2 Gent. Ha! how he looks!
Mast. Nay, mark him better Gentlemen.
2 Gent. Mercy upon me: how his eyes are altered!
Mast. Now tell me how ye like him: whether now
He be that perfect man ye credited?
Schol. Do's the Sea stagger ye?
Mast. Now ye have hit the nick.
Schol. Do ye fear the billows?
1 Gent. What ails him? who has stir'd him?
Schol. Be not shaken,
Nor let the singing of the storm shoot through ye,
Let it blow on, blow on: let the clouds wrastle,
And let the vapours of the earth turn mutinous,
The Sea in hideous mountains rise and tumble
Upon a Dolphins back, I'le make all tremble,
For I am Neptune.
Mast. Now what think ye of him?