_Jul._ Faith like boyes; They are fearful in all fortunes; when I smile They kneel, and beg to have that face continued; And like poor slaves, adore the ground I go on. When I frown, they hang their most dejected heads, Like fearful sheephounds; shew 'em a crust of bread They'll Saint me presently, and skip like Apes For a sup of Wine. I'll whip 'em like hackneys, Saddle 'em, ride 'em, do what I will with 'em. _Cla._ Tush, these are poor things. Have they names like _Christians_? _Jul._ Very fair names: _Franvile_, _Lamure_, and _Morillat_; And brag of great kindreds too. They offer very handsomely, But that I am a fool, and dare not venture. They are sound too o'my conscience, Or very near upon't. _Cla._ Fy, away fool. _Jul._ They tell me, If they might be brought before you, They would reveale things of strange consequence. _Cla._ Their base poor fears. _Jul._ I, that makes me hate 'em too; For if they were but manly to their sufferance, Sure I should strain a point or two. _Cla._ An hour hence I'll take a view of e'm, And hear their business. Are your Men thus too? _Cro._ Mine? No, gentle Madam, mine were not cast In such base molds; afflictions, tortures, Are names and natures of delight, to my men; All sorts of cruelties they meet like pleasures. I have but two; the one they call _Du-pont_, _Tibalt Du-pont_; the other the Ship-master. _Cla._ Have they not lives, and fears? _Cro._ Lives they have Madam; But those lives never linkt to such companions As fears or doubts. _Cla._ Use 'em Nobly; And where you find fit subjects for your pitties Let it become ye to be courteous; My Mother will not alwayes be thus rigorous. _Hip._ Mine are Saylors Madam, But they sleep soundly, and seldom trouble me, unless it be when They dream sometimes of fights and tempests; Then they rore and whistle for Cans of Wine, And down they fling me; and in that rage, (For they are violent fellows) they play such reaks. If they have meat, they thank me; If none, they heartily desire to be hang'd quickly. And this is all they care. _Cla._ Look to 'em diligently; and where your pitties tells ye They may deserve, give comfort. _All._ We will. [_Exit._ _Cla._ Come hither, be not frighted; _Enter_ Aminta. Think not ye steal this liberty, for we give it, Your tender innocence assures me, Virgin, Ye had no share in those wrongs these men did us; I find ye are not hardned in such mischiefs. Your brother was mis-led sure, Foully mis-led. _Amin._ How much I fear these pities! _Cla._ Certain he was, so much I pity him; And for your sake, whose eyes plead for him; Nay, for his own sake. _Amin._ Ha!