Trudge. That's right.—Somebody might steal 'em, perhaps.
Wows. Steal!—What that?
Trudge. Oh Lord! see what one loses by not being born in a christian country.
Run. If you would, sir, but mention to your master, the house that belongs to my master; the best accommodations on the quay.—
Trudge. What's your sign, my lad?
Run. The Crown, sir.—Here it is.
Trudge. Well, get us a room for half an hour, and we'll come: and harkee! let it be light and airy, d'ye hear? My master has been used to your open apartments lately.
Run. Depend on it.—Much obliged to you, sir.
[Exit.
Wows. Who be that fine man? He great prince?