_Ant_. Not as I remember.

_Asp_. It should ha' been so; could the Gods know this,
And not of all their number raise a storm?
But they are all as ill. This false smile was well
exprest;
Just such another caught me; you shall not go
so _Antiphila_,
In this place work a quick-sand,
And over it a shallow smiling Water.
And his ship ploughing it, and then a fear.
Do that fear to the life Wench.

_Ant_. 'Twill wrong the story.

_Asp_. 'Twill make the story wrong'd by wanton Poets
Live long and be believ'd; but where's the Lady?

_Ant_. There Madam.

_Asp_. Fie, you have mist it here _Antiphila_,
You are much mistaken Wench;
These colours are not dull and pale enough,
To shew a soul so full of misery
As this sad Ladies was; do it by me,
Do it again by me the lost _Aspatia_,
And you shall find all true but the wild Island;
I stand upon the Sea breach now, and think
Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind,
Wild as that desart, and let all about me