Beaumont and Fletcher's Works. Volume 9. Beaumont Francis

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      Lam. Shee's fast asleep already,

      Why should she have this blessing, and we wake still,

      Wake to our wants?

      Mor. This thing hath been our overthrow,

      And all these biting mischiefs that fall on us

      Are come through her means.

      Fran. True, we were bound ye all know,

      For happy places, and most fertile Islands,

      Where we had constant promises of all things,

      She turn'd the Captains mind,

      And must have him go in search, I know not of who,

      Nor to what end: of such a fool her brother,

      And such a coxcomb her kinsman, and we must put in every where,

      She has put us in now yfaith.

      Lam. Why should we consume thus, and starve,

      Have nothing to relieve us;

      And she live there that bred all our miseries,

      Unrosted, or unsod?

      Mor. I have read in stories.

      Lam. Of such restoring meates,

      We have examples;

      Thousand examples, and allow'd for excellent;

      Women that have eate their Children,

      Men their slaves, nay their brothers: but these are nothing;

      Husbands devoured their Wives: (th[ey] are their Chattels,)

      And of a Schoolmaster, that in a time of famine,

      Powdered up all his Scholars.

      Mor. Shee's young and tydie,

      In my conscience she'll eat delicately;

      Just like young Pork a little lean,

      Your opinion Surgeon.

      Sur. I think she may be made good meat,

      But look we shall want Salt.

      Fran. Tush, she needs no powdering.

      Sur. I grant ye;

      But to suck out the humorous parts: by all means,

      Lets kill her in a chafe, she'll eat the sweeter.

      Lam. Let's kill her any way: and kill her quickly,

      That we might be at our meat.

      Sur. How if the Captain?

      Mor. Talk not of him, he's dead, and the rest famish'd.

      Wake her Surgeon, and cut her throat,

      And then divide her, every Man his share.

      Fran. She wakes her self.

      Amin. Holy and good things keep me!

      What cruel dreams have I had! Who are these?

      O they are my friends; for heavens sake Gentlemen

      Give me some food to save my life: if ye have ought to spare;

      A little to relieve me: I may bless ye;

      For weak and wretched, ready to perish,

      Even now I die.

      Mor. You'll save a labor then,

      You bred these miseries, and you shall pay for't;

      We have no meat, nor where to have we know not,

      Nor how to pull our selves from these afflictions,

      We are starv'd too, famisht, all our hopes deluded;

      Yet ere we die thus, wee'll have one dainty meal.

      Amin. Shall I be with ye Gentlemen?

      Lam. Yes mary shall ye: in our bellies Lady.

      We love you well —

      Amin. What said you Sir?

      Lam. Mary wee'll eat your Ladiship.

      Fran. You that have buried us in this base Island,

      Wee'll bury ye in a more noble Monument.

      Sur. Will ye say your prayers, that I may perform Lady?

      We are wondrous sharp set; come Gentlemen,

      Who are for the hinder parts?

      Mor. I.

      Fran. I.

      Lam. And I.

      Sur. Be patient;

      They will not fall to every Man's share.

      Amin. O hear me;

      Hear me ye barbarous men.

      Mor. Be short and pithy,

      Our stomachs cannot stay a long discourse.

      Sur. And be not fearful,

      For I'll kill ye daintily.

      Amin. Are ye not Christians?

      Lam. Why, do not Christians eat Women?