Chapter 24

Enter, _as aboard the Ship_, Guiliom, Isabella, Francisco, Julia, Antonio, Clara, Jacinta, Pedro _and his Wife_, Pages.

_Guil_. Ladies and Gentlemen, you are very welcome aboard--Come, put off to Sea, Rogues, Scoundrels, Tarpaulins, to your Business, and then, every man his Bottle,--hey, Page, Rogues, where are my Men? Come, spread the Table--for we are very hungry.

_Isa_. Heav’ns, what a peculiar Grace there is in every word that comes from the Mouth of a Cavalier.

_Guil_. By _Mars_, the God of Love!

_Page_. By _Cupid_, Sir. [Aside to him.

Guil. _Cupid_, Sirrah! I say, I’ll have it _Mars_, there’s more Thunder in the Sound: I say, by _Mars_, these Gallies are pretty neat convenient Tenements--but a--I see ne’er a Chimney in ‘em:--Pox on’t, what have I to do with a Chimney now?

_Isa_. He is a delicate fine Person, _Jacinta_; but, methinks he does not make Love enough to me.

_Jac_. Oh, Madam, Persons of his Quality never make Love in Words, the greatness of their Actions show their Passion.

_Jac_. Ay, ‘tis true all the little Fellows talk of Love.

_Guil_. Come, Ladies, set; Come, _Isabella_, you are melancholy,--Page --Fill my Lady a Beer-glass.

_Isa_. Ah, Heav’ns, a Beer-glass.

_Guil_. O, your Viscountess never drinks under your Beer-glass, your Citizens Wives simper and sip, and will be drunk without doing Credit to the Treater; but in their Closets, they swinge it away, whole Slashes, i’faith, and egad, when a Woman drinks by her self, Glasses come thick about: your Gentlewoman, or your little Lady, drinks half way, and thinks in point of good manners, she must leave some at the bottom; but your true bred Woman of Honour drinks all, _Supernaculum_, by _Jove_.

_Isa_. What a misfortune it was, that I should not know this before, but shou’d discover my want of so necessary a piece of Grandeur.

_Jac_. And nothing, but being fuddled, will redeem her Credit.

_Guil_. Come--fall to, old Boy,--thou art not merry; what, have we none that can give us a Song?

_Ant_. Oh Sir, we have an Artist aboard I’ll assure you; Signior _Cashier_, shall I beg the favour of you to shew your Skill?

_Pet_. Sir, my Wife and I’m at your service.

_Guil_. Friend, what Language can you sing?

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, your Singers speak all Languages.

_Guil_. Say’st thou so, prithee then let’s have a touch of Heathen _Greek_.

_Pet_. That you shall, Sir, Sol la me fa sol, &c.

_Fran_. Hum, I think this is indeed Heathen _Greek_, I’m sure ‘tis so to me.

_Guil_. Ay, that may be, but I understand every word on’t.

_Fran_. Good lack, these Lords are very learned Men.

_Pet_. Now, Sir, you shall hear one of another Language from my Wife and I. [_Sing a Dialogue_ in French.

_Enter the_ Captain.

_Capt_. Well, Gentlemen, though the news be something unpleasant that I bring, yet to noble minds ‘tis sport and pastime.

_Guil_. Hah, Fellow! What’s that that’s sport and pastime to noble minds.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, no goodness, I’ll warrant.

_Capt_. But, Gentlemen, pluck up your Spirits, be bold and resolute.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, bold and resolute! why, what’s the matter, Captain?

_Capt_. You are old, Signior, and we expect no good from you but Prayers to Heaven?

_Fran_. Oh Lord, Prayers to Heaven! Why, I hope, Captain, we have no need to think of Heaven.

_Capt_. At your own Peril be it then, Signior, for the _Turks_ are coming upon us.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, Turks, Turks!

[_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Turks, oh, is that all? [_Falls to eating_.

_Fran_. All--why, they’ll make Eunuchs of us, my Lord, Eunuchs of us poor men, and lie with all our Wives.

_Guil_. Shaw, that’s nothing, ‘tis good for the Voice.--how sweetly we shall sing, ta, la, ta la la, ta la, &c.

_Fran_. Ay, ‘twill make you sing another note, I’ll warrant you.

_Enter a Seaman_.

_Sea_. For Heaven’s sake, Sirs, do not stand idle here; Gentlemen, if you wou’d save your lives,--draw and defend ‘em. [_Exit_.

_Fran_. Draw! I never drew any thing in my Life, but my Purse, and that most damnably against my will; oh, what shall I do?

_Enter_ Captain.

_Capt_. Ah, my Lord, they bear up briskly to us, with a fresh Gale and full Sails.

_Fran_. Oh, dear Captain, let us tack about and go home again.

_Capt_. ‘Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out.

_Fran_. Fight it out! oh, I’m not able to indure it,--why, what the Devil made me a ship-board?

[_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Why, where be these _Turks_? set me to ‘em, I’ll make ‘em smoke, Dogs, to dare attack a man of Quality.

_Isa_. Oh, the Insolence of these _Turks_! do they know who’s aboard? for Heaven’s sake, my Lord, do not expose your noble Person.

_Guil_. What, not fight?--Not fight! A Lord, and not fight? Shall I submit to Fetters, and see my Mistress ravish’d by any great _Turk_ in Christendom, and not fight?

_Isa_. I’d rather be ravish’d a thousand times, than you should venture your Person.

[_Seamen shout within_.

_Fran_. Ay, I dare swear.

_Enter Seaman_.

_Sea_. Ah, Sirs, what mean you? Come on the Deck for shame.

_Ant_. My Lord, let us not tamely fall, there’s danger near. [_Draws_.

_Guil_. Ay, ay, there’s never smoke, but there’s some fire--Come, let’s away--ta la, tan ta la, la la, &c. [Draws.

[Exit _singing, and_ Antonio _and_ Pet.

_Fran_. A Pox of all Lords, I say, you must be janting in the Devil’s name, and God’s dry Ground wou’d not serve your turn. [_Shout here_. Oh, how they thunder! What shall I do?--oh, for some Auger-hole to thrust my head into, for I could never indure the noise of Cannons,--oh, ’.is insupportable,--intolerable--and not to be indur’d. [_Running as mad about the Stage_.

_Isa_. Dear Father, be not so frighted. [_Weeps_.

_Fran_. Ah, Crocodile, wou’d thou hadst wept thy Eyes out long ago, that thou hadst never seen this Count; then he had never lov’d thee, and then we had never been invited a ship-board. [_A noise of fighting_.

_Enter_ Guiliom, Pet. _and_ Antonio, driven in fighting by Guzman _and other_ Turks.

_Ant_. Ah, Sir, the _Turks_ have boarded us, we’re lost, we’re lost.

_Fran_. Oh, I am slain, I’m slain. [_Falls down_.

_Guil_. Hold, hold, I say, you are now in the presence of Ladies, and ’.is uncivil to fight before Ladies.

_Guz_. Yield then, you are our Slaves.

_Guil_. Slaves, no Sir, we’re Slaves to none but the Ladies. [_Offers to fight_.

_Isa_. Oh, hold, rude man,--d’ye know whom you encounter?

_Guz_. What’s here--one dead-- [_Looking on_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Oh, Lord!

_Guz_. Or, if he be not, he’s old, and past service, we’ll kill the Christian Dog out of the way.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, I’m no Christian, Gentlemen; but as errant a Heathen as your selves.

_Guz_. Bind him strait, neck and heels, and clap him under hatches.

_Jul_. Oh, spare him, Sir, look on his Reverend Age.

_Guz_. For your sake, Lady, much may be done, we’ve need of handsom Women. [_Gives her to some Turks that are by_.

_Fran_. Hah,--my Wife! My Wife ravish’d--oh, I’m dead.

_Jul_. Fear not, my dear, I’ll rather die than do thee wrong.

_Fran_. Wou’d she wou’d, quickly,--then there’s her Honour sav’d, and her Ransom, which is better.

_Guz_. Down with the muttering Dog; [_He descends_. --And takes the Ladies to several Cabins. [_The Turks take hold of the Men_.

_Isa_. Must we be parted then?--ah, cruel Destiny! [_Weeps_.

_Guil_. Alas! this Separation’s worse than Death.

_Isa_. You possibly may see some _Turkish_ Ladies, that may insnare your Heart, and make you faithless;--but I, ah Heavens! if ever I change my Love, may I become deformed, and lose all hopes of Title or of Grandure.

_Guil_. But should the _Grand Seignior_ behold thy Beauty, thou wou’dst despise thine own dear hony Viscount to be a _Sultana_.

_Isa_. A _Sultana_, what’s that?

_Guil_. Why, ‘tis the great _Turk_, a Queen of _Turkey_.

_Isa_. These dear expressions go to my Heart. [_Weeps_. And yet a _Sultana_ is a tempting thing-- [_Aside smiling_. --And you shall find your Isabella true,--though the _Grand Seignior_ wou’d lay his Crown at my feet,--wou’d he wou’d try me though--Heavens! to be Queen of _Turkey_. [_Aside_.

_Guil_. May I believe thee,--but when thou seest the difference, alas, I am but a Chimney--hum, nothing to a great _Turk_.

_Isa_. Is he so rare a thing?--Oh, that I were a she great _Turk_. [_Aside_.

_Guz_. Come, come, we can’t attend your amorous Parleys. [_Parts ‘em_.

_Jul_. Alas, what shall we poor Women do?

[_Ex. Men_.

_Isa_. We must e’en have patience, Madam, and be ravisht.

_Cla_. Ravisht! Heavens forbid.

_Jac_. An please the Lord, I’ll let my nails grow against that direful day.

_Isa_. And so will I, for I’m resolv’d none should ravish me but the great _Turk_.

_Guz_. Come, Ladies, you are Dishes to be serv’d up to the board of the _Grand Seignior_.

_Isa_. Why, will he eat us all?

_Guz_. A slice of each, perhaps, as he finds his Appetite inclin’d.

_Isa_. A slice, uncivil Fellow,--as if this Beauty were for a bit and away;--Sir, a word,--if you will do me the favour, to recommend me to be first served up to the _Grand Seignior_, I shall remember the Civility when I am great.

_Guz_. Lady, he is his own Carver, a good word by the bye, or so, will do well, and I am--a Favorite--

_Isa_. Are you so? here, take this Jewel,--in earnest of greater Favours-- [_Gives him a Jewel_.

[Exeunt all.