I do?--oh, for some Auger-hole to
thrust my head into, for I could never indure the noise of Cannons,--oh,
'tis insupportable,--intolerable--and not to be indur'd.
[_Running as mad about the Stage_.

_Isa_. Dear Father, be not so frighted. [_Weeps_.

_Fran_. Ah, Crocodile, wou'd thou hadst wept thy Eyes out long ago, that
thou hadst never seen this Count; then he had never lov'd thee, and then
we had never been invited a ship-board.
[_A noise of fighting_.

_Enter_ Guiliom, Pet. _and_ Antonio, driven in fighting
by Guzman _and other_ Turks.

_Ant_. Ah, Sir, the _Turks_ have boarded us, we're lost, we're lost.

_Fran_. Oh, I am slain, I'm slain. [_Falls down_.

_Guil_. Hold, hold, I say, you are now in the presence of Ladies, and
'tis uncivil to fight before Ladies.

_Guz_. Yield then, you are our Slaves.

_Guil_. Slaves, no Sir, we're Slaves to none but the Ladies.
[_Offers to fight_.

_Isa_. Oh, hold, rude man,--d'ye know whom you encounter?

_Guz_. What's here--one dead--
[_Looking on_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Oh, Lord!

_Guz_. Or, if he be not, he's old, and past service, we'll kill the
Christian Dog out of the way.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, I'm no Christian, Gentlemen; but as errant a
Heathen as your selves.

_Guz_. Bind him strait, neck and heels, and clap him under hatches.

_Jul_. Oh, spare him, Sir, look on his Reverend Age.

_Guz_. For your sake, Lady, much may be done, we've need of handsom
Women.
[_Gives her to some Turks that are by_.

_Fran_. Hah,--my Wife! My Wife ravish'd--oh, I'm dead.

_Jul_. Fear not, my dear, I'll rather die than do thee wrong.

_Fran_. Wou'd she wou'd, quickly,--then there's her Honour sav'd, and
her Ransom, which is better.

_Guz_. Down with the muttering Dog; [_He descends_.
--And takes the Ladies to several Cabins.
[_The Turks take hold of the Men_.

_Isa_. Must we be parted then?--ah, cruel Destiny! [_Weeps_.

_Guil_. Alas! this Separation's worse than Death.

_Isa_. You possibly may see some _Turkish_ Ladies, that may insnare your
Heart, and make you faithless;--but I, ah Heavens! if ever I change my
Love, may I become deformed, and lose all hopes of Title or of Grandure.

_Guil_. But should the _Grand Seignior_ behold thy Beauty, thou wou'ds