Mor. I have read in stories.
Lam. Of such restoring meates,
We have examples;
Thousand examples, and allow'd for excellent;
Women that have eate their Children,
Men their slaves, nay their brothers: but these are nothing;
Husbands devoured their Wives: (th[ey] are their Chattels,)
And of a Schoolmaster, that in a time of famine,
Powdered up all his Scholars.
Mor. Shee's young and tydie,
In my conscience she'll eat delicately;
Just like young Pork a little lean,
Your opinion Surgeon.
Sur. I think she may be made good meat,
But look we shall want Salt.
Fran. Tush, she needs no powdering.
Sur. I grant ye;
But to suck out the humorous parts: by all means,
Lets kill her in a chafe, she'll eat the sweeter.
Lam. Let's kill her any way: and kill her quickly,
That we might be at our meat.
Sur. How if the Captain?
Mor. Talk not of him, he's dead, and the rest famish'd.
Wake her Surgeon, and cut her throat,
And then divide her, every Man his share.
Fran. She wakes her self.