Esop. A very sad Story, this! But what became of the Ship's Company?
Play. Why, Sir, your humble Servants here, who were the Officers, and the best of the Sailors——(little Ben amongst the rest) seiz'd on a small Bark that lay to our Hand, and away we put to Sea again. To say the truth, we were better mann'd than rigg'd, and Ammunition was plaguy scarce amongst us.——However, a cruising we went, and some petty small Prizes we have made; but the Blessing of Heaven not being among us——or how the Devil 'tis, I cannot tell; but we are not rich.
Esop. Well, but what became of the rest of the Crew?
Play. Why, Sir, as for the Scoundrels, they, poor Dogs, stuck by the Wreck. The Captain gave them Bread and Cheese, and good Words——He told them, if they wou'd patch her up, and venture t'other Cruise, he'd prefer 'em all; so to work they went, and to Sea they got her.
Esop. I hope he kept his Word with 'em.
Play. That he did; he made the Boatswain's Mate Lieutenant; he made the Cook Doctor: He was forc'd to be Purser and Pilot, and Gunner himself; and the Swabber took Orders to be Chaplain.
Esop. But with such unskilful Officers, I'm afraid, they'll hardly keep above Water long.
Play. Why truly, Sir, we care not how soon they are under: But curst Folks thrive, I think. I know nothing else that makes 'em swim. I'm sure, by the Rules of Navigation, they ought to have over-set long since; for they carry a great deal of Sail, and have very little Ballast.
Esop. I'm afraid you ruin one another. I fancy if you were all in a Ship together again, you'd have less Work, and more Profit.
Play. Ah, Sir——we are resolv'd we'll never sail under Captain Patentee again.