Bright. Master Timothy!
How, in the name of fresh cod, came you chang'd
Into a sea-calf thus?
New. 'Slight, sir, here be
Two fishmongers to buy you; bate the price,
Now y' are awake, yourself.
Tim. How's this? my hands
Transmuted into claws? my feet made flounders?
Array'd in fins and scales? Aren't you
Asham'd to make me such a monster? Pray,
Help to undress me.
Plot. We have rare news for you.
Tim. No letter from the lady, I hope.
Plot. Your father
And my grave uncle, sir, are cast away.
Tim. How?
Plot. They by this have made a meal
For jacks and salmon: they are drown'd.
Bright. Fall down,
And worship sea-coals; for a ship of them
Has made you, sir, an heir.
Plot. This fellow here
Brings the auspicious news: and these two friends
Of ours confirm it.