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.