_Alb._ They are our Countrey-men, for heavens sake spare 'em. Alas, they are hurt enough, and they relent now. [Aminta _above_. _Aminta._ Oh Captain, Captain. _Alb._ Whose voice is that? _Tib._ The Ladies. _Amint._ Look Captain, look; ye are undone: poor Captain, We are all undone, all, all: we are all miserable, Mad wilful men; ye are undone, your Ship, your Ship. _Alb._ What of her? _Amint._ She's under sail, and floating; See where she flies: see to your shames, you wretches: These poor starv'd things that shew'd you Gold. [Lam. _and_ Franvile _goes up to see the Ship_. _1 Sail._ They have cut the Cables, And got her out; the Tide too has befriended 'em. _Mast._ Where are the Sailors that kept her? _Boats._ Here, here [in] the mutiny, to take up money, And left no creature, left the Boat ashore too; This Gold, this damn'd enticing Gold. _2 Sail._ How the wind drives her, As if it vied to force her from our furies! _Lam._ Come back good old men: _Fran._ Good honest men, come back. _Tib._ The wind's against ye, speak louder. _Lam._ Ye shall have all your Gold again: they see us. _Tib._ Hold up your hands, and kneel, And howl ye block-heads; they'll have compassion on ye; Yes, yes, 'tis very likely, ye have deserv'd it, D'ye look like dogs now? Are your mighty courages abated? _Alb._ I bleed apace _Tibalt_: _Tib._ Retire Sir: and make the best use of our miseries. They but begin now. _Enter_ Aminta. _Amint._ Are ye alive still? _Alb._ Yes sweet. _Tib._ Help him off Lady; And wrap him warm in your arms, Here's something that's comfortable; off with him handsomely, I'll come to ye straight; but vex these rascals a little. [_Exit_ Albert, Aminta. _Fran._ Oh, I am hungry, and hurt, and I am weary. _Tib._ Here's a Pestle of a _Portigue_, Sir; 'Tis excellent meat, with sour sauce; And here's two Chains, suppose 'em Sausages; Then there wants Mustard; But the fearful Surgeon will supply ye presently: _Lam._ Oh for that Surgeon, I shall die else. _Tib._ Faith there he lies in the same pickle too. _Surg._ My Salves, and all my Instruments are lost; And I am hurt and starv'd; Good Sir, seek for some herbs. _Tib._ Here's Herb-graceless, will that serve? Gentlemen will ye go to supper? _All._ Where's the meat? _Tib._ Where's the meat? what a Veal voice is there? _Fran._ Would we had it Sir, or any thing else.