Daugh. Set it to th' North.
And now direct your course to th' wood, where Palamon
Lies longing for me; for the Tackling
Let me alone; come weigh my hearts, cheerly.
All. Owgh, owgh, owgh, 'tis up, the wind's fair, top the
Bowling; out with the main sail, where's your
Whistle Master?
Bro. Let's get her in.
Jay. Up to the top Boy.
Bro. Where's the Pilot?
1 Fr. Here.
Daugh. What ken'st thou?
3 Fr. A fair wood.
Daugh. Bear for it master: tack about: [Sings.
When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.