Gon. But the rariety of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit Seb. As many voucht rarieties are Gon. That our Garments being (as they were) drencht in the Sea, hold notwithstanding their freshnesse and glosses, being rather new dy'de then stain'd with salte water Ant. If but one of his pockets could speake, would it not say he lyes? Seb. I, or very falsely pocket vp his report Gon. Me thinkes our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Affricke, at the marriage of the kings faire daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our returne Adri. Tunis was neuer grac'd before with such a Paragon to their Queene Gon. Not since widdow Dido's time Ant. Widow? A pox o'that: how came that Widdow in? Widdow Dido! Seb. What if he had said Widdower aeneas too? Good Lord, how you take it? Adri. Widdow Dido said you? You make me study of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis Gon. This Tunis Sir was Carthage Adri. Carthage? Gon. I assure you Carthage Ant. His word is more then the miraculous Harpe Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too Ant. What impossible matter wil he make easy next? Seb. I thinke hee will carry this Island home in his pocket, and giue it his sonne for an Apple Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the Sea, bring forth more Islands Gon. I Ant. Why in good time Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seeme now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queene Ant. And the rarest that ere came there Seb. Bate (I beseech you) widdow Dido Ant. O Widdow Dido? I, Widdow Dido Gon. Is not Sir my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I meane in a sort Ant. That sort was well fish'd for Gon. When I wore it at your daughters marriage Alon. You cram these words into mine eares, against the stomacke of my sense: would I had neuer Married my daughter there: For comming thence My sonne is lost, and (in my rate) she too, Who is so farre from Italy remoued, I ne're againe shall see her: O thou mine heire Of Naples and of Millaine, what strange fish Hath made his meale on thee? Fran. Sir he may liue, I saw him beate the surges vnder him, And ride vpon their backes; he trod the water Whose enmity he flung aside: and brested The surge most swolne that met him: his bold head 'Boue the contentious waues he kept, and oared Himselfe with his good armes in lusty stroke To th' shore; that ore his waue-worne basis bowed As stooping to releeue him: I not doubt He came aliue to Land Alon. No, no, hee's gone Seb. Sir you may thank your selfe for this great losse, That would not blesse our Europe with your daughter, But rather loose her to an Affrican, Where she at least, is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the greefe on't Alon. Pre-thee peace