Act 4 - Scene 1
The coast of Kent.
Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a Captain, a Master, a Master's-mate, WALTER WHITMORE,
and others; with them SUFFOLK, and others, prisoners
The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
And now loud-howling wolves
arouse the jades
That drag the tragic melancholy night;
Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings,
dead men's graves and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
forth the soldiers of our prize;
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here shall they make their
ransom on the sand,
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.
Master, this prisoner freely give I
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.
What is my ransom, master? let me know.
A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
the villains' throats; for die you shall:
The lives of those which we have lost in fight
Be counterpoised with
such a petty sum!
I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.
And so will I and write home for it straight.
I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;
And so should these, if I might have my will.
Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
Look on my George; I am a gentleman:
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
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