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.† ^note

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;He receives comfort like cold porridge.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;The visitor will not give o'er so.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

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

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;Sir.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;On: tell.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

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

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;A dollor.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

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

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;Therefore, my lord.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;Fie, what a spend-thrift is he of his tongue?&prquo;

&plquo;Alon.

&plquo;I pr'ythee spare.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;Well, I have done: but yet—&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;He will be talking.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

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

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;The old cock.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;The cockrell.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;Done: the wager?&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;A laughter.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;A match.&prquo;

&plquo;Adr.

&plquo;Though this Island seem to be desart—&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;Ha, ha, ha.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;So: you're paid.&prquo;

&plquo;Adr.

&plquo;Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible—&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;Yet.&prquo;

&plquo;Adr.

&plquo;Yet—&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;He could not miss't.&prquo;

&plquo;Adr.

&plquo;It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;Temperance was a delicate wench.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly deliver'd.&prquo;

&plquo;Adr.

&plquo;The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;Here is every thing advantageous to life.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;True, save means to live.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;Of that there's none or little.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;How lush and lusty the grass looks? how green?&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;The ground indeed is tawny.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;With an eye of green in't.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;He misses not much.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;No: he does but mistake the truth totally.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit—&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;As many voucht rarities are.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;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.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

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

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;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.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.&prquo;

&plquo;Adr.

&plquo;Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their Queen.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;Not since widow Dido's time.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;Widow? a pox o'that: how came that widow in? widow Dido!&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;What if he had said widower Æneas too? Good lord, how you take it!&prquo;

&plquo;Adr.

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

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;This Tunis, Sir, was Carthage.&prquo;

&plquo;Adr.

&plquo;Carthage?&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;I assure you Carthage.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;His word is more than the miraculous harp.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;What impossible matter will he make easie next?&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

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

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more Islands.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;Ay.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;Why in good time.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;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.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;And the rarest that e'er came there.&prquo;

&plquo;Seb.

&plquo;Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.&prquo;

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido!&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

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

&plquo;Ant.

&plquo;That sort was well fish'd for.&prquo;

&plquo;Gon.

&plquo;When I wore it at your daughter's marriage.&prquo;

&plquo;Alon.
&plquo;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 swoll'n 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 Affrican;
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 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; 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 † ^notefoyzon, 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, 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: 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.

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, if you heed me; which to do,
Troubles 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.
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 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 Note, unless the sun were post,
(The man i'th' moon's too slow) 'till new-born chins
Be rough and razorable; she ^{a note}for whom
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 Prosp'ero.

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 besits 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.
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 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 ^{a note}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.
Prosp'ero my lord shall know what I have done.
So, King, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Changes to another part of the Island. Enter Caliban with a burden of wood; a noise of thunder heard.

*Cal.
All the infections that the sun sucks up
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 spi'rit of his now to torment me,
For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat,
Perchance he will not mind me.

Trin.

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 liquour. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot chuse but fall by pailfuls—What have we here, 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 painted, not an holyday-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. Legg'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. 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.