Captain: Not meant? Thomas: I would say, I had forgotten Indian air Is full of fevers; and my health is bad For holding out against fever. Captain: As you please. I keep your fare, though. Thomas: O, 'tis yours.--Good sailing! [As he makes to depart, a Noble Stranger is seen approaching along the quay.] Captain: Well, here's a marvel: 'Tis a king, for sure! 'Twould take the taxes of a world to dress A man in that silken gold, and all those gems. What a flash the light makes of him; nay, he burns; And he's here on the quay all by himself, Not even a slave to fan him!--Man, you're ailing! You look like death; is it the falling sickness? Or has the mere thought of the Indian journey Made your marrow quail with a cold fever? The Stranger: (to the Captain) You are the master of this ship? Captain: I am. Stranger: This huddled man belongs to me: a slave Escaped my service. Captain: Lord, I knew not that. But you are in good time. Stranger: And was the slave For putting out with you? Where are you bound? Captain: To India. First he would sail, and then Again he would not. But, my Lord, I swear I never guesst he was a runaway. Stranger: Well, he shall have his mind and go with you To India: a good slave he is, but bears A restless thought. He has slipt off before, And vexes me still to be watching him. We'll make a bargain of him. Captain: I, my Lord? I have no need of slaves: I am too poor. Stranger: For twenty silver pieces he is yours. Captain: That's cheap, if he has skill. Yes, there might be Profit in him at that. Has he a trade? Stranger: He is a carpenter. Captain: A carpenter! Why, for a good one I'ld give all my purse. Stranger: No, twenty silver pieces is the price; Though 'tis a slave a king might joy to own. I've taught him to imagine palaces So high, and tower'd so nobly, they might seem The marvelling of a God-delighted heart Escaping into ecstasy; he knows, Moreover, of a stuff so rare it makes Smaragdus and the dragon-stone despised; And yet the quarries whereof he is wise Would yield enough to house the tribes of the world In palaces of beautiful shining work. Captain Lo there! why, that is it: the carpenter I am to bring is needed for to build The king's new palace. Stranger: Yea? He is your man. Captain: Come on, my man. I'll put your cunning heels Where they'll not budge more than a shuffled inch. My lord, if you'll bide with the rascal here I'll get the irons ready. Here's your sum.--