Jo. What were I best to doe? I doe not like these Navyes.
Hen. 'Tis past question, If they were kenn'd this way, that they intend To make another meale of this Citty.
Ten. The first was but a Breakfast: they have shrewd stomakes.
Oh for a lusty storme to bury all
Their hopes in the waves now! one good swelling Gust
Would breake their ribbs in pieces.
Jo. No witches abroad?
Buz. I see, I see, I see!
Enter Buzzano above.
All. What?
Buz. Nay, I cannot tell what yet: Something it is; I thinke it be a Towne.
Hen. Some Iland in the Sea!
Buz. It swims on the water.