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. first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. 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 I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Fran. Sir, he may live; I saw him beat the surges under him, bow'd, As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt, 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; Alon, 'Pr'ythee, peace. Seb, You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us; and the fair soul herself lost your son, 1 I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have 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. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Very well. Gon, It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Ant. Foul weather? Very foul. Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord,- 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 traffick Seb. Gon. All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects? Ant. None, man; allidle; whores, and knaves. Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. Seb. Ant. Long live Gonzalo! '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? 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 Musick. 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. 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 is a comforter. Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. Seb. Why Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not They fell together all, as by consent; Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. might, They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What 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 26 With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, mov ing, 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 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. Hereditary sloth instructs thee. Ant. Do so: to ebb, 0, If you but knew how you the purpose cherish, 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 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. That he's undrown'd. Ant. I have no hope O, out of that no hope, What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is Another way so high a hope, that even But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, That Ferdinand is drown'd? with me, Seb, He's gone. Ant, Then tell me, Who's the next heir of Naples? Claribel. |