(Who shall be of as little memory, When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded (For he's a spirit of persuasion only,) The king, his son's alive; 'tis as impossible That he's undrown'd, as he that sleeps here swims. That he's undrown'd. Ant. O, out of that no hope, What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is Seb. Will you grant, with me, He's gone. Then, tell me, Claribel. Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples Can have no note, unless the sun were post, (The man i'the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins Be rough and razorable: she, from whom We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again; Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come, 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 worse Than now they are: there be, that can rule Naples, As well as he that sleeps; lords, that can prate As amply, and unnecessarily, As this Gonzalo; I myself could make bore The mind that I do! what a sleep were this Ant. And how does your content Tender your own good fortune; Seb. True: I remember, Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kibe, If he were that which now he's like; whom I, Seb. Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, 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. Ant. 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 That these, his friends, 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, His time doth take: If of life you keep a care, Ant. Then let us both be sudden. Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king! [They wake. Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you Wherefore this ghastly looking? [drawn? What's the matter? Gon. Alon. I heard nothing. Alon. Gon. [search Heavens keep him from these beasts! For he is, sure, i'the island. Alon. Lead away. Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done : So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Aside. [Exeunt. SCENE 11. Another Part of the Island. Enter CALIBAN, with a Burden of Wood. Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up Sometimes like apes, that moe and chatter at me, Enter TRINCULO. Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me, Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i'the 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 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! Were I in England now (as once I was,) and had 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. Legg'd 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 bed-fellows. I will here shroud, till the dregs of the storm be past. Enter STEPHANO, singing; a Bottle in his Hand. Here shall I die a-shore; This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral: Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, This is a scurvy tune too: but here's my comfort. Cal. Do not torment me: 0! [Drinks. Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd 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. Cal. The spirit torments me: O! 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 give him some relief, if it be but for that: if I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that eyer trod on neat's-leather. |