+Plot.+ I am he, friend; What is your business? +Cyph.+ Sir, I should speak With young Master Seathrift too. +Plot.+ Sir, at this time, Although no crab, like you, to swim backward, he is Of your element. +Cyph.+ Upon the water? +Plot.+ No, But something that lives in't. If you but stay Till he have slept himself a land-creature, you may Chance see him come ashore here. +Tim.+ O--my head-- O--Captain--Master Francis--Captain--O---- +Plot.+ That is his voice, sir. +Sea.+ Death o' my soul! my son! +Cyph.+ He is in drink, sir, is he? +Plot.+ Surely, friend, you are a witch;[232] he is so. +Cyph.+ Then I must tell the news to you: 'tis sad. +Plot.+ I'll hear't as sadly. +Cyph.+ Your uncle, sir, and Master Seathrift are Both drown'd, some eight miles below Greenwich. +Plot.+ Drown'd! +Cyph.+ They went i' th' tilt-boat, sir, and I was one O' th' oars that rowed him: a coal-ship did o'errun us. I 'scaped by swimming; the two old gentlemen Took hold of one another, and sunk together. +Bright.+ How some men's prayers are heard! We did invoke The sea this morning, and see, the Thames has took 'em. +Plot.+ It cannot be: such good news, gentlemen, Cannot be true. +Ware.+ 'Tis very certain, sir. 'Twas talk'd upon th' Exchange. +Sea.+ We heard it too In Paul's now, as we came. +Plot.+ There, friend, there is A fare for you. I'm glad you 'scap'd; I had Not known the news so soon else. [_Gives him money._ +Cyph.+ Sir, excuse me. +Plot.+ Sir, it is conscience; I do believe you might Sue me in Chancery. +Cyph.+ Sir, you show the virtues of an heir. +Ware.+ Are you rich Warehouse's heir, sir? +Plot.+ Yes, sir, his transitory pelf, And some twelve hundred pound a year in earth, Is cast on me. Captain, the hour is come, You shall no more drink ale, of which one draught Makes cowards, and spoils valour; nor take off Your moderate quart-glass. I intend to have A musket for you, or glass-cannon, with A most capacious barrel, which we'll charge And discharge with the rich valiant grape Of my uncle's cellar. Every charge shall fire The glass, and burn itself i' th' filling, and look Like a piece going off. +Quart.+ I shall be glad To give thanks for you, sir, in pottle-draughts, And shall love Scotch coal for this wreck the better, As long as I know fuel.