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ALON. 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,1 she too,
Who is so far from Italy removed,
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!
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,
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.
SEB. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise
By all of us; and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, as
Which end o' the beam should bow.
I fear, for ever; Milan and Naples have
Moe widows in them of this business' making
Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's
ALON. So is the dearest of the loss.
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.
ANT. And most chirurgeonly.
GON. It is foul weather in us all, good Sir,
When you are cloudy.
GON. Had I plantation of this Isle, my Lord-
ANT. He'ld sow 't with nettle-seed.
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' 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;
To excel the Golden Age.
ANT. Long live Gonzalo !
Yet he would be king on 't.
ANT. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
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 foison,' 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,
'Save his majesty!
And-do you mark me, Sir? ALON. Pr'ythee, no more thou dost talk nothing
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, playing solemn music.
SEB. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.1
ANT. Nay, good my Lord, be not angry.
GON. No, I warrant you: I will not adventure my dis-
cretion 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.
Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.
We two, my Lord,
Will guard your person, while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.
Thank you.-Wondrous heavy.
[ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL.
SEB. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
ANT. It is the quality o' the climate.
Doth it not then our eye-lids sink? I find not
Myself dispos'd to sleep.
Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent;
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
1 bird-catching by night, with lights, nets, and staves.
Worthy Sebastian 1-O, what might No more slow!
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.
What, art thou waking?
ANT. Do you not hear me speak?
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.
Thou lett'st thy fortune sleep die rather; wink'st,
Whiles thou art waking.
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.2
Well; I am standing water.
ANT. I'll teach you how to flow.
Do so: to ebb
Hereditary sloth instructs me.
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.
Pr'ythee, say on:
The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim
A matters from thee; and a birth, indeed,
Which throes thee much to yield.
Thou dost snore distinctly;1
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.
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
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
But doubts discovery there.
That Ferdinand is drown'd?
Will you grant, with me,
Who's the next heir of Naples ?
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: that she, from whom
We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again,
And by that destiny to perform an act,
Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come
In your's and my discharge.1
A space whose every cubit
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.
Seems to cry out, How shalt thou, 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 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?