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A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd,

Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats

Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us,

To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh

To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,

Did us but loving wrong.

Mira. Alack! what trouble

Was I then to you!

Pro. O, a cherubin

Thou wast, that did preserve me! Thou didst smile,

Infused with a fortitude from heaven,

When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,

Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me

An undergoing stomach, to bear up

Against what should ensue.

Mira. How came we ashore?

Pro. By providence divine.

Some food we had and some fresh water that

A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,

Out of his charity,—who being then appointed

Master of this design,—did give us; with

Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,

Which since have steaded much so, of his gentleness,

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me

From mine own library with volumes that

I prize above my dukedom.

Mira. Would I might

But ever see that man!

Pro. Now I arise:—

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.

Here in this island we arriv'd; and here

 146 butt: tub

155 deck'd: sprinkled

157 undergoing stomach: enduring courage

165 steaded much: stood us in good stead

169 Cf. n.

