_Master._ Lay her aloof, the Sea grows dangerous, How it spits against the clouds, how it capers, And how the fiery Element frights it back There be Devils dancing in the air I think I saw a _Dolphin_ hang i'th horns o'th' moon Shot from a wave, hey day, hey day, How she kicks and yerks! Down with the Main Mast, lay her at hull, Farle up all her Linnens, and let her ride it out. _1 Sailor._ She'll never brook it Master. She's so deep laden that she'll bulge. _Master._ Hang her. Can she not buffet with a storm a little? How it tosses her, she reels like a Drunkard. _2 Sail._ We have discover'd the Land, Sir, Pray let's make in, she's so drunk else, She may chance to cast up all her Lading. _1 Sail._ Sland in, sland in, we are all lost else, lost and perish'd. _Mast._ Steer her a Star-board there. _2 Sail._ Bear in with all the sail we can, see Master See, what a clap of Thunder there is, What a face of heaven, how dreadfully it looks! _Mast._ Thou rascal, thou fearful rogue, thou hast been praying; I see't in thy face, thou hast been mumbling, When we are split you slave; is this a time, To discourage our friends with your cold orizons? Call up the Boatswain; how it storms; holla. _Boats._ What shall we do Master? Cast over all her lading? she will not swim An hour else; _Enter_ Albert, Franvile, Lamure, Tibalt de pont. Morillat. _Mast._ The storm is loud, We cannot hear one another, What's the coast? _Boats._ We know not ye[t]; shall we make in? _Albert._ What comfort Sailors? I never saw, since I have known the Sea, (which has been this twenty years) so rude a tempest: In what State are we? _Mast._ Dangerous enough Captain, We have sprung five leaks, and no little ones; Still rage; besides, her ribs are open; Her rudder almost spent; prepare your selves; And have good courages, death comes but once, And let him come in all his frights. _Albert._ Is't not possible, To make in to th' Land? 'tis here before us. _Morill._ Here hard by Sir. _Mast._ Death is nearer, Gentlemen. Yet do not cry, let's dye like men. _Tib._ Shall's hoise the Boat out, And goe all at one cast? the more the merrier. _Enter_ Amint. _Mast._ You are too hasty Mounsieur, Do ye long to be i'th' Fish-market before your time? Hold her up there. _Amint._ Oh miserable fortune, Nothing but horror sounding in mine ears, No minute to promise to my frighted soul. _Tib._ Peace woman, We ha storms enough already; no more howling. _Amint._ Gentle Master. _Mast._ Clap this woman under hatches. _Alb._ Prethe speak mildly to her. _Amint._ Can no help? _Mast._ None that I know. _Amint._ No promise from your goodness.