Scene II The Same
Enter Musgrove with King James prisoner; Jane-a-Barley on the walls.
Mus. Now, King James, thou art my prisoner.
K. James. Not thine, but fortune’s prisoner.
Enter Cuddy.
Cud. Father, the field is ours: their colours we have seiz’d,
And Humes is slain; I slew him hand to hand.
Mus. God and Saint George!
Cud. O father, I am sore athirst!
Jane. Come in, young Cuddy, come and drink thy fill:
Bring in King Jamy with you as a guest;
For all this broil was ’cause he could not enter.
[Exit above.—Exeunt below, the others.