down_). Hullo, my hearty! who the devil are you? Who's
this, mother?

MRS. DRAKE. Nay, I know nothing about him. (_She goes out, R._)

PEW. Cap'n, I'm a brother seaman, and my name is Pew, old David Pew, as
you may have heard of in your time, he having sailed along of 'Awke and
glorious Benbow, and a right-'and man to both.

KIT. Benbow? Steady, mate! D'ye mean to say you went to sea before you
were born?

PEW. See now! The sign of this here inn was running in my 'ed, I reckon.
Benbow, says you? no, not likely! Anson, I mean; Anson and Sir Edward
'Awke: that's the pair: I was their right-'and man.

KIT. Well, mate, you may be all that, and more; but you're a rum 'un to
look at, anyhow.

PEW. Right you are, and so I am. But what is looks? It's the 'art that
does it: the 'art is the seaman's star; and here's old David Pew's a
matter of fifty years at sea, but tough and sound as the British
Constitootion.

KIT. You're right there, Pew. Shake hands upon it. And you're a man
they're down upon, just like myself, I see. We're a pair of plain,
good-hearted, jolly tars; and all these 'longshore fellows cock a lip at
us, by George. What cheer, mate?

ARETHUSA (_without_). Mrs. Drake! Mrs. Drake!

PEW. What, a female? hey? a female? Board her, board her, mate! I'm
dark. (_He retires again behind, to table, R., behind settle._)

ARETHUSA (_without_). Mrs. Drake!

MRS. DRAKE (_re-entering and running to door_). Here I am, my dear; come
in.

SCENE III

_To these, ARETHUSA_

ARETHUSA. Ah, Kit, I've found you. I thought you would lodge with Mrs.
Drake.

KIT. What? are you looking for your consort? Whistle, I'm your dog; I'll
come to you. I've been toasting you fathom deep, my beauty; and with
every glass I love you dearer.

ARETHUSA. Now, Kit, if you want to please my father, this is not the
way. Perhaps he thinks too much of the guineas: well, gather them--if
you think me worth the price. Go you to your sloop, clinker built,
eighty tons burthen--you see I remember. Skipper Kit! I don't deny I
like a man of spirit; but if you care to please Captain Gaunt, keep out
of taverns; and if you could carry yourself a bit more--more elderly!

KIT. Can I? Would I? Ah, just couldn't and just won't I, then!

MRS. DRAKE. I hope, madam, you don't refer to my house; a publican I may
be, but tavern is a word that I don't hold with; and here there's no bad
drink, and no loose company; and as for my blessedest Kit, I declar