Puslapio vaizdai

As ftooping to relieve him: I not doubt
He came alive to Land.

Alon. No, no, he's gone.

Seb. Sir, you may thank your felf for this great Lofs,
That would not blefs our Europe with your Daughter,
But rather lofe her to an Affrican;

Where the, at least, is banish'd from your Eye,
Who hath Caufe to wet the Grief on't.

Alon. Peethee Peace.

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwife By all of us: And the fair Soul her felf

Weigh'd between Loathness and Obedience, at
Which End o'th' Beam fhould bow. We have loft your Son
I fear for ever: Millan and Naples have

More Widows in them of this business making.
Than we bring Men to comfort them:

The Fault's your own.

Alon. So is the dear'ft o'th' Lofs.
Gon. My Loid Sebastian,

The Truth you speak doth lack fome Gentleness
And Time to speak it in: You rub the Sore
When you should bring the Plaifter.

Seb. Very well.

Ant. And moft Chirurgeonly.

Gon. It is foul Weather in us all, good Sir, When you are cloudy.

Seb. Foul Weather?

Aut. Very foul.

Gon. Had I the Plantation of this Ifle, my Lord.
Ant. He'd fow't with Nettle-feed.

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'th' Commonwealth I would, by contraries,
Execute all things: For no kind of Traffick
Would I admit; no Name of Magiftrate;
Letters fhould not be known; Riches, Poverty,
And use of Service, none; Contract, Succeffion,
Born, Bound of Land, Tilth, Vineyard none;
No ufe of Metal, Corn, or Wine, or Oyl;
No Occupation, all Men idle, all,

C 4


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. Treafon, Felony,
Sword, Pike, Knife, Gun, or need of any Engine
Would I not have; but Nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all Foyzon, 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 fuch Perfection govern, Sir, T'excell the Golden Age.

Seb. Save his Majefty.

Ant. Long live Gonzalo.
Gon. And do you mark me, Sir?

Alon. Prethee no more; thou doft talk nothing to me. Gon. I do well believe your Highness, and did it to minifter Occafion to these Gentlemen, who are of fuch fenfible and nimble Lungs, that they always ufe to laugh at nothing:


Ant. 'Twas you I laugh'd at.

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you: So you may continue, and laugh at nothing fill. Ant. What a Blow was there given?

Seb. And it had not fallen flat-long.

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Gon. You are Gentlemen of a brave Metal; you would lift the Moon out of her Sphere, if fhe would continue in it five weeks without changing.

Enter Ariel playing folemn Mufick.
Seb. We would fo, and then go a Bat-fowling.
Ant. Nay, good my Lord be not angry.

Gon. No I warrant you, I will not adventure my Difcretion fo weakly: Will you laugh me afleep, for I am very heavy.

Ant. Go fleep, and hear us.

Alon. What, all fo foon afleep? I with mine Eyes would, with themselves, fhut up my Thoughts:

I find they are inclin'd to do fo.

Seb. Please you, Sir,


Do not omit the heavy Offer of it:

It feldom vifits Sorrow; when it doth, it is a Comforter.
Ant. We two, my Lord, will guard your Perfon,
While you take your Reft, and watch your Safety.
Alon. Thank you: Wondrous heavy.

[All fleep but Seb. and Ant.
Seb. What a ftrange Drowfinefs poffeffes them?
Ant. It is the Quality o' th' Climate.
Seb. Why

Doth it not then our Eye-lids fink? I find
Not my felf difpos'd to fleep.

Ant. Nor I, my Spirits are nimble:
They fell together all, as by Consent
They dropt, as by a Thunder-ftroke.
Worthy Sebaftian- O, what might
And yet, methinks I fee it in thy Face,
What thou fhouldft be: The Occafion fpeaks thee, and
My ftrong Imagination fees a Crown
Dropping upon thy Head.

Seb. What, art thou waking?
Ant. Do you not hear me speak?
Seb. I do; and furely

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What might,

no more.

It is a fleepy Language, and thou fpeak'st

Out of thy Sleep: What is it thou didft say?
This is a ftrange Repose, to be asleep

With Eyes wide open: Standing, fpeaking, moving;
And yet fo faft afleep.

Ant. Noble Sebaftian,

Thou let'ft thy Fortune fleep; die rather: Wink'ft
Whilft thou art waking.

Seb. Thou doft fnore diftinctly;

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There's Meaning in thy Snores.

Ant. I am more ferious than my Cuftom. You Muft be fo too, if you heed me; which to do, Trebbles thee o'er.

Seb. Well: I am standing Water.

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb. Do fo: To ebb,

Hereditary Sloth instructs me.

Ant. O!

If you but knew how you the Purpose cherish,

Whilft thus you mock it; how in ftripping it
You more invest it: Ebbing Men, indeed,
Most often do fo, near the Bottom, run,
By their own Fear or Sloth.

Seb. Prethee fay on,

The fetting of thine Eye and Cheek proclaim
A Matter from thee; and a Birth, indeed,
Which throws thee much to yield.

Ant. Thus Sir:

'Although this Lord of weak Remembrance; this
Who shall be of as little Memory

When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded
(For he's a Spirit of Perfuafion, only
Profeffes to perfuade) the King his Son's alive;
Tis as impoffible that he's undrown'd,
As he that fleeps here, fwims.
Seb. I have no Hope

That he's undrown'd.

Ant. O, out of that no Hope,

What great Hope have you? No Hope that way, is
Another way fo high an Hope, that even

Ambition cannot pierce a Wink beyond,
But doubt Discovery there. Will you grant, with me,
That Ferdinand is drown'd?

Seb. He's gone.

Ant. Then tell me who's the next Heir of Naples?
Seb. Claribel.

Ant. She that is Queen of Tunis; fhe that dwells
Ten Leagues beyond Man's Life; fhe that from Naples
Can have no Note, unless the Sun were Poft,
The Man i'th' Moon's too flow, 'till new-born Chins
Be rough, and razorable; fhe from whom

We all were Sea-fwallow'd, tho' some cast again,


And by that Deftiny to perform an A&t;
Whereof, what's paft in Prologue, what to come
In yours, and my Discharge-

Seb. What Stuff is this? How say you?
'Tis true, my Brother's Daughter's Queen of Tunis,
S is the Heir of Naples, 'twixt which Regions
There is fome Space.


Ant. A Space whose ev'ry Cubit
Seems to cry out, How fhall that Claribel
Measure us back by Naplest keep in Tunis,
And let Sebaftian wake. Say, this were Death
That now hath feiz'd them, why they were no worse
Than now they are: There be that can rule Naples
As well as he that fleeps; Lords, that can prate
As amply, and unneceffarily

As this Gonzalo; I my felf could make

A Chough of as deep Chat; O, that you bore
The Mind that I do; what a Sleep were this
For your Advancement? Do you understand me?
Seb. Methinks I do.

Ant. And how does your Content

Tender your own good Fortune?
Seb. I remember

You did fupplant your Brother Profpero.

Ant. True:

And look how well my Garments fit upon me,
Much feater than before. My Brother's Servants
Where then my Fellows, now they are my Men.

Seb. But for your Confcience.

Ant. Ay, Sir; where lyes that? If 'twere a Kybe
'Twould put me to my Slipper: But I feel not
This Deity in my Bolom. Twenty Confciences
That ftand 'twixt me and Millan, candied be they,
And melt e'er they moleft. Here lyes your Brother,
No better than the Earth he lyes upon,

If he were that which now he's like, that's dead;
Whom I with this obedient Steel, three Inches of it,
Can lay to Bed for ever: Whilft you doing thus,
To the perpetual Wink for ay might put
This ancient Morfel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our Courfe. For all the reft
They'll take Suggeftion, as a Cat laps Milk;
They'll tell the Clock, to any Bufinefs that
We fay befits the Hour.

Seb. Thy Cafe, dear Friend,

Shall be my Prefident: As thou got'ft Millan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy Sword, one Stroke
Shall free thee from the Tribute which thou payeft,


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