Gonz.
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 Wo
Is common, every Day, some Sailor's Wife,
The Masters of some Merchant, and the Merchant
Have just our Theam of Wo: 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.
Prethee Peace.

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.
On: 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 purpos'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 prethee spare.

Gon.

Well, I have done: But yet—

Seb.

He will be talking.

Ant.
Which of he, or Adrian, for a good Wager,
First begins to crow?

Seb.

The old Cock.

Ant.

The Cockrell.

Seb.

Done: The Wager?

Ant.

A Laughter.

Seb.

A Match.

Adr.

Though this Island seem to be desert—

Seb.

Ha, ha, ha.

Ant.

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 perfumed 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 doth 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) drencht 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 Affrick, 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.

Adri.

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 of Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gon.

This Tunis, Sir, was Carthage.

Adri.

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 easie 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 removed,
I ne'er again shall see her: O thou mine Heir
Of Naples and of Millan, 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 trod the Water,
Whose Enmity he flung aside; and breasted
The Surge most swollen that met him: His bold Head
'Bove the contentious Waves he kept, and oared
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 Affrican;
Where she, at least, is banish'd from your Eye,
Who hath Cause to wet the Grief on't.

Alon.
Prethee 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 o'th' Beam should bow. We have lost your Son
I fear for ever: Millan 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 dear'st 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; Riches, Poverty,
And use of Service, none; Contract, Succession,
Born, 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 Soveraignty.

Seb.

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.

Prethee 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.

And it had not fallen flat-long.

Gon.

You are Gentlemen of a 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, good my 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:

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: Wondrous 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 shouldst be: The 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 you heed me; which to do,
Trebbles thee o'er.

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.
Prethee say on,
The setting of thine Eye and Cheek proclaim
A Matter from thee; and a Birth, indeed,
Which throws 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
We all were Sea-swallow'd, tho' some cast again,
And by that Destiny to perform an Act;
Whereof, what's past in Prologue, what to come
In 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 by 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 Prospero.

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. Twenty Consciences
That stand 'twixt me and Millan, candied 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: Whilst 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 President: As thou got'st Millan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy Sword, one Stroke
Shall free thee from the Tribute which thou payest,

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.
Whilst we stood here securing your Repose,
Even 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, Gonzalo?

Gon.
Upon mine 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 verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our 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.

Next section