Trinc. What subject, or what dominions? Here's old sack, boys; the king of good fellows can be no subject. I will be old Simon the king.
Must. Ha, old boy! how didst thou scape?
Trinc. Upon a butt of sack, boys, which the sailors threw overboard.—But are you alive, hoa! for I will tipple with no ghosts, till I'm dead. Thy hand, Mustacho, and thine, Ventoso; the storm has done its worst.—Stephano alive too! give thy boatswain thy hand, master.
Vent. You must kiss it then; for I must tell you, we have chosen him duke, in a full assembly.
Trinc. A duke! where? What's he duke of?
Must. Of this island, man. Oh, Trincalo, we are all made: The island's empty; all's our own, boy; and we will speak to his grace for thee, that thou mayest be as great as we are.
Trinc. You great! what the devil are you?
Vent. We two are viceroys over all the island; and, when we are weary of governing, thou shalt succeed us.
Trinc. Do you hear, Ventoso? I will succeed you in both places, before you enter into them.
Steph. Trincalo, sleep, and be sober; and make no more uproars in my country.