Another Part of the Island. |
|
Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others. |
Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause, |
So have we all, of joy; for our escape |
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe |
Is common: every day some sailor's wife, |
The masters of some merchant and the merchant, |
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, |
I mean our preservation, few in millions |
Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh |
Our sorrow with our comfort. |
Alon. Prithee, peace. |
Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. |
Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. |
Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike. |
Gon. Sir,— |
Seb. One: tell. |
Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, |
Comes to the entertainer— |
Seb. A dollar. |
Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed. |
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 prithee, spare. |
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 cockerel. |
Seb. Done. The wager? |
Ant. A laughter. |
Seb. A match! |
Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,— |
Seb. Ha, ha, ha! So you're paid. |
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; 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 everything 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-dyed 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. |
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. |
Alon. Ay? |
Ant. Why, in good time. |
Gon. [To ALON.] 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. Prithee, peace. |
Seb. You were kneel'd to and importun'd otherwise |
By all of us; and the fair soul herself |
Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at |
Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost your son, |
I fear, for ever: Milan 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 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. 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,— |
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; |
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 foison, 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. Save his majesty! |
Ant. Long live Gonzalo! |
Alon. And,—do you mark me, sir? |
Alon. Prithee, 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. |
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. Exit ARIEL. |
Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! |
Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. |
Seb. Why |
Doth it not then our eyelids 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, |
What thou should'st be. The occasion speaks thee; and |
My strong imagination sees a crown |
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, |
And yet so fast asleep. |
Ant. Noble Sebastian, |
Thou let'st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink'st |
Whiles thou art waking. |
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. |
Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. |
Seb. Do so: to ebb, |
Hereditary sloth instructs me. |
Ant. O! |
If you but knew how you the purpose cherish |
Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, |
You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed, |
Most often do so near the bottom run |
By their own fear or sloth. |
Seb. Prithee, say on: |
The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim |
A matter from thee, and a birth indeed |
Which throes 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 persuasion, only |
Professes to persuade,—the king, his son's alive, |
'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd |
As he that sleeps here swims. |
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 so high a hope that even |
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, |
But doubts 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; she that dwells |
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples |
Can have no note, unless the sun were post— |
The man i' th' moon's too slow—till new-born chins |
Be rough and razorable: she that, from whom? |
We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again, |
And by that destiny to perform an act |
Whereof what's past is 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; |
So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions |
There is some space. |
Ant. A space whose every cubit |
Seems to cry out, 'How shall that Claribel |
Measure us back to Naples?—Keep in Tunis, |
And let Sebastian wake!'—Say, this were death |
That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse |
Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples |
As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate |
As amply and unnecessarily |
As this Gonzalo; I myself 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 supplant your brother Prospero. |
Ant. True: |
And look how well my garments sit upon me; |
Much feather than before; my brother's servants |
Were then my fellows; now they are my men. |
Seb. But, for your conscience,— |
Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kibe, |
'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not |
This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences, |
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, |
And melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother, |
No better than the earth he lies 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; whiles you, doing thus, |
To the perpetual wink for aye might put |
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who |
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, |
They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk; |
They'll tell the clock to any business that |
We say befits the hour. |
Seb. Thy case, dear friend, |
Shall be my precedent: as thou got'st Milan, |
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke |
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay st, |
And I the king shall love thee. |
Ant. Draw together; |
And when I rear my hand, do you the like, |
To fall it on Gonzalo. |
Seb. O! but one word. [They converse apart. |
|
Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible. |
Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger |
That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth— |
For else his project dies—to keep thee living. [Sings in GONZALO'S ear. | While you here do snoring lie, |
| Open-ey'd Conspiracy |
| His time doth take. |
| If of life you keep a care, |
| Shake off slumber, and beware: |
| Awake! awake! |
|
Ant. Then let us both be sudden. |
Gon. Now, good angels |
Preserve the king! [They wake. |
Alon. Why, how now! ho, awake! Why are you drawn? |
Wherefore this ghastly looking? |
Gon. What's the matter? |
Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, |
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing |
Like bulls, or rather lions; did't not wake you? |
It struck mine ear most terribly. |
Alon. I heard nothing. |
Ant. O! 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, |
To make an earthquake: sure it was the roar |
Of a whole herd of lions. |
Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? |
Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, |
And that a strange one too, which did awake me. |
I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd; as mine eyes open'd, |
I saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise, |
That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard, |
Or that we quit this place: let's draw our weapons. |
Alon. Lead off this ground, and let's make further search |
For my poor son. |
Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts! |
For he is, sure, i' the island. |
Alon. Lead away. [Exit with the others. |
Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done: |
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exit. |
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