I'll give it, sir: and
therefore
spare my life.
Shakespeare
Ordnance goes off.
Enter a LIEUTENANT,
a SHIPMASTER and his MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE, with sailors;
SUFFOLK and other GENTLEMEN, as prisoners
LIEUTENANT. 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
Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore bring 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 discoloured shore.
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
And thou that art his mate make boot of this;
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master, let me know?
MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
LIEUTENANT. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
Cut both the villains' throats- for die you shall;
The lives of those which we have lost in fight
Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum!
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
I'll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight.
WHITMORE. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
[To SUFFOLK] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die;
And so should these, if I might have my will.
LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
SUFFOLK. Look on my George, I am a gentleman:
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
WHITMORE. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore.
How now! Why start'st thou? What, doth death affright?
SUFFOLK. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
a SHIPMASTER and his MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE, with sailors;
SUFFOLK and other GENTLEMEN, as prisoners
LIEUTENANT. 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
Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore bring 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 discoloured shore.
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
And thou that art his mate make boot of this;
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master, let me know?
MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
LIEUTENANT. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
Cut both the villains' throats- for die you shall;
The lives of those which we have lost in fight
Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum!
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
I'll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight.
WHITMORE. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
[To SUFFOLK] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die;
And so should these, if I might have my will.
LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
SUFFOLK. Look on my George, I am a gentleman:
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
WHITMORE. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore.
How now! Why start'st thou? What, doth death affright?
SUFFOLK. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
