Seb. Gon. Dolour comes to him, spoken truer than you purposed. A dollar. indeed; you have Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. Gon. Therefore, my lord, Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! Alon. I pr'ythee, spare. Gon. Well, I have done: but yet Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? Seb. The old cock. Ant. The cockrel. Seb. Done: the wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, Seb. Ha, ha, ha! 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 de licate temperance*. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as 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 lusht 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, al. most 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 grac'd before with such a paragon to their queen. Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! dow in? Widow Dido! How came that wi 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 Who is so far from Italy remov'd, I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Fran. Sir, he may live; I saw him beat the surges under him, 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 daugh ter, * Degree or quality. 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 other wise By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. My lord Sebastian, 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 a plantation of this isle, my lord, Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-need. Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the king of it, What would I do? Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. Gon. 1' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things: for no kind of traffic Successions; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none: And women too; but innocent and pure: Seb. And 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 foizont, 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 age. Seb. Ant. Long live Gonzalo! 'Save his majesty! 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! 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 salemn 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 Aut. * The rack. + Plenty. |