Gonzalo.
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 masters of some merchant, and the merchant,
Have just our theam 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.(12) ^note

Seb.

He receives comfort like cold porridge.

Ant.

The visitor will not give o'er so.

Seb.

Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit, by and by it will strike.

Gon.

Sir,—

Seb.

One:—Tell,—

Gon.

When every grief is entertain'd, that's offer'd; comes to the entertainer—

Seb.

A dollor.

Gon.

Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you propos'd.

Seb.

You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

Gon.

Therefore, my lord,—

Ant.

Fie, what a spend-thrift is he of his tongue?

Alon.

I pr'ythee, spare.—

Gon.

Well, I have done: but yet—

Seb.

He will be talking.

Ant.

Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?

Seb.

The old cock.

Ant.

The cockrel.

Seb.

Done: the wager?

Ant.

A laughter.

Seb.

A match.

Adr.

Though this island seem to be desart—

Seb.

Ha, ha, ha.—So, you're paid.

Adr.

Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible—

Seb.

Yet,—

Adr.

Yet—

Ant.

He could not miss't.

Adr.

It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.

Ant.

Temperance was a delicate wench.

Seb.

Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly deliver'd.

Adr.

The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

Seb.

As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.

Ant.

Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen.

Gon.

Here is every thing advantageous to life.

Ant.

True, save means to live.

Seb.

Of that there's none or little.

Gon.

How lush and lusty the grass looks? how green?

Ant.

The ground indeed is tawny.

Seb.

With an eye of green in't.

Ant.

He misses not much.

Seb.

No: he does but mistake the truth totally.

Gon.

But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit—

Seb.

As many voucht rarities are.

Gon.

That our garments being (as they were) drench'd in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses; being rather new dy'd, than stain'd with salt water.

Ant.

If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, he lies?

Seb.

Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

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.

Seb.

'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

Adr.

Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their Queen.

Gon.

Not since widow Dido's time.

Ant.

Widow? a pox o' that: how came that widow in? widow Dido!

Seb.
What if he had said, widower Æneas too?
Good lord, how you take it!

Adr.

Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of that: she was Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gon.

This Tunis, Sir, was Carthage.

Adr.

Carthage?

Gon.

I assure you, Carthage.

Ant.

His word is more than the miraculous harp.

Seb.

He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.

Ant.

What impossible matter will he make easy next?

Seb.

I think, he will carry this Island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple.

Ant.

And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more Islands.

Gon.

Ay.

Ant.

Why, in good time.

Gon.

Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen.

Ant.

And the rarest that e'er came there.

Seb.

Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

Ant.

O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido!

Gon.

Is not my doublet, Sir, as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.

Ant.

That sort was well fish'd for.

Gon.

When I wore it at your daughter's marriage.

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, and, in my rate, she too;
Who is so far from Italy remov'd,
I ne'er again shall see her: O thou mine heir

Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee?

Fran.
Sir, he may live.
I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trode the water;
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty strokes
To th' shore; that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt,
He came alive to land.

Alon.
No, no, he's gone.

Seb.
Sir, you may thank your self 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 her self
Weigh'd between loathness 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.

Seb.
Very well.

Ant.
And most chirurgeonly.

Gon.
It is foul weather in us all, good Sir,
When you are cloudy.

Seb.
Foul weather?

Ant.
Very foul.

Gon.
Had I the plantation of this isle, my lord—

Ant.
He'd sow't with nettle seed.

Seb.
Or docks, or mallows.

Gon.
And were the King on't, what would I do?

Seb.
Scape being drunk, for want of wine.

Gon.
I'th' commonwealth, I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffick
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; wealth, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oyl;
No occupation, all men idle, all,
And women too; but innocent and pure:
No Sov'reignty.

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,
Without sweat or endeavour. Treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all foyzon, all abundance
To feed my innocent people.

Seb.
No marrying 'mong his subjects?

Ant.
None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.

Gon.
I would with such perfection govern, Sir,
T'excell the golden age.

Seb.

Save his Majesty!

Ant.

Long live Gonzalo!

Gon.

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 minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing.

Ant.

'Twas you we laugh'd 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 metal; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five Weeks without changing.

Seb.

We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.

Ant.

Nay, my good lord, be not angry.

Gon.

No, I warrant you, I will not adventure my discretion so weakly: will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?

Ant.

Go, sleep, and hear us.

Alon.
What all so soon asleep? I wish, mine eyes
Would with themselves shut up my thoughts: I find,
They are inclin'd to so do.

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.

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
My self 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.
Do you not hear me speak?

Seb.
I do; and, surely,
It is a sleepy language; and thou speak'st
Out of thy sleep: what is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open: standing, speaking, moving;
And yet so fast asleep.

Ant.
Noble Sebastian,
Thou let'st thy fortune sleep: die rather: wink'st,
Whilst thou art waking.

Seb.
Thou dost snore distinctly;
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.(14) ^note

Seb.
Well: I am standing water.

Ant.
I'll teach you how to flow.

Seb.
Do so: to ebb
Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Ant.
O!
If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish,
Whilst thus you mock it; how, in stripping it,
You more invest it: ebbing men, indeed,

Most often do so near the bottom run,
By their own fear or sloth.

Seb.
Pry'thee, 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:
Although this lord of weak remembrance, this,
(Who shall be of as little memory,
When he is earth'd;) 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 undrown'd,
As he, that sleeps here, swims.

Seb.
I have no hope,
That he's undrown'd.

Ant.
O, out of that no hope,
What great hope have you? no hope, that way, is
Another way so high an hope, that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
But doubt discovery there. 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.
Claribel.

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'th' moon's too slow) 'till new-born chins
Be rough and razorable; she, from whom(15) ^note



We were sea-swallow'd; tho' some, cast again,
May by that destiny perform an act,
Whereof, what's past is prologue; what to come,

Is yours and my discharge—

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.
A space, whose ev'ry cubit
Seems to cry out, how shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake. 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; lords that can prate
As amply, and unnecessarily,
As this Gonzalo; I my self could make
A Chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do; what a sleep were 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 Prospe'ro.

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?
If 'twere a kybe, 'twould put me to my slipper:
But I feel not this deity in my bosom.
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 ay might put
This ancient Morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,

They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk;
They'll tell the clock to any business, that,
We say, befits the hour.

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, with Musick and Song.

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 snoaring 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 strook 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.

Ari.
Prospero my lord shall know what I have done.
So, King, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt.

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