Capt. At your own Peril be it then, Signior, for the Turks are coming upon us.
Fran. Oh Lord, Turks, Turks!
[Ex. Cap.
Guil. Turks, oh, is that all? [Falls to eating.
Fran. All—why, they’ll make Eunuchs of us, my Lord, Eunuchs of us poor men, and lie with all our Wives.
Guil. Shaw, that’s nothing, ‘tis good for the Voice.—how sweetly we shall sing, ta, la, ta la la, ta la, &c.
Fran. Ay, ‘twill make you sing another note, I’ll warrant you.
Enter a Seaman.
Sea. For Heaven’s sake, Sirs, do not stand idle here; Gentlemen, if you wou’d save your lives,—draw and defend ‘em. [Exit.
Fran. Draw! I never drew any thing in my Life, but my Purse, and that most damnably against my will; oh, what shall I do?