Enter Prisoners, and Luscinda.
You that are Lords o' th' Sea, and scorn us Christians,
Which of your mangy lives is worth this hurt here?
Away to prison with 'em, see 'em safe;
You shall find we have Gallies too, and slaves too.
1 Sold. What shall be done with this woman, Sir?
Nor. Pox take her,
'Twas she that set me on to fight with these rogues,
That Ring-worm, rot it: what can you do now
With all your paintings, and your pouncings, Lady,
To restore my blood again? you, and your Cupid
That have made a Carbinado of me, plague take ye,
Ye are too deep ye rogue, this is thy work woman,
Thou lousie woman; 'death, you goe too deep still.
The seeing of your simpring sweetness: —— ye Filly,
Ye Tit, ye Tomboy, what can one nights gingling,
Or two, or ten, sweet heart, and oh my dear chicken,
Scratching my head, or fumbling with my fore-mast,
Doe me good now? ye have powder'd me for one year,
I am in souce I thank ye; thank your beauty,
Your most sweet beauty: pox upon those goggles.
We cannot fight like honest men, for honor,
And quietly kill one another as we ought,
But in steps one of you; the devils holiness
And you must have a daunce: away with her,
She stinks to me now.
1 Sold. Shall I have her Captain?
2 Sold. Or I?
3 Sold. I'll marry her.
4 Sold. Good Captain, I.
3 Sold. And make her a good Christian; lay hands off her;
I know she's mine.
2 Sold. I'll give my full share for her: have ye no manners;
To thrust the woman so?