Classic Poem

ACT V. S CEN. V.

Shape, Slicer, Hearsay.

Sha. Lye thou there Watchman; how the knave that's look'd for
May often lurck under the Officer!
Invention I applaud thee.
Hear. London aire
Me thinks begins to be too hot for us.
Slic. There is no longer tarrying here, let's swear
Fidelity to one another, and
So resolve for New England.
Hear. 'Tis but getting
A little Pigeon-hole reformed Ruff — —
Slic. Forcing our Beards into th' Orthodox bent — —
Sha. Nosing a little Treason 'gainst the King;
Bark something at the Bishops, and we shall
Be easily receiv'd.
Hear. No fitter Place.
They are good silly People; Souls that will
Be cheated without trouble: One eye is
Put out with Zeal, th' other with Ignorance,
And yet they think they're Eagles.
Sha. We are made
Just fit for that Meridian: no good work's
Allow'd there; Faith, Faith is that they call for,
And we will bring it 'em.
Slic. What Language speak they?
Hear. English, and now and then a Root or two
Of Hebrew, which wee'l learn of some Dutch Skipper
That goes along with us this Voyage; Now
We want but a good Wind, the Brethrens sighs
Must fill our sailes. For what old England won't
Afford, New England will. You shall hear of us
By the next Ship that comes for Proselytes.
Each soyl is not the good mans Country only;
Nor is the lot his to be still at home:
Wee'l claime a share, and prove that Nature gave
This Boon, as to the good, so to the knave.