_Must._ Stephano, hear me! I will speak for the people, because there are few, or rather none, in the isle, to speak for themselves. Know, then, that to prevent the farther shedding of christian blood, we are all content Ventoso shall be viceroy, upon condition I may be viceroy over him. Speak, good people, are you well agreed? what, no man answer? Well, you may take their silence for consent. _Vent._ You speak for the people, Mustacho! I'll speak for them, and declare generally with one voice, one and all, that there shall be no viceroy but the duke, unless I be he. _Must._ You declare for the people, who never saw your face? Cold iron shall decide it! [_Both draw._ _Steph._ Hold, loving subjects! We will have no civil war during our reign. I do hereby appoint you both to be my viceroys over the whole island. _Both._ Agreed, agreed! _Enter_ TRINCALO, _with a great bottle, half drunk_. _Vent._ How! Trincalo, our brave boatswain! _Must._ He reels: Can he be drunk with sea-water? _Trinc._ [sings.] _I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here I shall die ashore_. This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral; but here's my comfort. [_Drinks._ SINGS. _The master, the swabber, the gunner, and I, The surgeon, and his mate, Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us cared for Kate. For she had a tongue with a twang, Would cry to a sailor_, Go hang!-- _She loved not the savour of tar, nor of pitch, Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch._ This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort again. [_Drinks._ _Steph._ We have got another subject now: Welcome, welcome, into our dominions! _Trinc._ What subject, or what dominions? Here's old sack, boys; the king of good fellows can be no subject. I will be old Simon the king. _Must._ Ha, old boy! how didst thou scape? _Trinc._ Upon a butt of sack, boys, which the sailors threw overboard.--But are you alive, hoa! for I will tipple with no ghosts, till I'm dead. Thy hand, Mustacho, and thine, Ventoso; the storm has done its worst.--Stephano alive too! give thy boatswain thy hand, master. _Vent._ You must kiss it then; for I must tell you, we have chosen him duke, in a full assembly. _Trinc._ A duke! where? What's he duke of? _Must._ Of this island, man. Oh, Trincalo, we are all made: The island's empty; all's our own, boy; and we will speak to his grace for thee, that thou mayest be as great as we are. _Trinc._ You great! what the devil are you? _Vent._ We two are viceroys over all the island; and, when we are weary of governing, thou shalt succeed us. _Trinc._ Do you hear, Ventoso? I will succeed you in both places, before you enter into them.