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Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.
Alon.

Pr’ythee, peace.
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. Gon. When every grief is entertained, that's offered, Comes to the entertainerSeb.

A dollar. Gon. Dolor comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you purposed.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.
Gon. Therefore, my lord,-
Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue !
Alon. I pr’ythee, spare..
Gon. Well, I have: 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 cockerel.
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've payed.
Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,
Seb. Yet,
Adr. Yet.
Ant. He could not miss it.

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 delivered.
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 vouched rarities are. Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness, and glosses; being rather new dyed than stained 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 Afric, 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 graced 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 raised 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. 0, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.

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

Ant. That sort was well fished for.
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage ?

Aion. 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. Othou 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 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 oared
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bowed,
As stooping to relieve him: 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 banished from your eye,
Who has cause to wet the grief on't.
Alon.

Pr’ythee, peace.
Seb. You were kneeled to, and importuned otherwise
By all of us; and the fair soul herself
Weighed, between loathness and obedience, at
Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost your son,
I fear, forever; 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 of 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 plaster.
Seb.

Very well. Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

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

Foul weather ?

Very foul.

Seb.

Ant.

Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord,
Ant. lle'd sow it with nettle-seed.
Seb.

Or docks, or mallows.
Gon. And were the king of it, what would I do?
Seb. 'Scape getting drunk, for want of wine.

Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none:
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil:
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too; but innocent and pure:
No sovereignty :
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 endeavor: 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 foison, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying among his subjects ?
Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves.
Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir,
To excel the golden age.
Seb,

o 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 laughed 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.

Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go 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.

[All sleep but Alon. SEB. and ANT.
Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : I find,
They are inclined 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: Wondrous heavy.

[Alonzo sleeps. Erit ARIEL.
Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
Ant. It is the quality o'the climate.
Seb.

Why
Doth it not then our eye-lids sink ? I find not
Myself disposed to sleep.
Ant.

Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent ;
They dropped, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
Worthy Sebastian ?-0, 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 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
Whiles thou art waking.
Seb.

Thou dost snore distinctly;
There's meaning in thy snores.

Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you

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