was no exception to the rule.  He goes straight to the point, and relates his adventures very vividly in the homeliest language.  Returning from an expedition against Algiers “somewhat more acquainted with the world, but little amended in estate,” he could not long rest inactive; and soon, “the drum beating up for a new expedition,” set out to try his fortunes again.  The design was against Cadiz; the fleet, under the command of the Earl of Essex, numbered some 110 sail.  There is no need to continue the story, for I have nothing to add to the facts set forth in the pamphlet and the play.  If Britannia’s Pastorals had been written a few years later, we may be sure that William Browne would have paid a fitting compliment to his fellow-townsman’s bravery.  But Pike’s famous deeds were not forgotten by his countymen; for in a broadside of the late seventeenth century, bearing the title of A Panegyric Poem; or, Tavestock’s Encomium,[2] he is thus enthusiastically praised:—­

    “Search whether can be found again the like
    For noble prowess for our Tav’stock Pike,
    In whose renowned never-dying name
    Live England’s honour and the Spaniard’s shame.”

There is a curious notice of our hero in a private letter, dated May 19, 1626, of Dr. Meddus to the Rev. Joseph Mead:[3]—­“Yesterday being Holy Thursday, one Pyke, a common soldier, left behind the fleet at Cadiz, delivered a challenge to the Duke of Buckingham from the Marquis of ——­, brother-in-law to the Conde d’Olivares, in defence of the honour of his sister; affirming, moreover, that he had wronged Olivares, the King of Spain, and the King of England, and therefore he would fight with him in any part of France.  This Pike, a Devonshire man, being presented prisoner to the Duke of Medina, he would needs have him fight at rapier or dagger with a Spaniard, supposing he would not stand him two thrusts:  but Pyke, by a dexterous sleight, presently disarmed the Spaniard of his rapier without hurting him, and presented it to the Duke,” &c.

As to the authorship of the play, though I should be loth to speak with positiveness, I feel bound to put forward a claim for Thomas Heywood.  Through all Heywood’s writings there runs a vein of generous kindliness:  everywhere we see a gentle, benign countenance, radiant with love and sympathy.  On laying down one of his plays, the reader is inclined to apply to him Tacitus’ judgment of Agricola, “bonum virum facile crederes, magnum libenter.”  Now, when we open Dick of Devonshire, the naturalness and simplicity of the first scene at once suggest Heywood’s hand.  In the second scene, the spirited eulogy on Drake—­

    “That glory of his country and Spayne’s terror,
    That wonder of the land and the seas minyon,
    Drake, of eternall memory—­”