_Man._ Have more care for the future, you slaves. Go, and with drawn cutlasses stand at the stair-foot, and keep all that ask for me from coming up; suppose you were guarding the scuttle to the powder-room. Let none enter here, at your and their peril. _1st Sail._ No, for the danger would be the same: you would blow them and us up, if we should. _2nd Sail._ Must no one come to you, sir? _Man._ No man, sir. _1st Sail._ No man, sir; but a woman then, an't like your honour-- _Man._ No woman neither, you impertinent dog! Would you be pimping? sea-pimp is the strangest monster she has. _2nd Sail._ Indeed, an't like your honour, 'twill be hard for us to deny a woman anything, since we are so newly come on shore. _1st Sail._ We'll let no old woman come up, though it were our trusting landlady at Wapping. _Man._ Would you be witty, you brandy casks you? you become a jest as ill as you do a horse. Begone, you dogs! I hear a noise on the stairs. [_Exeunt_ Sailors. _Free._ Faith, I am sorry you would let the fop go, I intended to have had some sport with him. _Man._ Sport with him! A pox! then, why did you not stay? You should have enjoyed your coxcomb, and had him to yourself for me. _Free._ No, I should not have cared for him without you neither; for the pleasure which fops afford is like that of drinking, only good when 'tis shared; and a fool, like a bottle, which would make you merry in company, will make you dull alone. But how the devil could you turn a man of his quality down stairs? You use a lord with very little ceremony, it seems. _Man._ A lord! What, thou art one of those who esteem men only by the marks and value fortune has set upon 'em, and never consider intrinsic worth! but counterfeit honour will not be current with me: I weigh the man, not his title; 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal better or heavier. Your lord is a leaden shilling, which you bend every way, and debases the stamp he bears, instead of being raised by it.--Here again, you slaves! _Re-enter_ Sailors. _1st Sail._ Only to receive farther instructions, an't like your honour.--What if a man should bring you money, should we turn him back? _Man._ All men, I say: must I be pestered with you too?--You dogs, away! _2nd Sail._ Nay, I know one man your honour would not have us hinder coming to you, I'm sure. _Man._ Who's that? speak quickly, slaves. _2nd Sail._ Why, a man that should bring you a challenge. For though you refuse money, I'm sure you love fighting too well to refuse that. _Man._ Rogue! rascal! dog! [_Kicks the_ Sailors _out._ _Free._ Nay, let the poor rogues have their forecastle jests: they cannot help 'em in a fight, scarce when a ship's sinking. _Man._ Damn their untimely jests! a servant's jest is more sauciness than his counsel. _Free._ But what, will you see nobody? not your friends?