ABSTRACT
VENTOSO. What a sea comes in? MUSTACHO. A hoaming16 sea! We shall have foul
weather.
[Enter Trincalo.
TRINCALO. The scud17 comes against the wind, ’twill blow hard.
[Enter Stephano.
STEPHANO. Bosen! TRINCALO. Here, Master, what say you? STEPHANO. Ill weather! Let’s off to sea. MUSTACHO. Let’s have sea room enough, and then
let it blow the Devil’s head off. STEPHANO. Boy! Boy!
