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THE PREFACE

am not unduly sensible to the many critical hardships I expose my self to by the publication of the following sheets. It has generally far’d with translations as with paintings, we often see the originals in beauty, proportion, &c. out-do the life, but never find the copys exceed the originals; and especially where attempts have been made of this kind in poetry, for wit, like the finest chimical preparations, is certain to lose something of its spirit by transfusion.
And there seems to be a jenescaquoy beauty in every language proper to itself, and not to be express’d in another; I am certain tis so in the Latin, which abounds with expressive phrases we can hardly give any true idea of in our own tongue. The translator then, most not servilely imitate nor follow his author at a slavish […awful distance, but taking his whole […] together, express it and command it with all the fire and liberty his language will allow. What sort of fate have our old translators of Terence and Virgil met with? Or what entertainment or use can they prove to any one (unless to indulge the idleness of a school boy)? Mr. Dryden, and especially Mr. Creech, have given our ladies a new taste of the wit of the antients. They lost none of the beauties of their authors, but by a strange sympathetick fire gave us their poetry, philosophy, and expression in English verse, and did an honour to our native language, it was believed before, not capable of receiving. I know, our grammarians are fond to superstition of their classick authors, and never can be prevail’d upon or persuaded to comply with this libertine way of translations; yet I believe none of em would allow a comparison which came nearest to the original Virgil, Dryden, or Ogleby. Here you must confess at least, that one great poet has translated another, there you see Maro’s noble and majestick thoughts cloath’d in vile plebeian language, and now and then by the way you jumble over a hobbling rhime, that breaks the neck of the sense. And indeed I believe, were we not told ’twas design’d as a translation from Virgil, twould be very difficult to distinguish the fine gentleman in this dishabille. Our inimitable author Mr. Cowley hath all along taken this freedom with the best of the Roman and Greek poets, and I believe all who have a taste of polite learning will allow he hath done it must successfully, particularly from Pindar, maugre the prophetick curse Horace long ago denounc’d again such an undertaker. Pindarum quisquis studet aemulare &c. And this freedom ought more liberally to be indulg’d to those who wou’d translate the drama; for Terence makes no figure, and appears in almost a ridiculous habit when verbally traduc’d as we have seen him; yet Shadwell hath given us some scenes from him, especially in The Squire of Alsatia, which proves he was not inferior to our best modern comedians.
Now tho’ in the following scenes I have all along confined myself to my author’s sence I have frequently given it a new turn, and sometimes added and sometimes left out as I saw occasion. I have often wonder’d how this piece of Mr. Cowley’s who has always been (and very justly) a particular favourite of the ladies came so long to lie conceal’d in a language which invidious custom (to say no worse) has generally deny’d the fair sex the use of. And I thought this cou’d not be an unwelcome present to them, which I believe may be allow’d to be much the best of his dramatick performances; the language is neat and easy, the fable very good and artfully wrought; the character of Aemylio must by the most snarling critick be granted to be well drawn. I have changed most of the names that did not sound well in English, and purposely alter’d the title, because Naufragium Joculare, or The Merry Shipwreck is no more than an incident, and, having hardly any relation to the main design is quite over in the first Act: The other is more generall and adapt to the moral. This play was publickly acted at Trinity College in Cambridge on the 4th of February 1638, and written when Mr. Cowley was about 19 Years of Age, before which time he had given the world great proofs of a surprizing genius. These scenes I am sure will prove an innocent, and I hope therefore not a disagreeable entertainment to the Fair; and were I capably of doing my author the same justice he has to his beloved Horace and Pindar, I might dogmatically affirm ’tis a good comedy, but we will leave that to our supream judges when it shall appear on the stage with all the ornaments of dress, light and action; and how much it will suffer for want of those imbellishments, (and being all through a low humour) I leave to the judicious who know Fortune is nowhere more absolutely a queen than on the theatre; there her power is indeed despotick and uncontroulable; there she often darkens the understandings as well as the eyes of the audience, and gives ’em ribaldry and downright smutt for good breeding, nonsense and nombast for just thinking, and miserable quibbling for sterling wit. So have I seen a hero without one good quality to recommend him but the actor’s lungs and his author’s fustian rant violently ravish the repeated applause of the spectators, when there cou’d be no other reasonable account given for it, unless it were to see a man without any preceding motive for his passion on a sudden rouse all his spirits, and without any manner of cause put nature into a violent ferment. What then have those gentlemen to say, who dare expose their labours in this manner to be blown upon by the giddy multitude for their endeavouring to please? Non displicuisse meretur will signifie nothing: if they miscarry all despise them, if they succeed there are but few thanks, and those unwillingly extorted. And every coxcomb with a great wig and a great estate, is authoriz’d for four shillings to abuse them, and regale himself with his criticisms. But blockheads have always own’d a peculiar enmity to men of sense, and when we look abroad and consider how unequal one party is to the other, we may no longer wonder the multitude so often carry it in a place, where brutal noise and violence is allow’d to prevail. A good poet therefore hath the same reward for his wit as has faith, and ought to expect his recompence for both, only hereafter then fame will pay his memory with eternity; and a man that will dye a martyr to sense when folly is so powerful, one would think were well satisfy’d with his revertional reward in posterity. Virgil, who liv’d in the most flourishing Courts in the world, and under the especial influence of Augustus, yet complains of severe usage from some sort of men. And Horace long labour’d under calumnious tongues, tho’ he confesses at last Iam dente minus mordeor invidio. But we have instances too many at home, and Spencer and Butler are never dying testimonies of our ingratitude to men of letters.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

MEN

Sententious GERUND, a pedant tutor to GRINN and SHALLOW.
SHALLOW, suppos’d son and heir to FREEMAN, an English merchant,
companion to GRINN
GRINN, heir to an English gentleman, friend and fellow traveller of
SHALLOW’s, a foolish fellow affecting wit
DINON, their servant, a sharp cunning fellow
BOMBARDO, a blustring solder, talks bombast.
AEMYLIO, a witty fellow, servant to the souldier, son to FREEMAN
FREEMAN, an English merchant
Old WELDON, a positive old gentleman
Young WELDON, his son, in love with CLARA

WOMEN

EUCOMISSA, daughter to BOMBARDO
CLARA, servant to BOMBARDO, sister to AEMYLIO
PERT, maid to EUCOMISSA

BOY, PORTERS, &c.

SCENE DUNKIRK

ACT I, SCENE i
Enter DINON solus

(Dinon to the porters within.) Come take up your burthens, beasts, and follow me. Methinks these sailors stink of pitch damnably, they are always hawling ropes: very familiar with their destiny. (Shout within.) Hey day, what a noise is there? A tempest is a whisper to this. Thank my good stars that have delivered me from the sea and these inhabitants of it; both equally troublesome, the sight of both ready to turn your stomachs; therefore, friend Dinon, seriously I am glad to see you well. My old master Alderman Freeman has sent me here on this voyage to wait upon a couple of blockheads, his son and his companion. One of them is a fool positive unimprov’d by art, the other hath taken some pains to be so, and is elaborately dull. Then there is the tutor of these worthy knights, sententious Gerund, a fellow that I’ll maintain shou’d render a man of very good parts a fool in less than a twelvemonth. That hangdog utters nothing but sentences and scraps of poetry out of Classick authors. If you talk of shoes he will bring Virgil in. Hark then, Dinon, prithee take a friend’s advice, can you play the knave a little? Will you suffer so rare a booty to slip you? You’ll never have such another opportunity, you’re in a strange country, have two fools for your masters, and both rich; and you, you know, have not too much honesty, and are very poor. But here they come on shore. And see Gerund himself, what a port he carries. Verily he walks in iambicks! Hey, you fellows, what, are you sleaeping over your loads?

ACT I, SCENE ii
Enter to him
GERUND, SHALLOW, and GRINN.

GER. Egressi optata Troes potiuntur arena.
How lucky was the omen to light on that sentence of the prince of poets Virgil!
SHAL. Tutor, I heartily congratulate my arrival.
GER. “Your arrival,” you shou’d say, that had been more courtly.
SHAL. Ay, ay, both our arrivals, Tutor. But what country is this? For I know no more of it than if it were Terra Incognita.
DIN. Here are the fellows with your goods.
PORTER Where must we carry ’em, Master?
DIN. To the next good inn, I suppose.
SHAL. Aye, and hark ye, Dinon, take care of good wine.
DIN. Sir, it shall be done, there is nothing I would more obediently serve you in.
SHAL. And porters, do you take care those bags be not too violently struck against the ground.
PORTER Any glasses in em, sir?
SHAL No, no, but I fear the gold shou’d be hurt, and so by defacing the royal image I become guilty of Treason. — I think I am tolerably witty today.
GER. Why are you thus melancholy, Grinn?
GRINN I melancholy? Not at all, sir. I was contemplating the nature of the sea. But if it be the will of heaven I will never hereafter trust it, for I find nothing is more destructive to a good wit. I have not been able to squeeze forth one jest, and before I came on shipboard they flow’d from me whether I wou’d or no.
GER. What! Does not your voyage please you, Pupil?
GRINN Is it not very hard I cannot so much as make one little jest on my arrival in a strange land?
SHAL. Hey, ho.
GER. Cur imo gemitum de pectore ducis, according to the poet?
SHAL. Ah, Tutor, I can’t think without a sigh of that fine breakfast I presented the fish with when we first put to sea.
GER. Quis talia fando,
Myrmidonum, Dolopumve aut duri miles Ulissi
(Ulissi is put there euphoniae gratia )
Temperet a lacrymis?,
according to the poet. Truly the antients observ’d very wisely, Water and Woman are three evils.
SHAL. Tutor, there is one thing more that has been in my head ever since; and that is, when upon the deck we cou’d see land afar off, still the nearer we came, that seem’d to run the farther from us. This is an observation of my own, Tutor.
GER. Ay, Pupil.
Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum
Tendimus in — (I don’t know where), according to the poet.
GRINN Ah, Shallow, but you forget the tempest.
SHAL. Right; I hever was so afraid of going to heaven, whether I would or no, in my life.
GER. What! Cou’d you then fear to be immortal?
SHAL. No, no, I was not afraid. But —
GRINN Truly I had not one drop of blood in me, the fish wou’d a had but scurvy diet, I was so worn with fear and sea-sickness.
SHAL. Duce take you, you are so wity.
GRINN Do you envy me.
SHAL. Not at all, but methinks we that are born to estates shou’d be above applying our mind to wit, ’tis a fault.
GER. Well, my Pupils, now recal your spirits, for nunc in vado sumus, cum proverbio.
SHAL. Prithee, Tutor, never let us go home again, for I like this place wonderfully.
GER. Cou’d you be content then never to see your father more?
SHAL. Truly he was a little out of my head, but ’tis a troublesome thing to be always thinking of fathers. Sure old men are not immortal.
GRINN I strive in vain, I must find some means or other to recal these fugitive senses of mine.
SHAL. Methinks ’tis a great while since I was a little drunk. I long methinks to be a little merry in this new climate.
GRINN Come, Tutor, let’s to the inn, and then shake off all sorrow.
SHAL. There let us drink strenuously.
GRINN Right, and after that I’ll make verses.
SHAL. And I will go to sleep.
GER. You make verses, young man! But pray what sort of feet will there be? How will you keep your feet when you are drunk? Do you know what I mean by feet there, Grinn?
GRINN Ha, ha, ha, I was just a goink to think of that. You catch’d it out of my mouth, and ’tis certainly a very good jest. I must down with it, “keep your feet when you’re drunk.” (Writes in his pocket-book.)
SHAL. Duce take your jests. I long to moisten my clay, let’s to the inn.
GRINN Ay, let us go, for
Nec placere diu, neque vivere carmina possunt,
Quae feribuntur aquae potoribus.
What blockhead won’t good wine inspire
With generous poetick fire?
SHAL. I desire none of that inspiration. A poet, quoth’e? Am I not eldest son and heir to Mr. Thrifty Freeman, Alderman and merchant of London?
GER. Right, and I’ll improve your manners, I’ll teach you the Art of Travelling, I’ll give you rules, I’ll instruct you how to caress, deride and deceive mankind till everybody admires your parts as much as mine. But thee matters will be better concerted
Impleti veteris Bacchi pinguisque farinae,
according to the poet.

ACT I, SCENE iii
Enter AEYMLIO solus

I can’t help thinking I am a very accomplish’d person, and truly the more I view my self, it still puts me in mind of the fellows that hang in chains, for I am cloath’d much after their fashion. Ah, that thought was ominous, but this is certain, a hangman will get nothing by me. But in the meantime, till the gallows does think fit to receive me, what in the name of unkind stars shall I do to live? Shall I turn philosopher? Truly it must be a Cynick then, for I have a very barking stomach. Shall I take to the Law? There’s nothing to be done there in forma pauperis. Turn poet then? ’Tis impossible, I should be poorer. Something’s to be done, that my guts advise, and forthwith. I think I’ll hire my self out to some gardiner for a scarecrow, I am excellently equipp’d for that business. But I need not make too much haste neither, the crows will have me soon enough. In short, I am resolv’d to take upon me my quondam trade of cheating.

ACT I, SCENE iv
Enter DINON

But what have we here? This fellow, for what I perceive by his countenance, is sick of the same distemper.
DIN. (Solus.) Yonder are my worthy masters, Shallow, Grimm, and their tutor Gerund, a toasting about at a warm rate. If I don’t find some way to trick ’em out of their money, I shall be as egregious a fool as the best of ’em. For Mr. Freeman my masters father’s very rich, and tho’ he does not know what to do with money, I do.
AEM. An excellent servant this, faith, he has spoke my thoughts very concisely. I must be known to him, for I find we shall agree in our principles, and that is no small matter in friendship.
DIN. Now, worthy Dinon.
AEM. Oh ho, is that your name?
DIN. Let us have a specimen of your wit. I think, as your affairs stand, if you don’t make a good hand of these fools you are a very worthless fellow.
AEM. I can hold no longer, I am desperately in love with the rascal. (To Dinon.) Master Dinon, your most humble servant, I congratulate your safe arrival, and am heartily glad to see you well.
DIN. What frightful wretch is this? You want a half-penny. I know the old cant, a poor disbanded Soldier. You may spare your labor, sir, I have nothing for you.
AEM. As if we did not know one another. Honest Dinon, where’s your master? I warrant thee we’ll chouse him bravely.
DIN. [Aside.] What (the mischief) wou’d the fellow have? [Aloud.] You know my master, sirrah?
AEM. As well as I do you.
DIN. I verily believe you.
AEM. What? Don’t I know that blockhead, fool, that senceless ideot? We will DIN him to the quick, lad, we will ease him of his money.
DIN. [Aside.] Faith, this fellow (however it comes to pass) hath described my master as exactly as if he were his intimate. [Aloud.] But, prithee, since you are so familiar, tell me what your name is, my friend and necessary.
AEM. As if ’twere possible you cou’d forget me, honest Dinon. (Embraces him.)
DIN. No, no, but prithee keep your distance a little, for tho’ I love you very well, I remember I always had an aversion to that equipage of yours, you cattel.
AEM. What equipage? I have left all mine at home.
DIN. I mean your Back Friends.
AEM. Ah, you’re a wag, the same you ever was from a boy. Your expressions were always very biting.
DIN. Not so biting, friend, as that equipage of yours I spoke of.
AEM. Puh, puh, you need not fear any thing of that nature, tho’, I confess, I have not put my holiday cloathes on to day. I thought to have staid at home. But all that know me, know I am not curious in my habit.
DIN. Thank heaven, I don’t know you. But, my old friend, whether you neglect your self or no I can’t say, but really, I think your cloaths become you. If you rise in the dark, you might easily put on your breeches instead of your doublet. In my mind ’twould be very difficult to distinguish —
AEM. I chuse to go cool, for heat kills me.
DIN. Will you take my advice? Die as soon as conveniently you can, and the parish will take care to bury you more decently than you live.
AEM. I have no inclination to feed worms as yet.
DIN. O my conscience, you have not so much linen about you as would cover a cut finger.
AEM. ’Tis at the wash.
DIN. Your hat. Too full of holes, good manners or necessity will not suffer you to be covered.
AEM. Do you envy me?
DIN Though are the first walking dunghil I ever beheld.
AEM. You are my friend, but if you said this to me in earnest —
DIN. What then?
AEM. I would take it in jest.
DIN. A pleasant fellow this. But that I am a little busie, I would hold some farther discourse. Farewel, worthy sir!
AEM. I beseech, what, will you forsake your friend? What shall I do?
DIN. Hang your self.
AEM. But one word with you. You have a design in your head to cheat your master. Don’t deny it, I say you have. Now if you will give me a part in this enterprize, you will find me a convenience perhaps worthy of your care. My master Bombardo, a blustring soldier, is out of town, and hath left the care of his house to me till he returns. That will be a very fit place to manage our designs in.
DIN. Hath not the fellow pick’d my pocket? He was too near me.
AEM. Have no you picked mine? You were near me too. Oh no, all’s well.
DIN. I take thee into my friendship, and would hardly doubt of cheating Mercury himself by thy assistance. Thy name?
AEM. Aemylio.
DIN. Give me thy hand, Aemylio. I accept thy proposal, but you shall swear to be very faithful.
AEM. If we are not faithful to one another, where is there any faith? We lose time by talking. Tell me where these fools are, for my fingers itch to be about their pockets.
DIN. I’ll give you an account as we go. But with that habit, my Aemylio —
AEM. Be easie, ’tis not alamode indeed.
DIN. Was there ever a friendship so odly begun?
AEM. My good genius.
DIN. (Embrace.) My other half.
AEM. My Pylades.
DIN. My Orestes. But leave trifling, lead the way, I’ll follow you.
AEM. As if I had so little breeding, not to give place to a stranger.
DIN. I’ll not stir a foot. Sir, you are the greater knave, and that demands precedence.
AEM. Therefore let’s go together, my Convenience.
DIN. My Opportunity. (Exeunt.)

ACT I, SCENE v
A room at an inn. GERUND, SHALLOW and GRINN drinking, a Boy waiting, all almost drunk

GER. As in the second scene of the first Act of Plautus’ Menaechmus, so say I, “let us bury this day.”
GRINN Is the day dead, Tutor? Ha, ha, is the day dead?
SHAL. Let it die or hang it self, which it please. Boy, more wine, have you no better wine, sirrah?
BOY Sir, no man in the town could give you better if you were his brother.
SHAL. Brother, rascal? What brother to a vintner? I am Shallow Freeman Esquire, eldest son and heir to my father. (Drinks.)
BOY See, sir, how it rises.
SHAL. Tutor, I will not give you half a glass, I am better bred. Boy, give our tutor some wine.
BOY (Call within.) Presently, presently, coming, sir.
GRINN Now will I be witty upon the boy. Come hither, boy.
BOY Yes, sir.
GRINN Come nearer, sirrah. What are you doing, I say?
BOY. Sir, you see —
GRINN Sir, you are so lititle I can hardly see you.
BOY Presently, I come I come. Speak in the Crown there.
GRINN He is flown away. I knocked him down with one word, I must learn not to be so very witty.
GER. Dear Pupil, spare the boy, for the boy is ingenui vultus puer, ingenuique GRINN.
GRINN He could not make one word of answer, ha, ha, ha.
SHAL. Boy, some wine quickly. We waste the pretious minutes.
GER. Do ye hear? Bring the Leucadian, Lesbian, Falernian, Masican, and whatever sorts or wines we read of in our authors.
BOY It shall be done, sir. Wine for the Rose here.
SHAL. Boy, make haste again and bring a bottle that’s bigger than your self. You are so little I could easily toss you down my throat in a glass of sack instead of the yolk of an egg.

ACT I, SCENE vi
Enter AEMYLIO

BOY (To Aemylio.) Where do you go, friend? These gentlemen don’t want a fidler.
AEM. What, you dwarf, fragment, nature’s covetousness, must I not speak with my BOY?
BOY Your friends! Seek ’em in some blind alehouse, they ne’er drink wine but on a prince’s birth-day, when every conduit runs it.
AEM. About your business, you troublesome imp.
BOY Coming, coming, sir. (Exit.)
AEM. Gentlemen, give an old friend leave to say, God save you. I am extremely glad to see you here alive and well. Perhaps the insolence of fortune, which is too apparent in my habit, may have driven me from your memories.
GER. Sir, you guess right.
GRINN You have hit the nail on the head, sir.
AEM. But I shall always remember you, and I have very good reason. For your good father Alderman Freeman receiv’d me very hospitably as I was returning from my travels.
GER. Truly a good memory.
AEM. Master Grinn, your most humble servant. [Aside.] Heaven send I guess right. [Aloud.] Master Shallow, yours.
SHAL. Faith, I know him no more than the Man in the Moon, but since he will have it so, sir, your most humble servant.
GRINN I’ll be witty on him. Pray, sir, have not these cloathes been your fellow travellers?
AEM. Ay, you see me, sir, just as I left the field. My haste to see my friends would not suffer me to dress.
GRINN Truly, sir, but bad cloaths. Gad I think they are deserters. Hang ’em up, hang ’em up for deserters, ha, ha ha.
AEM. Oh sir, you’re witty, as you always were.
GRINN Ha, ha, deserters. If there was not a stranger here, I wou’d down with that jest. I fear I shall lose it.
AEM. This coat, sir, hath been cut to pieces with swords, and this hat very often shot thro’.
GER. Bella per Aemathios plus quam civilia campos.
Lest he should think me proud, I will make as if I knew him. I don’t know him, but that signifies nothing. Amicus certus in re incerta cernitur, according to the poet.
AEM. And how does my good friend, the Alderman’s wife? How does she bear her age?
GRINN
As she does an injury, sir, very ill, ha, ha. If there were a hundred strangers here, I would write that. (Writes.)
GER. (To Aemylio.) Oh, sir, your humble servant. Now I remember you very well.
SHAL. Do you know him, Tutor? what is his name?
GER. His name? ’Twas at my tongue’s end.
AEM. (Aside.) I am undone, I have forgotten my name. [Aloud.] Oh, my name, sir, is Peripolemarchus. Our family came originally from Greece.
GER. That I should not remember you before!
GRINN Certainly when I consider, I have seen that face before.
SHAL. Ay, I remember him too, I think. Come, sir, my service. So you, honest Peripo — Periplo — No matter, you know what I mean. Here’s to you.
GER. Let us sit that we may observe some method to our wine. Call the boy, Pupil.
AEM. [Aside.] Two things will conquer these blockheads, that is, drunkenness and I. [Aloud.] Hark’e, boy, while we are drinking, order a song within. Come, gentlemen, let’s begin a bumper.
GER. Sir, I approve of your advice. About with it.
SHAL. I am sober enough yet. Hark, the song!
GER. What ho, Shallow, what, asleep?
SHAL. No, no, no, let me alone.
GRINN Shallow is drunk, very drunk.
SHAL. Am I drunk? Am I drunk, Tutor? Lend me your sword, Periplomachy.
GRINN I see yonder a confused company of people. I doubt you’re drunk, Tutor.
GER. Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris,
as the poet has it. How dost thou do, my dear friend and old acquaintance?
GRINNArma virumque cano. (Drinks.) Why, Tutor, I say, Gerund, what, won’t you speak? I believe you are so drunk you are become a gerund in dum, he, he, he.
SHAL. I am very well yet. I’ll drink again, that they may not think I am drunk.
DIN. (From behind the scene to Aemylio.) Ah, how each man indulges his genius! If I am not mistaken, my good master, to morrow you will weep as much as you have drunk to day. Then ’twill be our turn to be merry, my Aemylio.
AEM. Had I drunk fairly, I doubt they wou’d have conquer’d. They swallow a prodigious quantity.
GRINN. I am not drunk, Grinn.
AEM
. Nor I
GER. Nor I.
SHAL. Very well then, my service to you.
GRINN But I am very witty.
SHAL. I am witty too.
GRINN But I am exceedingly witty.
GER. Boy, give me some wine quickly, or I’ll box your ears.
GRINN Oh, Shallow, I love you so, I can hardly forbear weeping.
SHAL. Oh, my dear Grinn.
GRINN
Oh, my Shallow. (Dinon makes a noise like sailors in a storm.)
SHAL. Oh, save us! A tempest is risen, let us go to prayers, Tutor.
GRINN A tempest, ay truly, and the ship is so toss’d and tumbled about I can hardly stand.
GER. Troth, I had forgot we were on shipboard. Oh! Dear sailors, take care of the ship. The tempest increases.
DIN. (Within.) Let every man prepare himself for death. The ship can’t live an hour.
AEM. Ah, my brave Dinon.
GER. (To the candles.) See the Twin-stars appear. This is Pollux and this Castor.
AEM. Hark’e, pilot, how long can we live?
DIN. Not half an hour.
SHAL. Oh miserable me! I shall vomit again thro’ fear. Well, if I am drown’d now, I will never go to sea again, that’s certain.
AEM. Look’e, Gerund, do you see that wave?
GER. Ah, sir,
Decimae venit impetus undae,
as the poet has it.
GRINN Now wholl will drink my health? Well, I can’t help joking even now. I believe I shall expire with a jest in my mouth.
SHAL. I hate to think of dying. Oh, how often have I sinned! [Drinks.] How often I have whored! [Drinks.] But now I shall never see my father again, never drink any more wine. [Drinks.] Dear Tutor, Tutor, let us go to prayers. (Enter Boy.}
BOY Did you call?
AEM. Pox take you for an untimely rascal, be gone. [Exit Boy.]
GER. What’s the matter?
AEM. Do you see that sea god there that sits at the helm?
GRINN No, certainly it was a great fish.
AEM. A fish?
GRINN Ay, I know it was a fish by its voice.
DIN. (Within.) Our anchors gone, the sails are down, the ship is just now a sinking, we are lost. (Comes in, flings water upon them.) I’ll venture to empty this monteth upon them. [Aloud.] Ah, we are lost.
GER. See how the water comes in. Dear Peripolemarche, put me into the hold of the ship.
GRINN And me, and me, I beseech you. (Aemylio thrusts’ em both into a woodhole.)
SHAL. Well, fare you well, we must all die. (Tumbles down dead drunk.)
AEM. Now, Dinon, if I am not mightly mistaken, these fellows have suffr’d a real shipwreck. (Enter Boy.)
BOY Come, gentlemen, first pay the reckoning, that’s but reasonable, and then you may reward me for my industry as you think I deserve.
AEM. Oh, sir. We shall take care of you.
BOY We’ll however remove this ass out of the way.
DIN. First take him in and strip him, and then clap him into the wood-hole with the rest.
AEM. I fancy this wou’d make a pleasant scene in a comedy. (Exeunt.)

Go to Act II