The Works of Aphra Behn
Chapter 291 : _Capt_. 'Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out._Fran_. Fight it out! oh,

_Capt_. 'Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out.

_Fran_. Fight it out! oh, I'm not able to indure it,--why, what the Devil made me a s.h.i.+p-board?

[_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Why, where be these _Turks_? set me to 'em, I'll make 'em smoke, Dogs, to dare attack a man of Quality.

_Isa_. Oh, the Insolence of these _Turks_! do they know who's aboard?

for Heaven's sake, my Lord, do not expose your n.o.ble Person.

_Guil_. What, not fight?--Not fight! A Lord, and not fight? Shall I submit to Fetters, and see my Mistress ravish'd by any great _Turk_ in Christendom, and not fight?

_Isa_. I'd rather be ravish'd a thousand times, than you should venture your Person.

[_Seamen shout within_.

_Fran_. Ay, I dare swear.

_Enter Seaman_.

_Sea_. Ah, Sirs, what mean you? Come on the Deck for shame.

_Ant_. My Lord, let us not tamely fall, there's danger near. [_Draws_.

_Guil_. Ay, ay, there's never smoke, but there's some fire--Come, let's away--ta la, tan ta la, la la, &c. [Draws.

[Exit _singing, and_ Antonio _and_ Pet.

_Fran_. A Pox of all Lords, I say, you must be janting in the Devil's name, and G.o.d's dry Ground wou'd not serve your turn. [_Shout here_.

Oh, how they thunder! What shall 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 s.h.i.+p-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 t.i.tle or of Grandure.

_Guil_. But should the _Grand Seignior_ behold thy Beauty, thou wou'dst despise thine own dear hony Viscount to be a _Sultana_.

_Isa_. A _Sultana_, what's that?

_Guil_. Why, 'tis the great _Turk_, a Queen of _Turkey_.

_Isa_. These dear expressions go to my Heart. [_Weeps_.

And yet a _Sultana_ is a tempting thing-- [_Aside smiling_.

--And you shall find your Isabella true,--though the _Grand Seignior_ wou'd lay his Crown at my feet,--wou'd he wou'd try me though--Heavens!

to be Queen of _Turkey_. [_Aside_.

_Guil_. May I believe thee,--but when thou seest the difference, alas, I am but a Chimney--hum, nothing to a great _Turk_.

_Isa_. Is he so rare a thing?--Oh, that I were a she great _Turk_.

[_Aside_.