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.