_Mast._ Good boys, fight bravely, manly. They come on yet, clap in her stern, and yoke 'em. _Enter Gunner._ _Gun._ You should not need, I have provision for 'em; Let 'em board once again, the next is ours. Stand bravely to your Pikes, away, be valiant. I have a second course of service for 'em, Shall make the bowels of their Bark ake, boy, The Duke fights like a Dragon. Who dares be idle? [_Exit._ [_Charge Trumpets, Pieces go off._ _Enter Master, Boatswain following._ _Mast._ Down with 'em, stow 'em in. _Boats._ Cut their throats, 'tis brotherhood to fling 'em into the Sea. The Duke is hurt, so is his lovely Daughter _Martia_. We have the day yet. _Enter Gunner._ _Gun._ Pox fire 'em, they have smoak'd us, never such plums yet flew. _Boats._ They have rent the ship, and bor'd a hundred holes She swims still lustily. _Mast._ She made a brave fight, and she shall be cur'd And make a braver yet. _Gun._ Bring us some Canns up, I am as hot as fire. _Enter boy with three Canns._ _Boat._ I am sure I am none o'th' coolest. _Gun._ My Cannons rung like Bels. Here's to my Mistriss. The dainty sweet brass Minion: split their Fore-Mast, She never fail'd. _Mast._ Ye did all well, and truly, like faithful honest men. _Boats._ But is she rich Master? [_Trumpets flourish._ _Enter_ Sesse, Martia, Virolet, _Sailors._ _Mast._ Rich for my Captains purpose howsoever, And we are his. How bravely now he shows, Heated in blood and anger! how do you Sir? Not wounded mortally I hope? _Sess._ No Master, but only wear the livery of fury. I am hurt, and deep. _Mast._ My Mistriss too? _Mart._ A scratch man, My needle would ha done as much good Sir, Be provident and careful. _Sess._ Prethee peace girl, This wound is not the first blood I have blusht in, Ye fought all like tall men, my thanks among ye, That speaks not what my purse means, but my tongue, soldiers. Now Sir, to you that sought me out, that found me, That found me what I am, the Tyrant's Tyrant; You that were imp'd, the weak arm to his folly, You are welcome to your death. _Vir._ I do expect it, And therefore need no compliment, but wait it. _Ses._ Thou bor'st the face once of a Noble Gentleman, Rankt in the first file of the virtuous, By every hopeful spirit, shewed and pointed, Thy Countries love; one that advanc'd her honor, Not tainted with the base and servile uses The Tyrant ties mens souls to. Tell me _Virolet_, If shame have not forsook thee, with thy credit?