Enter Viola, Roberto, and two Sailors, carrying a Trunk.
Vio. What country, friends, is this?
Rob. This is Illyria, lady.
Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance, he is not drown'd:—What think you, sailors?
Rob. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.
Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance may he be.
Rob. True, madam; and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you, and that poor number saved with you,
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could see.
Vio. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
Rob. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born,
Not three hours travel from this very place.
Vio. Who governs here?