ACT II SCENE I- Another part of the island Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh Alon. Prithee, peace. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Seb. Look, he 's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike. Gon. Sir, Seb. One: tell. Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that 's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer Seb. A dollar. Gon. Dolour come to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you purposed. Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. Gon. Therefore, my lord, Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! 10 20 Alon. I prithee, spare, Gon. Well, I have done: but yet, — Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? Seb. The old cock. 3C Ant. The cockerel. Seb. Done. The wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match! Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, — Adr. Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible, Adr. Yet, Ant. He could not miss 't. Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate temperance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered. Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Seb. As if it had lungs and rotten ones. Ant. Or as 't were perfumed by a fen. Gon. Here is everything advantageous to life. Ant. Seb. Of that there 's none, or little. Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! Ant. The ground indeed is tawny. 40 50 Ant. He misses not much. Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit, Seb. As many vouched rarities are. Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water. Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies? 60 Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. Gon. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the 70 King of Tunis. Seb. 'T was 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. Seb. His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath raised the wall and houses too. 80 Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next? Seb. I think he will carry this island home in 90 his pocket and give it his son for an apple. Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Alon. 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. Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fished for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar riage? 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, Who is so far from Italy removed I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Fran. Sir, he may live: I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 100 11 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, 120 As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt He came alive to land. Alon. No, no, he 's gone. Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless our Europe with your daugh ter, 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. Alon. Prithee, peace. Seb. You were kneel'd to and importuned other wise By all of us, and the fair soul herself Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at your son, 130. We have lost I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have The fault 's your own. Alon. So is the dear'st o' the loss. Gon. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness When you should bring the plaster. Seb. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Very well. 140 |