Tib. Let me come, Captain:
This Golden age must have an Iron ending.
Have at the bunch. [He beats 'em off. Exit.
Amint. Oh Albert; Oh Gentlemen, Oh Friends. [Exit.
Sebast. Come noble Nephew, if we stay here, we dye,
Here rides their Ship, yet all are gone to th' spoil,
Let's make a quick use.
Nicus. Away dear Uncle.
Sebast. This Gold was our overthrow. [Exit.
Nicus. It may now be our happiness.
Enter Tibalt and the rest.
Tib. You shall have Gold: yes, I'll cram it int'ye;
You shall be your own carvers; yes, I'll carve ye.
Morill. I am sore, I pray hear reason:
Tib. I'll hear none.
Covetous base minds have no reason;
I am hurt my self; but whilst I have a leg left,
I will so haunt your gilded souls; how d'ye Captain?
Ye bleed apace, curse on the causers on't;
Ye do not faint?