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Who's the next heir of Naples ?
Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells
SEB. What stuff is this ? how say you?
ANT. A space, whose ev'ry cubit
your advancement ! do you understand me? SEB. Methinks, I do.
Ant. And how does your content Tender
your own good fortune ? Seb. I remember, You did supplant your brother Prospero.
ANT. True : And, look, how well my garments fit 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 'twere a kybe, 'twould put me to my slipper : But I feel not this deity in my bofom. Ten confciences, that stand 'twixt me and Milan, Candy'd be they, and melt, ere they moleft! 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 iteel, three inches of it, Can lay to bed for ever : you doing thus, To the perpetual wink for ay might put This antient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. For all the reft, They'll take fuggestion, as a cat laps milk; They'll tell the clock to any business, that, We say, befits the hour.
SEB. Thy case, dear friend,
ANT. Draw together :
SEB, O, but one word
Enter Ariel, with musick and song,
his friend, are in; and sends me forth For else his project dies, to keep them living.
[Sings in Gonzalo's ear, While
here do snoring lye,
His time doth take :
Alon. Why, how now, ho? awake? why are you drawn? Wherefore this ghastly looking ?
Gon. What's the matter?
Seb. While we stood here securing your repose,
ALON. I heard nothing.
Ant. 0, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear;
:~there was a noise, That's verity. 'Tis best we stand on guard;
Or that we quit this place : let's draw our weapons.
ALON. Lead off this ground, and let's make further search For my poor Ton.
Got Heavens keep him from these beafts!
Changes to another part of the island.
Enter Caliban with a burden of wood; a noise of thunder
wound with adders, who with cloven tongues Do hiss me into madness. Lo! now! lo!
Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i'th' wind: yond same black cloud, yond huge one,
looks like a foul bumbard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide
head: yond fame cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here, a man or a filh; dead or alive? a filh; he smells like a fish: a very ancient, and fifh-like fmell.
A kind of, not of the newest, Poor John: a strange fish ! Were 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 Glver. 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 fee a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! warm, o'my troth! I do now let doofe my opinion, hold it no longer, this is no fith, but an islander that hath fately fuffer'd by a thunder-bolt. Alas! the storm is come again. My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout; mifery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows: I will here fhrowd, 'till the dregs of the storm be past.
Enter Stephano, singing. Stk. I shall no more to sea, to sea, here shall I die a-shore.