Sebas. He is drunk now: where had he wine?
Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded[465-58] ’em?—
How camest thou in this pickle?
Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last, that I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.[465-59]
Sebas. Why, how now, Stephano!
Steph. O, touch me not! I am not Stephano, but a cramp.
Pros. You’d be king o’ the isle, sirrah?
Steph. I should have been a sore[465-60] one, then.
Alon. [Pointing to Cal.] This is as strange a thing as e’er I look’d on.
Pros. He is as disproportion’d in his manners
As in his shape.—Go, sirrah, to my cell;
Take with you your companions; as you look
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
Cal. Ay, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter,
And seek for grace. What a thrice double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,
And worship this dull fool!