Enter a group of WOMEN.
First Woman. Her beauty, say'st thou? Pretty is as pretty does, say I. I'd beauty her! Go to! Who knows the father of her brat; can any tell?
Second Woman. Thou dost not doubt thy goodman?
First Woman. Trust none of them. I know mine own; dost thou know thine? As for her she hath shamed our sex, and I would—
[Exeunt Women.
Butts. God's-my-life, there's more poison in their tongues than in a nest of rattlesnakes? What's all this pother, lads?
Sailor. There's a trial, sir, on a charge of bastardy.
Butts. Ha! ha! ha! You rogues had better ship elsewhere; if the wind sits in that quarter, you'll find foul weather here.
Sailors. Ha! ha! ha!