Alon. (So have we all) of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, Can speak like us: then, wisely, good Sir, weigh 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 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 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 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 cockrel. Seb. Done. The wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, Ant. Ha, ha, ha! Seb. So, you're paid. 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 everything advantageous to life. 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 vouch'd 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 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 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 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. [To ADR.] Ay. Ant. Why, in good time. Gon. [To ALON.] 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 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? I ne'er again shall see her. O thou, mine heir Fran. Sir, he may live. I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs: he trod the water, To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 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 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 Weigh'd, between loathness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have More widows in them, of this business' making, Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. My lord Sebastian, Gon. The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in; you rub the sore, Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,— Or docks, or mallows. Seb. Gon. And were the king on 't, what would I do? 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 commonwealth forgets the beginning. To feed my innocent people. Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects? Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves. Seb. Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! Gon. 'Save his majesty! 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 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 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. [All sleep but ALON., SEB., and ANT. Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find, Will guard your person while you take your rest, And watch your safety. Doth it not, then, our eye-lids sink? I find not Ant. Nor I my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, What thou should'st be. Th' occasion speaks thee; and Dropping upon thy head. Seb. What! art thou waking? Ant. Do you not hear me speak? I do; and surely, It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st |