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. Seb. He hath rais'd 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.

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.

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 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
Hath made his meal on thee?

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

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,
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 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.

Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us; and the fair soul herself

Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at
Which end o' the beam she'd bow2.

your son,

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have

We have lost

2 Which end of the beam SHE'D bow.] "Weigh'd," in the preceding line, means that she considered or deliberated to which end of the beam she would incline, whether toward lothness or obedience. In the old copies should is printed for "she'd," or she would, an easy mistake by the compositor: it was, perhaps, as Malone suggests, written sh'ould in the original MS.

More widows in them, of this business' making,
Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's
Your own.

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.

Gon.

My lord Sebastian,

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,

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.

Seb.

Ant.

Foul weather?

Very foul.

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,—
Ant. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed.

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' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things, for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate';
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil:

3 Would I admit ; NO NAME OF MAGISTRATE, &c.] Our author (says Malone) has here closely followed a passage in Montaigne's Essayes, translated by John Florio, fol. 1603: "It is a nation, would I answere Plato, that hath no kinde of traffike, no knowledge of letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of magistrate, nor of politike superioritie; no use of service, of riches, or of poverty; no contracts, no successions, no dividences, no occupation, but idle; no respect of kinred, but common; no apparell, but naturall; no manuring of lands; no use of wine, corne, or mettle. The very words that import lying, falshood, treason, dissimulation, covetousnes, envie, detraction and pardon, were never heard amongst them.”— Book I. ch. xxx. p. 102. Capell was the first to advert to this resemblance, and Malone objects to him that he supposed Shakespeare to have referred to the French original: true it is, that there was an English translation, which Malone quotes, but with remarkable incorrectness, for, besides omitting some words, and substituting others, in six lines he makes more than twice as many variations. See the "Introduction,” p. 5, note 4.

No occupation, all men idle, all;

And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty :—

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, Without sweat 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 foizon1, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.

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 age3.

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

all FOIZON,] i. e. plenty. See also Vol. ii. p. 21; Vol. vii. p. 165; and Vol. viii. pp. 51. 500.

To excel the golden age.] So Montaigne, just before the passage already quoted in note 3: "Me seemeth that what in those [newly discovered] nations wee see by experience, doth not onlie EXCEEDE all the pictures wherewith licentious poesie hath proudly embellished the GOLDEN AGE, and al hir quaint inventions to faine a happy condition of man, but also the conception and desire of philosophie." Malone cited this passage with greater accuracy.

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. 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 but 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,
It is a comforter.

Ant.

We two, my lord,

Will guard your person while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

Alon.

Thank you. Wondrous heavy.— [ALONSO sleeps. Erit ARIEL.

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
Ant. It is the quality o' the climate.

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, Worthy Sebastian?-O! what might?-No more:And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,

Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music.] "Invisible" is not in the ancient stage-direction, but in obedience to Prospero's direction the spirit was not to be seen. Steevens says that Ariel was not to be the performer of the "solemn music.” How does this appear? The stage-direction distinctly asserts the contrary.