_Mast._ Am I a God? for heavens sake stow this [woman]. _Tib._ Go: take your gilt [Prayer-Book]; And to your business; wink and die, There's an old Haddock staies for ye. _Amint._ Must I die here in all the frights[, the] terrors, The thousand several shapes death triumphs in? No friend to counsel me? _Alb._ Have peace sweet Mistriss. _Amint._ No kindreds tears upon me? oh! my countrey? No gentle hand to close mine eyes? _Alb._ Be comforted, heaven has the same Power still, and the same mercy. _Amint._ Oh, that wave will devour me. _Mast._ Carry her down Captain; Or by these hands I'll give no more direction, Let the Ship sink or swim, we ha ne'er better luck, When we ha such stowage as these trinkets with us; These sweet sin-breeders: how can heaven smile on us, When such a burthen of iniquity Lies tumbling like a potion in our ship's belly? [_Exit._ _Tib._ Away with her, and if she have a Prayer, That's fit for such an hour, let her say't quickly, And seriously. [_Exit._ _Alb._ Come, I see it clear Lady, come in, And take some comfort. I'll stay with ye. _Amint._ Where should I stay? to what end should I hope, Am not I circled round with misery? Confusions in their full heights dwell about me: Oh Mounsieur _Albert_, How am I bound to curse ye, If curses could redeem me! how to hate ye! You forc'd me from my quiet, from my friends; Even from their Arms, that were as dear to me, As day-light is, or comfort to the wretched; You forc'd my friends from their peaceful rest, Some your relentless sword gave their last groans; Would I had there been numbred; And to fortunes never satisfied afflictions, Ye turn'd my Brother; and those few friends I'd left, Like desperate creatures, to their own fears And the world's stubborn pitties: Oh merciless! _Alb._ Sweet Mistriss. _Amint._ And wh[e]ther they are wandred to avoid ye, Or wh[e]ther dead, and no kind earth to cover 'em; Was this a Lovers part? but heaven has found ye, And in his loudest voice, his voice of thunder, And in the mutiny of his deep wonders, He tells ye now, ye weep too late: _Alb._ Let these tears tell how I honor ye; Ye know dear Lady, since ye are mine, How truly I have lov'd ye, how sanctimoniously Observ'd your honor; not one lascivious word, Not one touch Lady; no, not a hope that might not render me The unpolluted servant of your chastity; For you I put to sea, to seek your Brother; Your Captain, yet your slave, that his redemption, If he be living, where the Sun has circuit, May expiate your rigor, and my rashness. _Amint._ The storm grows greater, what shall we do?