Ant. He misses not much
Seb. No: he doth but mistake the truth totally
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
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
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?