Bel. Sure, Sir, you go by shipping into Ireland?
Bea. That’s all one, Sir, I was still a-foot, ever walking on the Deck.
Bel. Was that your farthest Travel, Sir?
Bea. Farthest—why, that’s the End of the World—and sure a Man can go no farther.
Bel. Sure, there can be nothing worth a Man’s Curiosity?
Bea. No, Sir, I’ll assure you, there are the Wonders of the World, Sir: I’ll hint you this one. There is a Harbour which since the Creation was never capable of receiving a Lighter, yet by another Miracle the King of France was to ride there with a vast Fleet of Ships, and to land a hundred thousand Men.
Bel. This is a swinging Wonder—but are there store of Mad-men there, Sir?
Bea. That’s another Rarity to see a Man run out of his Wits.
Noi. Marry, Sir, the wiser they I say.
Bea. Pray, Sir, what store of Miracles have you at St. Omers?