_2nd Sail._ He a captain of a ship! it must be when she's in the dock then; for he looks like one of those that get the king's commissions for hulls to sell a king's ship, when a brave fellow has fought her almost to a longboat. _1st Sail._ On my conscience then, Jack, that's the reason our bully tar sunk our ship; not only that the Dutch might not have her; but that the courtiers, who laugh at wooden legs, might not make her prize. _2nd Sail._ A pox of his sinking, Tom! we have made a base, broken, short voyage of it. _1st Sail._ Ay, your brisk dealers in honour always make quick returns with their ships to the dock, and their men to the hospitals. 'Tis, let me see, just a month since we set out of the river, and the wind was almost as cross to us as the Dutch. _2nd Sail._ Well, I forgive him sinking my own poor truck, if he would but have given me time and leave to have saved black Kate of Wapping's small venture. _1st Sail._ Faith, I forgive him, since, as the purser told me, he sunk the value of five or six thousand pound of his own, with which he was to settle himself somewhere in the Indies; for our merry lieutenant was to succeed him in his commission for the ship back; for he was resolved never to return again for England. _2nd Sail._ So it seemed, by his fighting. _1st Sail._ No; but he was a-weary of this side of the world here, they say. _2nd Sail._ Ay, or else he would not have bid so fair for a passage into t'other. _1st Sail._ Jack, thou thinkest thyself in the forecastle, thou'rt so waggish. But I tell you, then, he had a mind to go live and bask himself on the sunny side of the globe. _2nd Sail._ What, out of any discontent? for he's always as dogged as an old tarpaulin, when hindered of a voyage by a young pantaloon captain. _1st Sail._ 'Tis true I never saw him pleased but in the fight; and then he looked like one of us coming from the pay-table, with a new lining to our hats under our arms. _2nd Sail._ A pox! he's like the Bay of Biscay, rough and angry, let the wind blow where 'twill. _1st Sail._ Nay, there's no more dealing with him, than with the land in a storm, no near-- _2nd Sail._ 'Tis a hurry-durry blade. Dost thou remember after we had tugged hard the old leaky longboat to save his life, when I welcomed him ashore, he gave me a box on the ear, and called me fawning water-dog? _Re-enter_ MANLY _with_ FREEMAN. _1st Sail._ Hold thy peace, Jack, and stand by; the foul weather's coming. _Man._ You rascals! dogs! how could this tame thing get through you? _1st Sail._ Faith, to tell your honour the truth, we were at hob in the hall,[94] and whilst my brother and I were quarrelling about a cast, he slunk by us. _2nd Sail._ He's a sneaking fellow I warrant for't.