[♦] Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore.
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
[♦] The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.
15 First Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me know.
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
[♦] Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
[20] Cut both the villains’ throats; for die you shall: