PHILOMUSUS.
Ill-sailing, where there blows no happy gale!
STUDIOSO.
Our ship is ruin'd, all her tackling rent.
PHILOMUSUS.
And all her gaudy furniture is spent.
STUDIOSO.
Tears be the waves whereon her ruins bide.
PHILOMUSUS.
And sighs the winds that waste her broken side.
STUDIOSO.
Mischief the pilot is the ship to steer.
PHILOMUSUS.
And woe the passenger this ship doth bear.
STUDIOSO.
Come, Philomusus, let us break this chat.
PHILOMUSUS.
And break, my heart! O, would I could break that!
STUDIOSO.
Let's learn to act that tragic part we have.