Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 09 of 10

1 Sailor. She'll never brook it Master. She's so deep laden that she'll bulge. Master. Hang her. Can she not buffet with a storm a little? How it tosses her, she reels like a Drunkard. 2 Sail. We have discover'd the Land, Sir, Pray let's make in, she's so drunk else, She may chance to cast up all her Lading. 1 Sail. Sland in, sland in, we are all lost else, lost and perish'd. Mast. Steer her a Star-board there.