[470] Ed. 2. “and.”
A Public Place.
Enter Albano with Slip, his Page.
Alb. Can it be? Is’t possible? Is’t within the bounds of faith? O villainy!
Slip. The clapper of rumour strikes on both sides, ringing out the French knight is in firm possession of my mistress, your wife.
Alb. Is’t possible I should be dead so soon In her affects? How long is’t since our shipwrack?
Slip. Faith, I have little arithmetic in me, yet I remember the storm made me cast up perfectly the whole sum of all I had receiv’d; three days before I was liquor’d soundly; my guts were rinced ’fore the heavens. I look as pale ever since, as if I had ta’en the diet[471] this spring. 13
Alb. But how long is’t since our shipwrack?
Slip. Marry, since we were hung by the heels on the batch of Sicily, to make a jail-delivery of the sea in our maws, ’tis just three months. Shall I speak like a poet?—thrice hath the horned moon——