CERIMON.
Whate’er it be,
’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:
If the sea’s stomach be o’ercharged with gold,
’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
’Tis so, my lord.
CERIMON.
How close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed!
Did the sea cast it up?
FIRST SERVANT.
I never saw so huge a billow, sir,
As toss’d it upon shore.
CERIMON.
Wrench it open;
Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
A delicate odour.
CERIMON.
As ever hit my nostril. So up with it.
O you most potent gods! what’s here? a corpse!
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Most strange!
CERIMON.
Shrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasured
With full bags of spices! A passport too!
Apollo, perfect me in the characters!
[Reads from a scroll.]