Gon. My lord Sebaftian, The truth you speak doth lack fome gentleness Seb. Very well. Ant, And moft chirurgeonly. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good Sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Foul weather? Ant. Very foul. Gon. Had I the planting of this Ifle, my lord-→→→→→ Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the King of it, what would I do? Borne, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, olives, none; No occupation, all men idle, all, And women too; but innocent and pure : Seb. And yet he would be King on't. 4 Ant. The latter end of the commonwealth forgets the beginning. Gon. All things in common nature should produce Seb. No marrying 'mong his fubjects? Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves, Gon. I would with fuch perfection govern, Sir, T'excell the golden age. Seb. Save his Majesty! Gon Gen. And do you mark me, Sir? Alon. Pr'ythee no more; thou doft talk nothing to me. Gon. I do well believe your Highnefs, and did it to minifter occafion to thefe gentlemen, who are of fuch fenfible 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: fo 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 metal ; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if the would continue in it five weeks without changing. [Enter Ariel playing folemn mufick. Seb. We would fo, and then go a bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord be not angry. Gon. No I warrant you, I will not adventure my dif cretion fo weakly: will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? Ant. Go fleep, and hear us. Alon. What all fo foon afleep? I wifh mine eyes Would with themselves fhut up my thoughts: I find They are inclin'd to do fo Seb. Pleafe you, Sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom vifits forrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. Ant. We two, my lord, Will guard your perfon, while you take your reft, And watch your fafety. Alon. Thank you: wond'rous heavy. [All fleep but Seb. and Ant. Seb. What a ftrange drowfinefs poffeffes them? Ant. It is the quality o'th' climate, Seb. Why Doth it not then our eye-lids fink? I find not Myfelf difpos'd to fleep. Ant. Nor I, my spirits are nimble : They fell together all as by confent, They They dropt as by a thunder-ftroke. What might? Worthy Sebaftian O what might? And yet methinks I fee it in thy face, no more. What thou should'ft be: th' occafion speaks thee, and My ftrong imagination fees a crown Dropping upon thy head. Seb. What, art thou waking? It is a fleepy language, and thou fpeak'st Out of thy fleep: what is it thou didst say? This is a ftrange repofe, to be asleep With eyes wide open: ftanding, fpeaking, moving; Ant. Noble Sebaftian, Thou let'ft thy fortune fleep, die rather; wink't Seb. Thou doft fnore diftinctly; There's meaning in thy fnores. Ant. I am more ferious than my cuftom. You Maft be fo, if you heed me; which to do, If you but knew how you the purpose cherish, Seb. Pr'ythee fay on, The fetting of thine eye and cheek proclaim Ant. Why then thus Sir: Although this lord of weak remembrance; this When he is earth'd, hath here almoft perfuaded (For (For he's a fpirit of perfuafion, only As he that fleeps here, fwims. Seb. I have no hope That he's undrown'd... Ant. O, out of that no hope, What great hope have you? no hope that way, is Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, But drops discovery there. Will you grant with me, That Ferdinand is drown'd? Ant. She that is Queen of Tunis; the that dwells We were fea-fwallow'd; tho' fome, cast again, Whereof what's paft is prologue, what to come Is Seb. What ftuff is this? how fay you? 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's Queen of Tunis, So is the heir of Naples, 'twixt which regions There is fome fpace. Ant. A fpace whofe ev'ry cubit Seems to cry out, how shalt thou, Claribel, And let Sebaftian wake. Say, this were death That now hath feiz'd them, why they were no worfe As amply, and unneceffarily, *No advices by letter. As this Gonzalo; I myfelf could make Ant. And how does your content Seb. I remember You did fupplant your brother Profpro. And look how well my garments fit upon me, Ant. Ay, Sir; where lyes that? If 'twere a kybe, 'twould put me to my flipper s Ten confciences that flood 'twixt me and Milan, No better than the earth he lyes upon, If he were that which now he's like, that's dead Seb. Thy cafe, dear friend, Shall be my precedent: as thou got'ft Milan, I'll come by Naples. Draw thy fword, one ftroke Ant. Draw together: And when I rear my hand, do you the like Seb. But one word. Bater |