_Enter Baptista and Mentivole._ _Ces._ How far am I grown behind hand with fortune! _Bap._ Here's _Cesario_! My son Sir, is to morrow to be married Unto the fair _Clarissa_. _Ces._ So. _Ment._ Wee hope you'll be a guest there. _Ces._ No I will not grace your triumph so much. _Bap._ I will not tax your breeding. But it alters not your birth Sir, fare you well. _Ment._ Oh Sir, doe not greive him, He has too much affliction already. [_Exeunt._ _Enter a Sailor._ _Ces._ Every way scorn'd and lost, Shame follow you For I am grown most miserable. _Sail._ Sir do you know a Ladies son in town here They cal _Cesario_? _Cesar._ There's none such I assure thee. _Sail._ I was told you were the man. _Cesar._ What's that to thee? _Sail._ A ---- on't. You are melancholy, will you drink Sir? _Cesar._ With whom? _Sail._ With me Sir; despise not this pitch'd Canvas; the time was we have known them lin'd with Spanish Duckets; I have news for you: _Cesar._ For me! _Sail._ Not unless you'll drink; We are like our Sea provision, once out of pickle, We require abundance of drink; I have news to tell you, That were you Prince, Would make you send your mandate To have a thousand bonfires made i'th' City And pist out agen with nothing but Greek wine. _Cesar._ Come, I will drink with thee howsoever. _Sail._ And upon these terms I will utter my mind to you. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._ _Enter Alberto, Prospero, Juliana and Sailors._ _Sail._ Shall we bring your necessaries ashore my Lord? _Alb._ Do what you please, I am land-sick, worse by far Than ere I was at sea. _Pros._ Collect your self. _Alber._ O my most worthy _Prospero_, my best friend, The noble favor I receiv'd from thee In freeing me from the Turks I now accompt Worse than my death; for I shall never live To make requitall; what do you attend for? _Sail._ To understand your pleasure. _Alber._ They do mock me; I do protest I have no kind of pleasure In any thing i'th' world, but in thy friendship, I must ever except that. _Pros._ Pray leave him, leave him.---- [_Exeunt Sailors._ _Alber._ The news I heard related since my landing Of the division of my Family, How is it possible for any man To bear't with a set patience? _Pros._ You have suffer'd Since your imprisonment more waighty sorrows.