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 ^note 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.

Alo.
Pr'ythee, peace.14Q0012

Seb.
He receives comfort like cold porridge.

Ant.
The visitor will not give him 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. ^note

Gon.

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

Seb.

A dollar.

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?

Alo.

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!

Ant.

So, you've pay'd ^note.

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 breaths 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 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) 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 lyes?

Seb.

Ay, or very falsly 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 of 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, sir, my doublet ^note 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?

Alo.
You cram these words into mine ears, against
The stomach of my sense: 'Would, I had never
Marry'd 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!

Fra.
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 swoln that met him: his bold head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
To the shore; that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt,
He came alive to land.

Alo.
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.

Alo.
Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb.
You were kneel'd to, and impórtun'd otherwise
By all of us: and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at
Which end the beam ^note should bow.14Q0013 We have 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.

Alo.
So is the dear'st o' the 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 plantation of this isle, my lord,—

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

Seb.
Or docks, or mallows.

Gon.
And were the king of it, What would I do?

Seb.
'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.

Gon.
I'the common-wealth I would by contraries
Execute all things: For no kind of traffick
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; poverty, riches, ^note
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, olive, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oyl:
No occupation; all men idle, all,

And women too, but innocent, and pure:
No sovereignty:

Seb.
Yet he would be king on't.

Ant.

The latter end of his common-wealth 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 it's own kind, all foizon, 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,
To excel the golden age.

Seb.
'Save his majesty!

Ant.
Long live Gonzalo!

Gon.
And, do you mark me, sir?—

Alo.
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 mettle; 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.

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

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.

Alo.
Thank you: Wondrous heavy. [Alonso sleeps.

Seb.
What a strange drowsiness ^note possesses them!

Ant.
It is the quality o' the 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: 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 did'st say?
This is a strange ^note 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; dye rather: wink'st,
Whiles 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.

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,
Whiles 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.
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:
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 a hope, that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
But doubts ^note discovery there.14Q0014 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' the moon's too slow) 'till new-born chins
Be rough and razorable; she from ^note whom
We were ^note sea-swallow'd,—though some cast again;
And (by that destiny) to perform an act,
Whereof, what's past is prologue ^note; 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 every cubit
Seems to cry out, How shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples? ^note—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 myself 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 feat 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; but 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 Milan, candy'd be they,
Would melt ^note, ere they molest.14Q0015 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: whiles you, doing † thus,

To the perpetual wink for aye might put
This ancient morsel, ^note this sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course: For all the rest,
They'll take ^note 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. [they talk apart. Enter Ariel, invisible.

&clquo;Ari.
&clquo;My master through his art foresees the danger&crquo;
&clquo;That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth&crquo;
&clquo;(For else his project dies) to keep them living.&crquo; [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! [starting up. All wake.

Alo.
Why, how now, ho! awake?—Why are you drawn?
Wherefore this gastly looking?

Gon.
What's the matter?

Seb.
Whiles 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 ^note ear most terribly.

Alo.
I heard nothing.

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

Alo.
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: ^note 'Tis best, we stand upon our guard;
Or that we quit this place: let's draw our weapons.

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

Gon.
Heavens keep him from these beasts!
For he is, sure, i' the island.

Alo.
Lead away.

&clquo;Ari.
&clquo;Prospero my lord shall know what I have done.&crquo;
&clquo;So, king, go safely on to seek thy son.&crquo; [Exeunt. SCENE II. Another Part of the Island. Enter Caliban, with a Burthen of Wood: A Noise of Thunder heard.

Cal.
All the infections that the sun sucks up [throwing down his Burthen.
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll not pinch,
Fright me with urchin shews, pitch me i' th' mire,

Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:
Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me,
And after bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lye tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my foot-fall; sometime am I
All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues
Do hiss me into madness;—Lo, now, lo! Enter Trinculo.
Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me,
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat; [casts himself on the Ground.
Perchance, he will not mind me.

Tri.

Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all; and another storm brewing, I hear it sing i' th' wind: yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard that would shed his liquor: if it should thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pail-fulls.—What have we here? seeing Caliban.] a man, or a fish? Dead, or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of, not of the newest, poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, (as once I was) and had but this fish ^note painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man; when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Leg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o'my troth! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer; this

is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffer'd by a thunder-bolt. [Thunder.] Alas, the storm is come again: my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows: I will here shrowd 'till the dregs of the storm be past.

Ste.

I shall no more to sea, to sea,
  here shall I dye a-shore;—
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral:
Well, here's my comfort. [drinks.

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
    the gunner, and his mate,
lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marrian, and Margery,
  but none of us car'd for Kate:
  for she had a tongue with a tang,
  would cry to a sailor, Go, hang;
she lov'd not the favour of tar nor of pitch,
yet a tailor might scratch her where-e'er she did itch:
  then to sea, boys, and let her go hang.
This is a scurvy tune too: But here's my comfort. [drinks.

Cal.

Do not torment me: O!

Ste.

What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon's, with savages, and men of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground: and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breaths at nostrils. ^note

Cal.

The spirit torments me; O!

Ste.

This is some monster of the isle, with four legs; who hath got, as I take it, an ague: Where, the devil,

should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that: If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather.

Cal.

Do not torment me, pr'ythee; I'll bring my wood home faster.

Ste.

He's in his fit now; and does not talk after the wisest: He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit: If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him; he shall pay for him, that hath him, and that soundly.

Cal.

Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling: Now Prosper works upon thee.

Ste.

Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat; open your mouth: this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend; open your chaps again.

Tri.

I should know that voice: It should be—But he is drown'd; and these are devils: O, defend me!

Ste.

Four legs, and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice now is to speak well ^note of his friend; his backward voice now is to utter foul speeches, and to detract: If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague: Come, Amen; I will pour some in thy other mouth.

Tri.

Stephano,—

Ste.

Doth thy other mouth call me? mercy, mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon.14Q0016

Tri.

Stephano,—if thou be'st Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo,—be not afeard,—thy good friend Trinculo.

Ste.

If thou be'st Trinculo, come forth; I'll pull thee by the lesser legs; if any be Trinculo's legs, these are they: [hauling him: he and Cal. rise.] Thou art very Trinculo indeed: How cam'st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? can he vent Trinculo's?

Tri.

I took him to be kill'd with a thunder-stroke;— But art thou not drown'd, Stephano? I hope now, thou art not drown'd:—Is the storm over-blown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine, for fear of the storm:—And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scap'd!

Ste.

Pr'ythee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant.

Cal.
These be fine things, an if they be not sprights!
That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor:
I will kneel to him.

Ste.

How did'st thou 'scape? How cam'st thou hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. I escap'd upon a but of sack, which the sailors heaved o'er-board, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast a-shore.

Cal.

I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true subject; for the liquor is not earthly.

Ste.

Here; swear then how thou escap'dst.

Tri.

Swom a-shore, man, like a duck; I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn.

Ste.

Here, † kiss the book: Though thou can'st swim like a duck, thou art made like a ^note goose.

Tri.

O Stephano, hast any more of this?

Ste.

The whole but, man; my cellar is in a rock by th' sea-side, where my wine is hid.—How now, moon-calf? how does thine ague?

Cal.

Hast thou not dropt from heaven?

Ste.

Out o' th' moon, I do assure thee: I was the man i' th' moon, when time was.

Cal.

I have seen thee in her; and I do adore thee: My mistress shew'd me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush.

Ste.

Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish it anon with new ^note contents: † swear.

Tri.

By this good light, this is a very shallow monster: —I afeard of him?—a very weak monster: ^note—The man i' th' moon?—a most poor credulous monster:— Well drawn, monster, in good sooth.

Cal.
I'll shew thee every fertil inch o'the isle; ^note
And I will kiss thy foot: I pr'ythee, be my god.

Tri.

By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster; when's god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle.

Cal.

I'll kiss thy foot: I'll swear myself thy subject.

Ste.

Come on then; down, and swear.

Tri.

I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster: A most scurvy monster: I could find in my heart to beat him,—

Ste.

Come, kiss.

Tri.

but ^note that the poor monster's in drink: An abominable monster.

Cal.
I'll shew thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries;
I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
Thou wondrous man.

Tri.

A most ridiculous monster; to make a wonder

of a poor drunkard!

Cal.
I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee
To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee
Young scamels ^note from the rock: Wilt thou go with me?

Ste.

I pr'ythee now, lead the way without any more talking.—Trinculo, the king, and all our company else, being drown'd, we will inherit here.—Here, [to Cal.] bear my bottle:—Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again.