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250 WILLIAM CONGREVE [ACT III
And then he let fly at her
A shot 'twixt wind and water,
That won this fair maid's heart.
If some of our crew that came to sec me are not gone, you
shall see that we sailors can dance sometimes as well as
other folks.—[Whistles.] I warrant that brings 'em, an they
be within hearing.
Enter Sailors.
Oh, here they be!—and fiddles along with 'em. Come, my
lads, let's have a round, and I'll make one. [They dance.
Ben. We're merry folks, we sailors, we han't much to
care for. Thus we live at sea; eat biscuit, and drink flip;
put on a clean shirt once a quarter—come home and lie
with our landladies once a year, get rid of a little money;
and then put off with the next fair wind. How d'ye like us?
Mrs. Frail. O you are the happiest, merriest men alive!
Mrs. Fore. We're beholden to Mr. Benjamin for this entertainment.—I
believe it's late.
Ben. Why, forsooth, an you think so, you had best go to
bed. For my part, I mean to toss a can, and remember my
sweetheart, afore I turn in; mayhap I may dream of her.
Mrs. Fore. Mr. Scandal, you had best go to bed and
dream too.
Scan. Why faith, I have a good lively imagination; and
can dream as much to the purpose as another, if I set about
it; but dreaming is the poor retreat of a lazy, hopeless, and
imperfect lover; 'tis the last glimpse of love to worn-out
sinners, and the faint dawning of a bliss to wishing girls
and growing boys.
There's nought but willing, waking love that can
Make blest the ripened maid and finished man.
[Exeunt.