Trinc. Work you then, and be poxed.
Anto. Hang, cur, hang, you whorson insolent noise-maker! We are less afraid to be drowned than you are.
Trinc. Ease the fore-brace a little.
[Exit.
Gonz. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench.
Enter Alonzo and Ferdinand.
Ferd. For myself I care not, but your loss brings a thousand deaths to me.
Alon. O name not me, I am grown old, my son; I now am tedious to the world, and that, By use, is so to me: But, Ferdinand, I grieve my subjects' loss in thee: Alas! I grieve my subjects' loss in thee: Alas! I suffer justly for my crimes, but why Thou should'st—O heaven!
[A cry within.
Hark! farewell, my son, a long farewell!
Enter Trincalo, Mustacho, and Ventoso.