Ses. What are these?
Stand close and mark?
Boats. These are no men, th' are motions.
Ses. What sad and ruthful faces!
Boats. How they duck!
This senceless, silent courtesie methinks,
Shews like two Turks, saluting one another,
Upon two French Porters backs.
Ses. They are my Countrey-men,
And this, some forc'd infliction from the tyrant;
What are you, why is this? why move thus silent
As if you were wandring shadows? why so sad?
Your tongues seal'd up; are ye of several Countries?
You understand not one another?
Gun. That's an Englishman,
He looks as though he had lost his dog.
Ses. Your habits
Shew ye all Neopolitanes; and your faces
Deliver you oppressed things; speak boldly:
Do you groan and labor under this stiff yoak?
Mast. They shake their heads and weep.
Ses. Oh misery!
Give plenteous sorrow, and no tongues to shew 'em!
This is a studied cruelty.
1 Cit. Begone Sir,
It seems you are a stranger, and save your self.