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. Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. Seb. He hath raised the wall, and houses too. Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next? Seb. I think he will carry this island home in 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. Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Ant. O, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido. Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I I mean, in a sort. wore it? Ant. That sort was well fished for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? Alon. You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense. Would I had never 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, The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 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 daughter, 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 impórtun'd otherwise, By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weigh'd, between loathness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We've lost your son, I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business' making Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's My lord Sebastian, Alon. So is the dear'st o' the loss. When you should bring the plaster. Seb. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Very well. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Very foul. Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, Seb. Execute all things; for no kind of traffic And women too, but innocent and pure; Seb. Yet he would be king on't. Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. Gon. All things in common nature should produce To feed my innocent people. Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects? Ant. None, man; all idle, whores and knaves. Save his majesty! And, do you mark me, sir? Ant. Long live Gonzalo! Gon. Alon. Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing. Ant. "Twas you we laughed at. Gon. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you: so 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 mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Enter ARIEL, invisible; solemn music playing. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. [All sleep except Alon., Seb., and Ant. Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find They are inclin'd to do so. Seb. Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, Will guard your person while you take your rest, Alon. Seb. Ant. Seb. Thank you. Wondrous heavy. [Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! Why Doth it not, then, our eyelids sink? I find not Myself dispos'd to sleep. Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, And yet methinks I see it in thy face, No more: What thou shouldst be: th' occasion speaks thee; and Dropping upon thy head. Seb. Ant. Do you not hear rie speak? Seb. What, art thou waking? I do; and surely It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, And yet so fast asleep. .Ant. Noble Sebastian, Thou lett'st thy fortune sleep, die, rather; wink'st Whiles thou art waking. Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly; There's meaning in thy snores. Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you Must be so too, if heed me; which to do Trebles thee o'er. Seb. Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. Well, I am standing water. Do so: to ebb 0, Hereditary sloth instructs me. Ant. If you but knew how you the purpose cherish Most often do so near the bottom run By their own fear or sloth. Seb. Prithee, say on: The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim Ant. Thus, sir: Although this lord of weak remembrance, this, When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded, For he's a spirit of persuasion, only Professes to persuade, the king his son's alive, 'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd As he that sleeps here swims. Seb. That he's undrown'd. Ant. I have no hope O, out of that no hope, |