Boats. Cut their throats, 'tis brotherhood to fling 'em into the Sea.
The Duke is hurt, so is his lovely Daughter Martia.
We have the day yet.
Enter Gunner.
Gun. Pox fire 'em, they have smoak'd us, never such plums yet flew.
Boats. They have rent the ship, and bor'd a hundred holes
She swims still lustily.
Mast. She made a brave fight, and she shall be cur'd
And make a braver yet.
Gun. Bring us some Canns up, I am as hot as fire.
Enter boy with three Canns.
Boat. I am sure I am none o'th' coolest.
Gun. My Cannons rung like Bels. Here's to my Mistriss.
The dainty sweet brass Minion: split their Fore-Mast,
She never fail'd.