PEW. See now! The sign of this here inn was running in my ’ed, I reckon. Benbow, says you? no, not likely! Anson, I mean; Anson and Sir Edward ’Awke: that’s the pair: I was their right-’and man. KIT. Well, mate, you may be all that, and more; but you’re a rum un to look at, anyhow. PEW. Right you are, and so I am. But what is looks? It’s the ’art that does it: the ’art is the seaman’s star; and here’s old David Pew’s, a matter of fifty years at sea, but tough and sound as the British Constitootion. KIT. You’re right there, Pew. Shake hands upon it. And you’re a man they’re down upon, just like myself, I see. We’re a pair of plain, good-hearted, jolly tars; and all these ’longshore fellows cock a lip at us, by George. What cheer, mate? ARETHUSA (_without_). Mrs. Drake! Mrs. Drake! PEW. What, a female? hey? a female? Board her board her, mate! I’m dark. (_He retires again behind_, _to table_, _R._, _behind settle_.) ARETHUSA (_without_). Mrs. Drake! MRS. DRAKE (_re-entering and running to door_). Here I am, my dear; come in. SCENE III _To these_, ARETHUSA ARETHUSA. Ah, Kit, I’ve found you. I thought you would lodge with Mrs. Drake. KIT. What? are you looking for your consort? Whistle, I’m your dog; I’ll come to you. I’ve been toasting you fathom deep, my beauty; and with every glass I love you dearer. ARETHUSA. Now Kit, if you want to please my father, this is not the way. Perhaps he thinks too much of the guineas: well, gather them—if you think me worth the price. Go you to your sloop, clinker built, eighty tons burthen—you see I remember, Skipper Kit! I don’t deny I like a man of spirit; but if you care to please Captain Gaunt, keep out of taverns; and if you could carry yourself a bit more—more elderly! [KIT. Can I? Would I? Ah, just couldn’t and just won’t I, then! MRS. DRAKE. I hope, madam, you don’t refer to my house; a publican I may be, but tavern is a word that I don’t hold with; and here there’s no bad drink, and no loose company; and as for my blessedest Kit, I declare I love him like my own. ARETHUSA. Why, who could help it, Mrs. Drake?] KIT. Arethusa, you’re an angel. Do I want to please Captain Gaunt? Why, that’s as much as ask whether I love you. [I don’t deny that his words cut me; for they did. But as for wanting to please him, if he was deep as the blue Atlantic, I would beat it out. And elderly, too? Aha, you witch, you’re wise! Elderly? You’ve set the course; you leave me alone to steer it. Matrimony’s my port, and love is my cargo.] That’s a likely question, ain’t it, Mrs. Drake? Do I want to please him! Elderly, says you? Why, see here: Fill up my glass, and I’ll drink to Arethusa on my knees. ARETHUSA. Why, you stupid boy, do you think that would please him? KIT. On my knees I’ll drink it! (_As he kneels and drains the glass_, GAUNT _enters_, _and he scrambles to his feet_.) SCENE IV