_Sebast._ 'Tis true _Nicusa_, if fortune were determin'd To be wanton, and would wipe out the stories Of mens miseries: yet we two living, We could cross her purpose; for 'tis impossible She should cure us, we are so excellent in our afflictions; It would be more than glory to her blindness, And stile her power beyond her pride, to quit us. _Nicu._ Do they live still? _Sebast._ Yes, and make to harbor: _Nicu._ Most miserable men; I grieve their fortunes. _Sebast._ How happy had they been, had the Sea cover'd em! They leap from one calamity to another; Had they been drown'd, they had ended all their sorrows. What shouts of joy they make! _Nicu._ Alas poor wretches, had they but once experience Of this Island, they'd turn their tunes to wailings. _Sebast._ Nay, to curses. That ever they set foot on such calamities; Here's nothing but Rocks and barrenness, Hunger, and cold to eat; here's no Vineyards To cheer the heart of man, no Christal Rivers, After his labour, to refresh his body, If he be feeble; nothing to restore him, But heavenly hopes, nature that made those remedies, Dares not come here, nor look on our distresses, For fear she turn wild, like the place, and barren. _Nicu._ Oh Uncle, yet a little memory of what we were, 'Twill be a little comfort in our calamities; When we were seated in our blessed homes, How happy in our kindreds, in our families, In all our fortunes! _Sebast._ Curse on those _French_ Pirats, that displanted us; That flung us from that happiness we found there; Constrain'd us to Sea, to save our lives, honors, and our riches, With all we had, our kinsmen, and our jewels, In hope to find some place free from such robbers, Where a mighty storm sever'd our Barks, That, where my Wife, my Daughter And my noble Ladies that went with her, Virgins and loving souls, to scape those Pirats. _Nicus._ They are yet living; such goodness cannot perish. _Sebast._ But never to me Cosin; Never to me again; what bears their Flag-staves? _Nicu._ The Arms of _France_ sure; Nay, doe not start, we cannot be more miserable; Death is a cordial, now, come when it will. _Sebast._ They get to shore apace, they'll flie as fast When once they find the place; what's that which swims there? _Ni._ A strong young man, Sir, with a handsom woman. Hanging about his neck. _Sebast._ That shews some honor; May thy brave charity, what e'er thou art, Be spoken in a place that may renown thee, And not dye here. _Nicus._ The Boat it seems turn'd over, So forced to their shifts; yet all are landed: They're Pirates on my life.