Hip. Do not you know?
Ferd. How should I?
Hip. I well hoped I was a man, but, by your ignorance Of what I am, I fear it is not so.— Well, Prospero! this is now the second time You have deceived me.
Ferd. Sir, there is no doubt You are a man: But I would know, of whence?
Hip. Why, of this world; I never was in yours.
Ferd. Have you a father?
Hip. I was told I had one, And that he was a man; yet I have been So much deceived, I dare not tell't you for A truth: But I have still been kept a prisoner, For fear of women.
Ferd. They, indeed, are dangerous; For, since I came, I have beheld one here, Whose beauty pierced my heart.
Hip. How did she pierce? You seem not hurt.
Ferd. Alas! the wound was made by her bright eyes, And festers by her absence. But, to speak plainer to you, sir, I love her.