Part 7 (1/2)

_Elder Lo._ Too sure Sir.

_Young Lo._ I but art thou very certainly sure of it?

_Elder Lo._ As sure Sir, as I tell it.

_Young Lo._ But art thou sure he came not up again?

_Elder Lo._ He may come up, but ne're to call you Brother.

_Young Lo._ But art sure he had water enough to drown him?

_Elder Lo._ Sure Sir, he wanted none.

_Young Lo._ I would not have him want, I lov'd him better; here I forgive thee: and i'faith be plain, how do I bear it?

_Elder Lo._ Very wisely Sir.

_Young Lo_. Fill him some wine. Thou dost not see me mov'd, these transitorie toyes ne're trouble me, he's in a better place, my friend I know't. Some fellows would have cryed now, and have curst thee, and faln out with their meat, and kept a pudder; but all this helps not, he was too good for us, and let G.o.d keep him: there's the right use on't friend. Off with thy drink, thou hast a spice of sorrow makes thee dry: fill him another. _Savill_, your Master's dead, and who am I now _Savill_? Nay, let's all bear it well, wipe _Savill_ wipe, tears are but thrown away: we shall have wenches now, shall we not _Savill_?

_Savill_. Yes Sir.

_Young Lo_. And drink innumerable.

_Savil_. Yes forsooth.

_Young Lo_. And you'll strain curtsie and be drunk a little?

_Savil_. I would be glad, Sir, to doe my weak endeavour.

_Yo. Lo_. You may be brought in time to love a wench too.

_Savil_. In time the st.u.r.die Oak Sir.

_Young Lo_. Some more wine for my friend there.

_Elder Lo_. I shall be drunk anon for my good news: but I have a loving Brother, that's my comfort.

_Youn[g] Lo_. Here's to you Sir, this is the worst I wish you for your news: and if I had another elder Brother, and say it were his chance to feed Haddocks, I should be still the same you see me now, a poor contented Gentleman. More wine for my friend there, he's dry again.

_Elder Lo_. I shall be if I follow this beginning. Well my dear Brother, if I scape this drowning, 'tis your turn next to sink, you shall duck twice before I help you. Sir I cannot drink more; pray let me have your pardon.

_Young Lo_. O Lord Sir, 'tis your modestie: more wine, give him a bigger gla.s.s; hug him my Captain, thou shalt be my chief mourner.

_Capt_. And this my pennon: Sir, a full carouse to you, and to my Lord of Land here.

_Elder Lo_. I feel a buzzing in my brains, pray G.o.d they bear this out, and I'le ne're trouble them so far again. Here's to you Sir.

_Young Lo_. To my dear Steward, down o' your knees you infidel, you Pagan; be drunk and penitent.

_Savil._ Forgive me Sir, and I'le be any thing.