_Ros._ 'Tis the last Duty that I can pay to my dead Lord, Set out the Altar, I my self will be The Priest, and boldly do those horrid Rites You shake to think on, lead these Captains nearer, For they shall have the honor to fall first To my _Sebastian_'s ashes: and now wretches, As I am taught already, that you are, And lately by your free confession, _French_ Pirats, and the sons of those I hate, Even equal with the devil; hear with horror, What 'tis invites me to this cruel course, And what you are to suffer, no _Amazons_ we, But women of _Portugal_ that must have from you _Sebastian_ and _Nicusa_; we are they That groan'd beneath your fathers wrongs: We are those wretched women, Their injuries pursu'd, and overtook; And from the sad remembrance of our losses We are taught to be cruel; when we were forc'd From that sweet air we breathed in, by their rapine, And sought a place of being; as the Seas And Winds conspir'd with their ill purposes, To load us with afflictions in a storm That fell upon us; the two ships that brought us, To seek new fortunes in an unknown world Were severed: the one bore all the able men, Our Treasure and our Jewels: in the other, We Women were embarqu'd: and fell upon, After long tossing in the troubled main, This pleasant Island: but in few months, The men that did conduct us hither, died, We long before had given our Husbands lost: Remembring what we had suff'red by the _French_ We took a solemn Oath, never to admit The curs'd society of men: necessity Taught us those Arts, not usual to our Sex, And the fertile Earth yielding abundance to us, We did resolve, thus shap'd like _Amazons_ To end our lives; but when you arriv'd here, And brought as presents to us, our own Jewels; Those which were boorn in the other Ship, How can ye hope to scape our vengeance? _Amint._ It boots not then to swear our innocence? _Alb._ Or that we never forc'd it from the owners? _Ray._ Or that there are a remnant of that wrack, And not far off? _Ros._ All you affirm, I know, Is but to win time; therefore prepare your throats, The world shall not redeem ye: and that your cries May find no entrance to our ears, To move pity in any: bid loud Musick sound Their fatal knells; if ye have prayers use 'em quickly, To any power will own ye; but ha! _Enter_ Crocale, Sebastian, Nicusa, Tibalt. Who are these? what spectacles of misfortune? Why are their looks So full of Joy and Wonder?