Upon uncertainties, as dice or dead paies,*
Nor stand in fear of the commissary, my dear
Cable,

Nor talk of monsters you have seen in the deeps
For a dinner, captain, nor swear yourself in credit
With your woollen draper, or make his wife your
agent

For service done, or to be done; you shall not,
If you marry me. And why should you refuse it?
My breath's as sweet in an honest woman's habit
As in a strumpet's, and my skin as smooth, and,
When you please, may prove as well in bed too.
CA. A taste of it first, as thou art.

CAR. Not a bit, captain.

But if you do desire to be still a rambler

Till you are so pepper'd, that you hate the sight of't,

And then become a prey to your apothecary,
And defy your chirurgion, or perhaps

Be practis'd on in the spittle, who can help it?
Both ways are markt before you. Take your choice!
Be honest, and you may be rich, and happy;
Continue a whoremonger, and, you know, what
follows.

You may consider, and so, farewell! sweet captain.

[Erit.

POR. You look as you had labour'd hard; will you please

To have a caudle, captain? I have seen
One like you in a play, after hot service,
Spoon it upon the stage.

CA. Avaunt, you rascal!

What will become of me? no sport but on

Such hard conditions? No means to take down My mettle but a priest? Must I be honest Against my will? And a woman the first temptress * Dead paies. Qy. arrears of pay?

To eat forbidden fruit, to fright me from it?
Shall I steer this, or that way? Yet, I find
My resolution wavering as the wind.

Enter BUMBLE, an English SKIPPER.

BUM. De Teufill! wat wilt tou sechen.

[Exit.

SKIP. I cannot bear this, captain. I have renounc'd

England this ten year, and serv'd in your ship
Against my own country, and still thus us'd!

BUM. War is de botsen warcom comet by niet! SKIP. Why, sir! Your boatswain delivered your message

To the young knight.

BUM. Yaw, well! wat fecht de knight?

SKIP. Why, sir, the knight speaks lovingly, and desires

To meet you ashore, and thank you for your

Challenge and then he will appoint the time

:

And coast where you shall fight! This, your boatswain

Bade me tell you, who is now gone aboard

To make things ready for the combat.

BUM. Ick veistoe, ick veistoe, Ick sall meet him

on schore.

Mare you will oke veckten, allens de Rutter

Is your landsman.

SKIP. Ay, sir! I'll help to kill him too; though

we

Are both born within a musket-shot, 'twere fit
I should lose my month's pay else.

BUM. Dat is vele, dat is vele.

SKIP. You'll meet him a'shore first in the morning?

BUM. Yaw, yaw, te morghen! comt 'tis goet Englishman.

[Exeunt.

Enter WARWELL, a paper in his hand.

WAR. Is this the soldier's character, that she
Would have me imitate? Death on my hopes !
I am abus'd, markt out the pleasure and
The triumph of her scorn! Should I attend
Her laws, and, by slow method and degrees,
Raise up to that perfection she enjoins:
Or this strict written schedule intimates,
I might marry her but so late, that it
Were fit t'enter my coffin and her bed
At once! I fear I am supplanted by
Some rival dearer in her eyes.

This is

The chamber of retreat: where she doth use
To waste the hotter time of day in conference.
My nature and my manners must consent

A while unlawfully to hide me here,

That I may listen and observe. She comes !

[He steps behind the hangings.

Enter LOVERIGHT, JOYNTURE.

JOYNT. Madam! I do acknowledge you the best Remainder of our chiefest blood, and, by That title and your former love, you ought To challenge my respects: but not so much As shall restrain the freedom of my heart. LOVE. 'Tis no delight to me t'observe and chide Your guiltiness, but, when it doth proceed To falsehood and hypocrisy, I must speak. JOYNT. Speak all your knowledge and your wrath; I shall

Have power to vindicate myself.

LOVE. You were the cautious damsel that had read

Morality, that lov'd not with your eyes

But with your brain, as were your heart not in Your tender breast but in your purse: thrift was

Your chief design, and all your lover's virtue was
His land. Soldiers were transitory things,
Fitter to beget a famine than children

That march o'er other's lands, but never plough
Their own.

JOYNT. And what would this infer?

LOVE. But little reputation unto you, That after all these documents could train Seawit t'a private meeting in the orchard: Although belov'd of me, and first my choice. JOYNT. You have your spies?

LOVE. Yes, orchard spies; forsooth! Whilst you are gathering unlawful fruit.

WAR. Patience! Behold thou trivial god of love,

A stranger can employ her envy and

Her strife, but I am cancel'd in her scorn.

Enter SEAWIT.

JOYNT. Here comes the gentleman! If you can show

A charter to engross the worthiest to
Yourself, or by his promise can assure
Your interest more strong than mine, I will
Disclaim my nuptial hopes, and dance.
When Hymen celebrates your joyful day.

LOVE. Speak, sir! and with the fervency of truth

If to my cousin here you have engag'd

Th' assurance of your love, more than to me.
SEA. And is this the business I am sent for?
LOVE. Is't not of consequence enough? freely
Declare yourself! I know your spirit is
Too noble to disguise your thoughts.

JOYNT. And I, with equal confidence both of
His virtue and his love, expect my doom.
SEA. D'you hear, gentlewomen! pack up your
ribbons,

Your lawn, your pendants, and your chains, with all

The rest of your free virginity-trinkets, and
Get you gone out of the harbour, or by

This light I'll plant my ship against your house,
And batter the walls about your small ears.

LOVE. Sir, this is strange! I am not guilty of Your anger.

JOYNT. Nor I! your own heart can witness. SEA. Were you never beaten? never for stealing Conserves? Never swaddled for losing your Sleeve silk, or making your work foul at tent-stitch? Never for picking plums out of mince-pies, Or breaking o' your lutes through negligence? Had neither of you an old grandmother With a short ebon staff, that us'd to beat you For these faults? Sure, had you been ever beaten You would not dare to use me thus.

JOYNT. This was not wont to be; your envy, madam,

Hath thus incens'd and alter'd him to me.

LOVE. My envy! In thy own false breast seek for

The guilt with which thou striv'st to slander me.
I know thy arts, but I will lay myself
And fortunes at his feet ere thou shalt have him.
WAR. I cannot hold! Hear me, fantastic maid!
SEA. What! another new jig to the old tune?
WAR. I now am learn'd in all thy falsehood, and
Thy scorns; th'are such perhaps as may perplex
Another's love, now they are tir'd with mine.
Know thou hast vex'd my nature, till't begin
To relish of the devil, for all the joy

I feel is hope of fellowship in my

Tormenting pains. Your darling here may suffer

too.

SEA. Excellent good! A male conspirator!