Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em?
How camest thou in this pickle?
Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.
Seb. Why, how now, Stephano!
Steph. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp.
Pros. You'ld be king o' the isle, sirrah?
Steph. I should have been a sore one then.
Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on.
