2 Gent. Alas poor man.
Schol. Your Bark shall plough through all,
And not a Surge so saucy to disturb her.
I'le see her safe, my power shall sail before her.
Down ye angry waters all,
Ye loud whistling whirlewinds fall;
Down ye proud Waves, ye storms cease;
I command ye, be at peace.
Fright not with your churlish Notes,
Nor bruise the Keel of Bark that flotes:
No devouring Fish come nigh,
Nor Monster in my Empery,
Once shew his head, or terror bring;
But let the weary Saylor sing:
Amphitrite with white arms
Strike my Lute, I'le sing Charms.
Mast. He must have Musick now: I must observe him,
His fit will grow too full else. [Musick, Song.
2 Gent. I must pity him.
Mast. Now he will in himself most quietly,
And clean forget all, as he had done nothing.
1 Gent. We are sorry, Sir: and we have seen a wonder;
From this hour we'll believe, and so we'll leave ye. [Ex.
Ped. This was a strange fit.
Mast. Did ye mark him, Sir?
Ped. He might have cozen'd me with his behaviour.