_Vent._ Fill apace; we cannot live long in this barren island, and we may take a sup before death, as well as others drink at our funerals. _Must._ This is prize brandy; we steal custom, and it costs nothing. Let's have two rounds more. _Vent._ Master, what have you saved? _Steph._ Just nothing but myself. _Vent._ This works comfortably on a cold stomach. _Steph._ Fill us another round. _Vent._ Look! Mustacho weeps. Hang losses, as long as we have brandy left!--Pr'ythee leave weeping. _Steph._ He sheds his brandy out of his eyes: He shall drink no more. _Must._ This will be a doleful day with old Bess. She gave me a gilt nutmeg at parting; that's lost too: But, as you say, hang losses! Pr'ythee fill again. _Vent._ Beshrew thy heart, for putting me in mind of thy wife; I had not thought of mine else. Nature will shew itself, I must melt. I pr'ythee fill again: My wife's a good old jade, and has but one eye left; but she will weep out that too, when she hears that I am dead. _Steph._ 'Would you were both hanged, for putting me in thought of mine! _Vent._ But come, master, sorrow is dry: There's for you again. _Steph._ A mariner had e'en as good be a fish as a man, but for the comfort we get ashore. O! for an old dry wench, now I am wet. _Must._ Poor heart, that would soon make you dry again. But all is barren in this isle: Here we may lie at hull, till the wind blow nor' and by south, ere we can cry, a sail! a sail! a sight of a white apron: And, therefore, here's another sup to comfort us. _Vent._ This isle's our own, that's our comfort; for the duke, the prince, and all their train, are perished. _Must._ Our ship is sunk, and we can never get home again: We must e'en turn savages, and the next that catches his fellow may eat him. _Vent._ No, no, let us have a government; for if we live well and orderly, heaven will drive shipwrecks ashore to make us all rich: Therefore let us carry good consciences, and not eat one another. _Steph._ Whoever eats any of my subjects, I'll break out his teeth with my sceptre; for I was master at sea, and will be duke on land: You, Mustacho, have been my mate, and shall be my viceroy. _Vent._ When you are duke, you may chuse your viceroy; but I am a free subject in a new plantation, and will have no duke without my voice: And so fill me the other sup. _Steph._ [_whispering_.] Ventoso, dost thou hear, I will advance thee; pr'ythee, give me thy voice. _Vent._ I'll have no whisperings to corrupt the election; and, to show that I have no private ends, I declare aloud, that I will be viceroy, or I'll keep my voice for myself.