Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great lofs, That would not blefs our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African;

Where the, at least, is banish'd from your eye,
Who hath caufe to wet the grief on't.

Alon Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise

By all of us; and the fair foul herself

Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at

Which end the beam fhould bow.

We've loft your fony

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have

More widows in them of this bufinefs' making,
Than we bring men to comfort them:

The fault's your own.

Alon. So is the deareft o' th' lofs.

Gon. My Lord Sebaftian,

The truth, you fpeak, doth lack fome gentleness,

And time to fpeak it in you rub the fore,

When you should bring the plaifter.

Seb. Very well.

Ant. And molt 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 plantation of this ifle, my Lord

Ant. He'd fow't with nettle feed.

Seb. 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' th' commonwealth, I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffick
Would I admit, no name of magiftrate;
Letters fhould not be known; wealth, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, fucceffion,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No ufe of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation, all men idle, all,

And women too; but innocent and pure:
No fov'reignty.

Seb.

Seb. And yet he would be King on't.

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

Gon. All things in common nature fhould produce, Without fweat 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 foyzon, all abundance To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying 'mong his fubjects?

Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. Gen. I would with fuch perfection govern, Sir, T'excell the golden age.

Seb. Save his Majefty!
Ant. Long live Gonzalo!

Gen. And, do you mark me, Sir?

2

Alon. Pr'ythee, no more; thou doft talk nothing to me. Gon. I do well believe your Highnets; and did it to minifter occafion to these gentlemen, who care of fuch fenfible and nimble lungs, that they always ufe 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 ftill. Ant. What a blow was there given?

Seb. An it had not fallen Aat-long.

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave metal; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if he would continue in it five weeks without changing.

Enter Ariel, playing folemn Mufick. (13)

Seb. We would fo, and then go a bat-fowling.
Ant. Nay, my good Lord, be not angry.

Gon. No, I warrant you, I will not adventure my difcretion fo weakly will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy ?

:

(13) Enter Ariel, playing] This marginal direction I have restor'd from the old folio's; and, furely, 'tis very neceffary, it should be inferted; as it contains a ftrain of inchantment, which accounts for Genzalo, Alonzo, &c. fo fuddenly dropping asleep.

Ant.

Ant. Go, fleep, and hear us,

Alon. What all fo foon afleep? I wish, mine eyes Would with themselves fhut up my thoughts: I find, They are inclin'd to fo do.

Seb. Pleate you, Sir,

Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

It feldom 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 noɛ
Myfelf difpos'd to fleep.

Ant. Nor I, my fpirits are nimble :

They fell together all as by confent,

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 thould't be: th' occafion speaks thee, and

My ftrong imagination fees a crown

Dropping upon thy head.

Seb. What, art thou waking?

Ant. Do you not hear me fpeak?

Seb. I do; and, furely,

It is a fleepy language; and thou speak'st

Out of thy fleep: what is it thou didst say ?

This is a ftrange repofe, to be afleep

With eyes wide open: ftanding, fpeaking, moving;

And yet fo faft afleep.

Ant. Noble Sebaftian,

Thou let'ft thy fortune fleep: die rather: wink'ft,

Whilft thou art waking.

Seb. Thou doft fnore diftinctly;

There's meaning in thy fnores.

Ant. I am more ferious than my custom. You

C 3:

Muft

Muft be fo too, if heed me; which to do,
Trebles thee o'er. (14)

Seb. Well I am standing water.
Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb. Do fo: to ebb...

Hereditary floth inftructs me.
Ant. O!

If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish,
Whilft thus you mock it; how, in ftripping it,
You more inveft it: ebbing men, indeed,
Most often do fo near the bottom run,

fear or floth.

By their own tea

Seb. Pry'thee, fay on;

The fetting of thine eye and cheek proclaim.
A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,
Which throes thee much to yield.

Although this Lord of weak remembrance, this,
(Who fhall be of as little memory,

When he is earth'd;) hath here almoft perfuaded.
(For he's a spirit of perfuafion, only
Profeffes to perfuade) the King, his fon's alive;
'Tis as impofble that he's undrown'd,
As he, that fleeps here, fwims.

(14) Trebles thee o'er.] i. e, makes thee thrice what thou now art. Thus the two first folio's, and all the other impreffions of any autho rity, that I have feen, exhibit the text and the phrafe is familiar, both to our Poet, and other Stage- writers of his time,

Merchant of Venice. Act 3. Sc 2.
yet for you

I would be trebled twenty times myself,

K. Richard III. A& 5. Se. 3.

Why, our battalion trebles that account.

So, Pericles, Prince of Tyre;

The boatfwain whiftles, and the mafter calls,
And trebles their confufion.

And fo, Marfton in his Sophonifbaz

Think, ev'ry honour, that doth grace thy fword,

Trebles my love.

Troubles thee o'er-is a foolish reading, which, I believe, first got birth in Mr. Pope's two editions of our Poet; and, I dare fay, will lie Suried there in a proper obfcurity.

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,
Another way fo high an hope, that even

Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,

But doubt difcovery there. Will you grant, with me, 'Fhat Ferdinand is drown'd?·

Ant. She that is Queen of Tunis, fhe that dwells Fen leagues beyond man's life; the that from Naples Can have no note, unless the fun were poft,

(The man i' th' moon's too flow) 'till new-born chins
Be rough and razorable; fhe, from whom (15)
We were fea-fwallow'd; tho' fome, caft again,
May by that destiny perform. an act,

Whereof, what's paft is prologue; what to come,
Is yours and my difcharge-

Seb. What fluff 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 space.

Ant. A fpace, whofe ev'ry cubie

Seems to cry out, how shall that Claribel

Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,

And let Sebaftian wake. Say, this were death

That now hath feiz'd them, why, they were no worfe
Than now they are: there be, that can rule Naples,
As well as he that freeps; Lords that can prate
As amply, and unneceffarily,

As this Gonzalo; I myfelf could make

(15)

We

She, for whom

We were fea-fwallow'd,] Thus Mr. Po, e, with as-l'ttle reafon, as authority. All the copies, that I have feen, read-from whom, &e And why not from? Were they not shipwreck'd, as is evident above, in their return from her?

Would I had never

Married my daughter there! for coming thence, &C..

A