Enter Stephano, Mustacho, and Ventoso.
Vent. The runlet of brandy was a loving runlet, and floated after us out of pure pity.
Must. This kind bottle, like an old acquaintance, swam after it. And this scollop-shell is all our plate now.
Vent. 'Tis well we have found something since we landed. I pr'ythee fill a sup, and let it go round.— Where hast thou laid the runlet?
Must. In the hollow of an old tree.
Vent. Fill apace; we cannot live long in this barren island, and we may take a sup before death, as well as others drink at our funerals.
Must. This is prize brandy; we steal custom, and it costs nothing. Let's have two rounds more.
Vent. Master, what have you saved?
Steph. Just nothing but myself.
Vent. This works comfortably on a cold stomach.