[Exit Virolet; and Sailers.
Mar. Now to your Cabin, Sir; pray lean upon me,
And take your rest, the Surgeons wait all for you.
Ses. Thou mak'st me blush to see thee bear thy fortunes;
Why, sure I have no hurt, I have not fought sure?
Mast. You bleed apace, Sir.
Mart. Ye grow cold too.
Ses. I must be rul'd, no leaning,
My deepest wounds scorn Crutches.
All. A brave General. [Flour. Trumpets, Cornets.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter two Sailors.