Ant. That sort was well fished for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? Aion. You cram these words into mine ears, against The stomach of my sense: 'Would I had never Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy removed, I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Fran. Sir, he may live; I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bowed. He came alive to land. Alon. No, no, he's gone. Seb. 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, Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Seb. You were kneeled to, and importuned otherwise By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weighed, between loathness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost your son, I fear, forever; Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business' making, Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's Your own. My lord Sebastian, Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. When you should bring the plaster. Seb. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Very well. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Ant. Foul weather? Very foul. C Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord,- Seb. And women too; but innocent and pure: Seb. And yet he would be king on't. Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. Gon. All things in common nature should produce Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, To feed my innocent people. Seb. No marrying among his subjects? Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves. Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. Seb. Ant. Long live Gonzalo! 'Save his majesty! And, do you mark me, sir-? Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to min ister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing. Ant. 'Twas you we laughed at. Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. Ant. What a blow was there given! Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. dis Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my cretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. [All sleep but ALON. SEB. and ANT. Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find, They are inclined to do so. Seb. Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: Will guard your person, while you take your rest, Alon. Thank you: Wondrous heavy. Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! Why Seb. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. Ant. What might, Worthy Sebastian?-0, what might ?-No more ;- What thou should'st. be: the occasion speaks thee; and Dropping upon thy head. Seb. What, art thou waking? I do; and, surely, Ant. Do you not hear me speak? It is a sleepy language; and thou speak'st With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, Ant. Noble Sebastian, Thou dost snore distinctly, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st Seb. There's meaning in thy snores. Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you Must be so too, if heed me; which to do, Trebles thee o'er. Seb. Well; I am standing water. Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. Do so to ebb, If you but knew how you the purpose cherish, By their own fear, or sloth. Seb. Pr'ythee, say on: The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed, Which throes thee much to yield. Thus, sir: Ant. Although this lord of weak remembrance, this (Who shall be of as little memory, When he is earthed,) hath here almost persuaded (For he's a spirit of persuasion, only Professes to persuade) the king, his son's alive; 'Tis as impossible that he's undrowned, As he that sleeps here, swims. Seb. That he's undrowned. Ant. I have no hope O, out of that no hope What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me, Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples Can have no note, unless the sun were post, (The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast again; Whereof what's past is prologue: what to come, Seb. What stuff is this?-How say you? 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis; So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions There is some space. Ant. Measure us back to Naples?-Keep in Tunis, As this Gonzalo; I myself could make A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore Ant. And how does your content Tender your own good fortune? Seb. I remember, You did supplant your brother Prospero. Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kybe, If he were that which now he's like, that's dead; They'll tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour. Thy case, dear friend, Seb. Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st; And I the king shall love thee. Ant. C* Draw together: |