then some: mine Eyes into the Sea?
I see no reason for't.

_Ten_. Why stayest thou?--this slave is without sence.
Get up and see, and report the truth.

_Buz_. Thats another matter: I will orelooke you all presently.
[_Exit_.

_Jo_. What were I best to doe? I doe not like these Navyes.

_Hen_. 'Tis past question,
If they were kenn'd this way, that they intend
To make another meale of this Citty.

_Ten_. The first was but a Breakfast: they have shrewd stomakes.
Oh for