Boats. She is stolen off.
Enter Master.
Ses. Who stole her?
Oh my prophetique soul!
Mast. Your Daughters gone Sir?
The prisoners and six Sailors, Rogues.
Ses. Mischief, six thousand plagues sail with 'em;
They'r in her yet, make out.
Mast. We have ne'r a Boat.
Enter Gunner.
Gun. Who knew of this trick?
Ses. Weigh Anchors and away.
Boats. We ha no wind Sir,
They'll beat us with their Oars.