And his brave Son, being twain. Pro. The Duke of Millan And his more braver Daughter could controll thee, I'll fet thee free for this. A Word, good Sir, That e'er I figh'd for: Pity move my Father Fer. O, if a Virgin, And your Affection not gone forth; I'll make you Pro. Soft Sir, one Word more. They are both in eithers Pow'r: But this fwift Bufinefs Make the Prize light. One Word more; I charge thee From me, the Lord on't. Fer. No, as I am a Man. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in fuch a Temple If the ill Spirit have fo fair an Houfe, Good things will ftrive to dwell with't. Pro. Follow me. Speak you not for him: He's a Traitor. Come, Fer. No, I will refift fuch Entertainment, 'till Mine Enemy has more Pow'r. [He draws, and is charmed from moving. Mira. O dear Father, Make not too rash a Trial of him; for He's gentle, and not fearful. Pro. What I fay, My Foot my Tutor? Put thy Sword up, Traitor, Who mak' it a Shew, but dar'ft not ftrike; thy Confcience Is poffeft with Guilt: Come from thy Ward, Mira. Befeech you, Father. Pro. Hence: Hang not on my Garments. I'll be his Surety. Pro. Silence: One Word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. An Advocate for an Impoftor? Hush! What, Thou think'st there are no more fuch Shapes as he, (Having feen but him and Caliban) foolish Wench, To the most of Men this is a Caliban, And they to him are Angels. Mira. My Affections Are then most humble: I have no Ambition To fee a goodlier Man. Pro. Come on, obey: Thy Nerves are in their Infancy again, Fer. So they are: My Spirits, as in a Dream, are all bound up. The Wrack of all my Friends, and this Man's Threats, Pro. It works: Come on. Thou haft done well, fine Ariel: Follow me. Mira. Be of comfort, My Father's of a better Nature, Sir, Than he appears by Speech: This is unwonted Which now came from him. Pro. Thou shalt be as free As Mountain Winds; but then exactly do All Points of my Command. Ari. To th' Syllable. Pro. Come follow: Speak not for him. [Exeunt. ACT ACT II. SCENE I. Enter Alonfo, Sebaftian, Anthonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Gonz Efeech you Sir, be merry: You have Caufe, Is much beyond our Lofs; our Hint of Wo Can fpeak like us: Then wifely, good Sir, weigh Alon. Prethee Peace. Seb. He receives Comfort like cold Porridge. Seb. Look, he's winding up the Watch of his Wit, Gon. Sir, Seb. On: Tell. Gon. When every Grief is entertain'd That's offer'd; comes to the Entertainer Seb. A Dollor. Gon. Dolour comes to him indeed, you have spoken truer than you purpos'd. Seb. You have taken it wifelier than I meant you should. Gon. Therefore, my Lord. Ant. Fie, what a Spend-thrift is he of his Tongue? Alon. I prethee fpare." Gon. Well, I have done: But yet Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which of he, or Adrian, for a good Wager, First begins to crow? Seb. The old Cock. Ant. The Cockrell. Seb. Done: The Wager? Ant. A Laughter. Seb. A Match. Adr. Though this Ifland feem to be defert Seb. Ha, ha, ha Ant Ant. So: You're paid. Adr. Uninhabitable, and almoft inacceffible. Seb. Yet. Adr. Yet Ant. He could not mifs't. Adr. It muft needs be of fubtle, tender, and delicate Temperance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate Wench. Seb. Ay, and a fubtle, as he most learnedly deliver'd. Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to Life. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Gon. How lush and lufty the Grafs looks? How green? Ant. The Ground indeed is tawny, Seb. With an Eye of green in't. Ant. He miffes not much. Seb. No: He does but mistake the Truth totally. Gon. But the Rarity of it is, which is indeed almost be yond Credit---- Seb. As many voucht Rarities are. Gon. That our Garments, being (as they were) drencht in the Sea, hold notwithstanding their Freshness and Gloffes, being rather new dy'd than ftain'd with falt Water. Ant. If but one of his Pockets could fpeak, would it not fay he lies? Seb. Ay, or very falfely pocket up his Report. Gon. Methinks our Garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Affrick, at the Marriage of the King's fair Daughter Claribel, to the King of Tunis. Seb. 'Twas a fweet Marriage, and we profper well in our Return. Adri. Tunis was never grac'd before with fuch a Paragon to their Queen. Gon. Not fince Widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow ? a Pox o'that: How came that Widow in? Widow Dido! Seb. What if he had faid Widower Eneas too? Good Lord, how you take it! Adr. Widow Dido, faid you? You make me study of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis, Sir, was Carthage. Adri. Carthage? Gon. I affure you Carthage. Ant. His Word is more than the miraculous Harp. Ant. What impoffible matter will he make eafie next? Seb. I think he will carry this Ifland home in his Pocket, and give it his Son for an Apple. Ant. And fowing the Kernels of it in the Sea, bring forth more Iflands. Gon. Ay. Ant. Why in good time. Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our Garments feem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the Marriage of your Daughter, who is now Queen. Ant. And the rareft that e'er came there. Ant. O, Widow Dido? Ay, Widow Dido. Gon. Is not my Doublet, Sir, as fresh as the firft Day I wore it? I mean in a fort. Ant. That fort was well fish'd for. Gon. When I wore it at your Daughter's Marriage. I ne'er again fhall fee her: O thou mine Heir Fran. Sir, he may live.. I faw him beat the Surges under him, And ride upon their Backs; he trode the Water, The Surge moft fwollen that met him: His bold Head To th' Shore; that o'er his wave-worn Bafis bow'd As |