SCENE I. Kent. The sea-shore near Dover.

Firing heard at sea. Then enter, from a boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master's-Mate, WALTER WHITMORE, and others; with them SUFFOLK disguised, and others, prisoners.

Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful1 day

Is crept into the bosom of the sea; [And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades2

That drag the tragic melancholy night;

Who, with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings,

'Clip3 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,

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Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.

How now! why start'st thou? what, doth death affright?

Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.

A cunning man did calculate my birth
And told me that by water I should die:
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

Whit. Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care