Whose virtue the shrill trump of fame so far hath blown.
Pithias. My Damon, of right high praise we ought to give
To Neptune and all the gods, that we safely did arrive:
The seas, I think, with contrary winds never raged so;
I am even yet so seasick, that I faint as I go;
Therefore let us get some lodging quickly.
But where is Stephano?
Here entereth Stephano.
Stephano. Not far hence: a pox take these mariner-knaves,
Not one would help me to carry this stuff, such drunken slaves