2 Sold. 'Tis cloth of Tissue, Sir, and this is Scarlet.
Nor. I shall look redder shortly then, I fear me,
And as a Captain ought, a great deal prouder.
Can ye cure me of that crack, Surgeon?
Sur. Yes, when your Suit's at pawn, Sir.
Nor. There's for your plaister.
A very learned Surgeon: what's in that pack there?
1 Sold. 'Tis English Cloth.
Nor. That's a good wear indeed,
Both strong, and rich: but it has a virtue
A twang of the own Countrey, that spoils all:
A man shall ne'r be sober in't: Where are the Gentlemen,
That ventur'd with me, both their lives and fortunes?
Come forward my fair spirits; Norandine
Forgets his worth, when he forgets your valours,
You have lost an eye, I saw ye face all hazards:
You have one left yet, to choose your Mistriss.
You have your leg broke with a shot; yet sitting,
I saw you make the place good with your Pike still.
And your hand's gone; a good heart wants no instruments;
Share that amongst ye, there's an eye, an arm,
And that will bear you up, when your legs cannot.
Oh, where's the honest Sailor? that poor fellow,
Indeed that bold brave fellow, that with his Musket
Taught them new ways how to put their caps off;
That stood the fire of all the fight, twice blown,
And twice I gave him drown'd; welcome ashore knave;
Give me thy hand, if they be not both lost: faith thou art welcome,
My tough knave welcome: thou wilt not shrink i' th' washing.
Hold, there's a piece of Scarlet, get thee handsom.
And this to buy thee buttons.
Sail. Thank ye Captain.
Command my life at all hours.
Nor. Thou durst give it.
You have deserv'd too.
3 Sold. We have seen the fight Sir.
Nor. Yes: coil'd up in a Cable, like salt Eels,
Or buried low i' th' ballast, do you call that fighting?
Where be your wounds? your knocks? your want of limbs rogues?
Art not thou he that ask'd the Master-gunner
Where thou mightst lie safest? and he strait answered,
Put thy head in that hole, new bor'd with a Cannon;
For 'twas an hundred to one, another shot would not hit there:
Your wages you shall have, but for rewards
Take your own waies: and get ye to the Taverns;
There, when ye are hot with Wine, 'mongst your admirers,
Take Ships, and Towns, and Castles at your pleasures,
And make the Great Turk shake at your valors.
Bring in the prisoners now, my brave Musslemen.