his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. [Exeunt.
Re-enter Boatswain.
Boats. Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try with main-course. [A cry within.] A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office.
Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo.
Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er and drown? Have you a mind to sink?
Seb. A plague o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable dog!
Boats. Work you then.
Ant. Hang, cur! hang, you insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.
Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell.
