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