Lam. His Mistriss.
Mor. Or, as some new Translators read, his.
Cla. Oh me!
Mor. And why he should delude you thus,
Unless he meant some villany? these ten weeks
He has had her at Sea, for his own proper appetite.
Lam. His Cabin-mate I'll assure ye.
Cla. No Sister, say ye?
Mor. No more than I am brother to your beauty.
I know not why he should juggle thus.
Cla. Do not lie to me.
Mor. If ye find me lie, Lady, hang me empty.
Cla. How am I fool'd!
Away with 'em Juletta, and feed 'em
But hark ye, with such food as they have given me.
New misery!