Sur. If I had any thing that were but supple now!
I could make Sallads of your shoos Gentlemen,
And rare ones: any thing unctious.
Mor. I, and then we might fry the soals i'th' Sun.
The soals would make a second dish.
Lam. Or, souce 'em in the salt-water,
An inner soal well souc'd.
En. Aminta.
Fran. Here comes the Woman;
It may be she has meat, and may relieve us,
Let's withdraw, and mark, and then be ready,
She'll hide her store else, and so cozen us.
Amin. How weary, and how hungry am I,
How feeble, and how faint is all my body!
Mine eyes like spent Lamps glowing out, grow heavy,
My sight forsaking me, and all my spirits,
As if they heard my passing bell go for me,
Pull in their powers, and give me up to destiny,
Oh! for a little water: a little, little meat,
A little to relieve me ere I perish:
I had whole floods of tears awhile that nourisht me,
But they are all consum'd for thee dear Albert;
For thee they are spent, for thou art dead;
Merciless fate has swallow'd thee.
Oh——I grow heavy: sleep is a salve for misery;
Heaven look on me, and either take my life,
Or make me once more happy.
Lam. Shee's fast asleep already,
Why should she have this blessing, and we wake still,
Wake to our wants?
Mor. This thing hath been our overthrow,
And all these biting mischiefs that fall on us
Are come through her means.
Fran. True, we were bound ye all know,
For happy places, and most fertile Islands,
Where we had constant promises of all things,
She turn'd the Captains mind,
And must have him go in search, I know not of who,
Nor to what end: of such a fool her brother,
And such a coxcomb her kinsman, and we must put in every where,
She has put us in now yfaith.
Lam. Why should we consume thus, and starve,
Have nothing to relieve us;
And she live there that bred all our miseries,
Unrosted, or unsod?