Aar. Though this island seem to be desert,— Ant. So, you've pay'd. Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible, Seb. Yet, Adr. Yet, Ant. He could not miss it. Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. Ay, and a subtle; ás 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 'twere perfumed by a fen. Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. Ant. True; save means to live. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. Seb. With an eye of green in't. 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 vouch'd rarities are. Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and glosses; being rather new dy'd, than stain'd with salt water. Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, he lies? 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 king of Tunis. Seb. 'Twas 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. Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp.! 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. Gon. 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 fish'd 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 Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy remov'd, I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Fran. Sir, he may live ; I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, He came alive to land. Alon. No, no, he's gone. [1] Alluding to the wonders of Amphion's music. STEEVENS. 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, Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Seb. You were kneel'd to, and impórtun'd otherwise By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at Which end o' th' beam she'd bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business' making, Your own. Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. Gon. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, Seb. Very well. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Foul weather? Ant. Very foul. Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,- Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the king of it, What would I do? Gon. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries Letters should not be known; no use of service, No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too; but innocent and pure : No sovereignty :— Seb. And yet he would be king on't.' [2] All this dialogue is a fine satire on the Utopian treatises of government, and the impracticable, inconsistent schemes, therein recommended. WRB. Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning Gon. All things in common nature should produce Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects? Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves. Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. Seb. 'Save his majesty ! Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! Gon. And, do you mark me, sir? Alon. Pr'ythee, 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 laugh'd 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, playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 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 but ALON. SEB. and ANT. Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: 1 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, It is a comforter. Ant. We two, my lord, Will guard your person, while you take your rest, Alon. Thank you: Wond'rous heavy.— [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! Seb. Why Doth it not then our eye-lids 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, What thou should'st be: th' occasion speaks thee; and Dropping upon thy head. Seb. What, art thou waking? Ant. Do you not hear me speak? Seb. 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, Ant. Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep die rather; wink'st 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. Well; I am standing water. Hereditary sloth instructs me. If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, |