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Foul weather!

Very foul.
GON. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,-
ANT. He'd 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 con-

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:-


Yet he would be king on't.

ANT. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.

GON. All things in common nature should


a Which end o' the beam she'd bow.] So Malone. The old text has,

"Which end o' th' beame should bow."

For which Capell substituted,

"Which end the beam should bow."

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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 mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.

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Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

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ANT. She that is queen of Tunis; she that [Naples Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Can have no note, unless the sun were post,The man i̇' the moon's too slow,-till new-born chins

Be rough and razorable; she, from whom We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again; d

And, by that destiny, to perform an act, Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come, In 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 every 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 [Naples


Than now they are. There be that can rule
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?
SEB. Methinks I do.

And how does your content
Tender your own good fortune?

I remember,


You did supplant your brother Prospero. ANT.

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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 lies that? if it were a kibe,

"T would put me to my slipper: but I feel not This deity in my bosom; twenty consciences, That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,

No better than the earth he lies 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; whiles you, doing thus,
To the perpetual wink for aye 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 befits the hour.



Thy case, dear friend, as thou gott'st Milan,

Shall be my precedent; 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.


Draw together; And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo.

SEB. O, but one word. [They converse apart.

Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible.

ARI. My master through his art foresees the danger


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 snoring lie,
Open-eyed 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. [Waking.] Now, good angels, preserve
the king!

Why, how now? ho, awake! Why are you drawn?

Wherefore this ghastly looking?

a Suggestion-] Has before been explained to mean, temptation. b To keep them living.] Mr. Dyce reads, "— to keep thee living," which is preferable to any alteration of the passage yet suggested; but we are not convinced that change is required.

e Why, how now? ho, awake! &c.] In the old copy, and in every subsequent edition, this speech is given to the king and the next to Gonzalo, but erroneously, as we think is evident from the language, the business of the scene, and from what Gonzalo

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would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot choose 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!


I in England now (as once I was), and had but this fish painted, not a holiday 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.(3) Legged 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 suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thunder.] 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 bedfellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.

Enter STEPHANO, singing; a bottle in his hand.
STE. I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die ashore;

a Gaberdine;] A loose over-garment, worn by the lower classes. See note (6), p. 438, Vol. I.


This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral: well, here's my comfort. [Drinks.

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,

Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car'd for Kate:

For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang:

She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did

Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

This is a scurvy tune too: but here's my comfort. [Drinks.

CAL. Do not torment me:-O!

STE. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon's with salvages and men of Inde, ha? I have not 'scaped drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground: and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. O!

CAL. The spirit torments me :STE. This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will

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