Wows. Iss.
Trudge. And what became of him at last? What did your countrymen do for the poor fellow?
Wows. Eat him one day—Our chief kill him.
Trudge. Mercy on us! what damned stomachs, to swallow a tough old tar! Ah, poor Trudge! your killing comes next.
Wows. No, no—not you—no—[Running to him anxiously.]
Trudge. No? why what shall I do, if I get in their paws?
Wows. I fight for you!
Trudge. Will you? Ecod she's a brave good-natured wench! she'll be worth a hundred of your English wives.—Whenever they fight on their husband's account, it's with him instead of for him, I fancy. But how the plague am I to live here?
Wows. I feed you—bring you kid.