Ant. Of Ariadne, Madam?
Asp. Yes that piece. This should be Theseus, h'as a cousening face, You meant him for a man.
Ant. He was so Madam.
Asp. Why then 'tis well enough, never look back,
You have a full wind, and a false heart Theseus;
Does not the story say, his Keel was split,
Or his Masts spent, or some kind rock or other
Met with his Vessel?
Ant. Not as I remember.
Asp. It should ha' been so; could the Gods know this,
And not of all their number raise a storm?
But they are all as ill. This false smile was well
exprest;
Just such another caught me; you shall not go
so Antiphila,
In this place work a quick-sand,
And over it a shallow smiling Water.
And his ship ploughing it, and then a fear.
Do that fear to the life Wench.
Ant. 'Twill wrong the story.
Asp. 'Twill make the story wrong'd by wanton Poets Live long and be believ'd; but where's the Lady?
Ant. There Madam.
Asp. Fie, you have mist it here Antiphila,
You are much mistaken Wench;
These colours are not dull and pale enough,
To shew a soul so full of misery
As this sad Ladies was; do it by me,
Do it again by me the lost Aspatia,
And you shall find all true but the wild Island;
I stand upon the Sea breach now, and think
Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind,
Wild as that desart, and let all about me
Tell that I am forsaken, do my face