Scapha. He with the painted staff I heard you call Neptune. Young Lionel. The dreadful god of seas, Upon whose back ne’er stuck March fleas. 1st Gallant. One with the bill[3.21] keeps Neptune’s porpoises, So Ovid says in’s Metamorphoses. 2nd Gallant. A third the learned poets write on, And, as they say, his name is Triton. Young Lionel. These are the marine gods, to whom my father In his long voyage prays to; cannot they, That brought us to our haven, bury him In their abyss? For if he safe arrive, I, with these sailors, sirens, and what not, Am sure here to be shipwrecked. 1st Wench. [_To_ Rioter]. Stand up stiff. Rioter. But that the ship so totters--I shall fall. 1st Wench. If thou fall, I’ll fall with thee. Rioter. Now I sink, And, as I dive and drown, thus by degrees I’ll pluck thee to the bottom. [_They fall_. _Enter_ Reignald. Young Lionel. Amain for England! See, see, The Spaniard now strikes sail. Reignald. So must you all. 1st Gallant. Whence is your ship--from the Bermoothes?[3.22] Reignald. Worse, I think from Hell: We are all lost, split, shipwrecked, and undone. This place is a mere quicksands. 2nd Gallant. So we feared. Reignald. Where’s my young master? Young Lionel. Here, man; speak, the news? Reignald. The news is, I, and you-- Young Lionel. What? Reignald. She, and all these-- Blanda. I! Reignald. We, and all ours, are in one turbulent sea Of fear, despair, disaster, and mischance Swallowed. Your father, sir-- Young Lionel. Why, what of him? Reignald. He is-- Oh I want breath. Young Lionel. Where? Reignald. Landed, and at hand. Young Lionel. Upon what coast? Who saw him? Reignald. I--these eyes. Young Lionel. O Heaven! what shall I do then? Reignald. Ask ye me What shall become of you, that have not yet Had time of study to dispose myself? I say again, I was upon the quay, I saw him land, and this way bend his course. What drunkard’s this, that can outsleep a storm Which threatens all our ruins? Wake him. Blanda. Ho, Rioter, awake! Rioter. Yes, I am ’wake; How dry hath this salt-water made me! Boy, Give me the other glass. Young Lionel. Arise, I say: My father’s come from sea. Rioter. If he be come, Bid him be gone again. Reignald. Can you trifle At such a time, when your inventions, brains, Wits, plots, devices, stratagems, and all Should be at one in action? Each of you That love your safeties, lend your helping hands, Women and all, to take this drunkard hence, And to bestow him elsewhere. Blanda. Lift, for Heaven’s sake. [_They carry_ Rioter _in_.