Mast. Ye did all well, and truly, like faithful honest men.
Boats. But is she rich Master? [Trumpets flourish.
Enter Sesse, Martia, Virolet, Sailors.
Mast. Rich for my Captains purpose howsoever,
And we are his. How bravely now he shows,
Heated in blood and anger! how do you Sir?
Not wounded mortally I hope?
Sess. No Master, but only wear the livery of fury.
I am hurt, and deep.
Mast. My Mistriss too?
Mart. A scratch man,
My needle would ha done as much good Sir,
Be provident and careful.
Sess. Prethee peace girl,
This wound is not the first blood I have blusht in,
Ye fought all like tall men, my thanks among ye,
That speaks not what my purse means, but my tongue, soldiers.
Now Sir, to you that sought me out, that found me,
That found me what I am, the Tyrant's Tyrant;
You that were imp'd, the weak arm to his folly,
You are welcome to your death.
Vir. I do expect it,
And therefore need no compliment, but wait it.
Ses. Thou bor'st the face once of a Noble Gentleman,
Rankt in the first file of the virtuous,
By every hopeful spirit, shewed and pointed,
Thy Countries love; one that advanc'd her honor,
Not tainted with the base and servile uses
The Tyrant ties mens souls to. Tell me Virolet,
If shame have not forsook thee, with thy credit?