1 Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.
2 You have spoken truer than you purposed.
3 I fear you have done yourself some wrong.
4 So you may continue, and laugh at nothing still.
5 A southwest blow on you And blister you all o'er.
6 You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.
7 You rub the sore When you should bring the plaster.
8 Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you.
9 Curtsied when you have, and kissed The wild waves whist.
10 No, I warrant you, I will not adventure my discretion so weakly.
11 O, if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The Queen of Naples.
12 If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
13 My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness And time to speak it in.
14 As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed With raven's feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both.
15 You are a councillor; if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more.
16 If you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.
17 Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African, Where she at least is banished from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't.'
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