Gon.
Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause,
(So have we all) of joy! for our escape
Is much beyond our loss: our hint of woe
Is common every day, some sailor's wife,
The master of some merchant, and the merchant,
Have just our theme of woe: but for the miracle,
(I mean our preservation) few in millions,
Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

Alon.
Pr'ythee, peace.† ^note

Gon.

Methinks our garments are now as fresh, as when we put them on first in Africk, at the marriage of the King's fair daughter Claribel, to the King of Tunis.

Alon.
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.

Fran.
Sir, he may live.
I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; his bold head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms, in lusty strokes,
To th' shore: I not doubt,
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 banish'd from your eye,
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.

Alon.
Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb.
You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise,
By all of us; and the fair soul herself,
Weigh'd between lothness and obedience, at
Which end the beam should bow. We've lost your son,
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
More widows in them, of this business' making,
Than we bring men to comfort them:
The fault's your own.

Alon.
So is the dearest o'th' loss.

Gon.
My Lord Sebastian,
The truth, you speak, doth lack some gentleness,
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
When you should bring the plaister* ^note.

Alon.
Still let me hope. Good Francisco, look
Out again, scout round the rocks, and bring my
Heart some comfort with my son. [Exit Francisco.

Gon.
Had I the plantation of this isle, my Lord,
And were a King on't, what would I do?
I would with such perfection govern, sir,
T' excel the golden age.

Alon.
Pr'ythee, no more—Thou dost talk
Nothing to me—Let us sit down upon
This bank, and rest our sorrows.

Gon.
I will, my Lord; for I am very heavy. [They lie down upon the bank† ^note.

Seb.
Please you, sir,
Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

Ant.
We two, my Lord,
Will guard your person, while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

Alon.
Thank you: wond'rous heavy— [All sleep but Seb. and Ant. [Soft music is played.

Seb.
What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

Ant.
It is the quality o' th' climate.

Seb.
Why
Doth it not then our eye-lids sink? I find not
Myself dispos'd to sleep.

Ant.
Nor I, my spirits are nimble:
They fell together all as by consent,
They dropt as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
Worthy Sebastian—O, what might—no more.
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,
What thou should'st be: th' occasion speaks thee, and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

Seb.
What, art thou waking?

Ant.
Noble Sebastian,
Thou let'st thy fortune sleep.

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.

Ant.
Thus, sir:
Will you grant, with me,
That Ferdinand is drown'd?

Seb.
He's gone.

Ant.
Then tell me
Who's the next heir of Naples?

Seb.
What mean you?

Ant.
Say, this were death
That now hath seiz'd them, why, they were no worse,
Than now they are: there be that can rule Naples,
As well as he that sleeps;
O, that you bore
The mind that I do; what a sleep was this,
For your advancement! do you understand me?

Seb.
Methinks, I do.

Ant.
And how does your content
Tender your own good fortune?

Seb.
I remember,
You did supplant your brother Prosp'ro* ^note.

Ant.
True:
And, look, how well my garments sit upon me;
Much feater than before. My brother's servants
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.

Seb.
But, for your conscience—

Ant.
Ay, sir; where lyes that?
Ten consciences, that stand 'twixt me and Milan,
Candy'd be they, and melt, e'er they molest!
Here lyes your brother—
No better than the earth he lyes upon,
If he were that which now he's like, that's dead:
Whom I with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
Can lay to bed for ever: you doing thus,
To the perpetual wink for aye might put
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,
They'll tell the clock to any business, that,
We say, befits the hour† ^note.

Seb.
Thy case, dear friend,
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.
Draw together:
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
To fall it on Gonzalo.

Seb.
O, but one word— Enter Ariel.

Ari.
My master through his art foresees the danger,

That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth,
(For else his project dies) to keep them living. [Sings in Gonzalo's Ear.

While you here do snoring lye,
Open-ey'd Conspiracy
  His time doth take:
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber and beware:
  Awake! awake!

Ant.
Then let us both be sudden.

Gon.
Now, good angels preserve the King! [They wake.

Alon.
Why, how now, ho? awake? why are you drawn?
Wherefore this ghastly looking?

Gon.
What's the matter?

Seb.
While we stood here securing your repose,
Ev'n now we heard a hollow burst of bellowing,
Like bulls, or rather lions; did't not wake you?
It struck mine ear most terribly.

Alon.
I heard nothing.

Ant.
O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear;
To make an earthquake: sure, it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.

Alon.
Heard you this?

Gon.
Upon my honour, sir, I heard a humming,
And that a strange one too, which did awake me.
I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd; as mine eyes open'd,
I saw their weapons drawn; there was a noise,
That's verity. 'Tis best we stand on guard;
Or that we quit this place: let's draw our weapons.

Alon.
Lead off this ground, and let's make further search,
For my poor son.

Gon.
Heav'ns keep him from these beasts!
For he is, sure, i'th' island.

Alon.
Lead away. [Exeunt.

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