Mir. Your story would cure deafness.
Prosp. This false duke Needs would be absolute in Milan, and confederate With Savoy's duke, to give him tribute, and To do him homage.
Mir. False man!
Prosp. This duke of Savoy, being an enemy To me inveterate, strait grants my brother's suit; And on a night, mated to his design, Antonio opened the gates of Milan, and In the dead of darkness hurried me thence, With thy young sister, and thy crying self.
Mir. But wherefore did they not that hour destroy us?
Prosp. They durst not, girl, in Milan, for the love My people bore me; in short, they hurried us Away to Savoy, and thence aboard a bark at Nissa's port, Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigged, No tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively had quit it.
Mir. Alack! what trouble Was I then to you?
Prosp. Thou and thy sister were Two cherubims, which did preserve me: You both Did smile, infused with fortitude from heaven.
Mir. How came we ashore?