nsom! I'll rot in my chains first, before I'll part
with a round ransom.

1st _Turk_. You have a fair Wife, and need not fear good usage, if she
knows how to be kind. You apprehend me.

_Fran_. Patience, good Lord.

1st _Turk_. Perhaps the _Grand Seignior_ may like her, and to be favour'd
by him in such a Glory--

_Fran_. As the Devil take me if I desire.

1st _Turk_. And then you may in triumph laugh at all the rest of your
Brother Cuckolds.

_Fran_. Hum, and has the Devil serv'd me thus?--but no matter, I must be
gadding, like an old Coxcomb, to _Cadiz_,--and then, jaunting to Sea,
with a Pox, to take pains to be a Cuckold, to bring my Wife into a
strange Land, amongst Unbelievers, with a vengeance, as if we had not
honest Christian Cuckold-makers enough at home; Sot that I was, not to
consider how many Merchants have been undone by trusting their
Commodities out at Sea; why, what a damn'd ransom will the Rogues exact
from me, and more for my Wife, because she's handsome; and then, 'tis
ten to one, I have her turned upon my hands the worse for wearing; oh,
damn'd Infidels! no, 'tis resolv'd, I'll live a Slave here, rather than
enrich them.

1st _Turk_. Friend, you'll know your Destiny presently; for 'tis the
custom of the Great _Turk_ to view the Captives, and consider of their
Ransoms and Liberties, according to his pleasure. See, he is coming
forth with the _Vizier Bassa_.

_Enter_ Carlos _and_ Guzman _as_ Turks _with Followers_.

Most mighty Emperor, behold your Captive.

_Fran_. Is this the Great _Turk_?

1st _Turk_. Peace.

_Fran_. Bless me! as we at home describe him, I thought the Great _Turk_
had been twice as big; but I shall find him Tyrant big enough, I'll
warrant him.

_Guz_. Of what Nation art thou, Slave? speak to the Emperor, he
understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse with
Christian Dogs.

_Fran_. Oh fearful!--_Spain_, so please you, Sir.

_Guz_. By _Mahomet_, he'll make a reverend Eunuch.

_Fran_. An Eunuch! oh, Lord!

_Turk_. Ay, Sir, to guard his Mistresses, 'tis an honour.

_Fran_. Oh! Mercy, Sir, that honour you may spare, Age has done my
business already.

_Guz_. Fellow, what art?

_Fran_. An't please your Worship, I cannot tell.

_Guz_. How, not tell?

_Fran_. An't please your Lordship, my Fears have so transform'd me, I
cannot tell whether I'm any thing or nothing.

_Guz_. Thy name, dull Mortal, know'st thou not that?

_Fran_. An't please you