My father’s loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, nor this man’s threats, To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 490 Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison.
Pros. [Aside] It works. [To Fer.] Come on.
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To Fer.] Follow me. [To Ari.] Hark what thou else shalt do me.
Mir. 495 Be of comfort; My father’s of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted
Which now came from him.
Pros. Thou shalt be as free
As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.
Ari. I. 2. 500 To the syllable.
Pros. Come, follow. Speak not for him. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
II. 1 S I. Another part of the island.
Enter A ,S ,A ,G ,A ,F ,
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, 5 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.
10 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,— 15 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 20 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.
II. 1. 25 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.
30 Ant. The cockerel.
Seb. Done. The wager?
Ant. A laughter.
Seb. A match!
Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,— 35 Seb. Ha, ha, ha!—So, you’re paid.
Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—
Seb. Yet,—
Adr. Yet,— Ant. He could not miss’t.
40 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.
45 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.
II. 1. 50 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.
55 Gon. But the rarity of it is,—which is indeed almost beyond credit,
— Seb. As many vouched rarities are.
Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and glosses, 60 being rather new-dyed
than stained 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 65 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 70 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 II. 1. 75 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?
80 Gon. I assure you, Carthage.
Seb. His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath raised 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 85 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.
90 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.
95 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 fished for.
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter’s marriage?
II. 1. 100 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 removed 105 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.
110 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, 115 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; 120 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 importuned otherwise, By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weigh’d between loathness and obedience, at II. 1. 125 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 dear’st o’ the loss.
130 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.
135 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’ld sow’t with nettle-seed.
Seb. Or docks, or mallows.
Gon. And were the king on’t, what would I do?
140 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, 145 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; II. 1. 150 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, 155 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?
160 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!
Gon. And,—do you mark me, sir?
Alon. Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.
165 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 laughed at.
Gon. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to 170 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 II. 1. 175 five weeks without changing.
Enter A (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 180 heavy?
Ant. Go sleep, and hear us.
[ All sleep except 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 inclined to do so.
Seb. Please you, sir,
185 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.
190 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 disposed to sleep.
Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent; 195 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 shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee; and
My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head.
Seb. II. 1. 200 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 205 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.
210 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, 215 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: 220 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 II. 1. 225 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. 230 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 doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me
That Ferdinand is drown’d?
Seb. He’s gone.
Ant. 235 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,— 240 The man i’ the 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. 245 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 II. 1. 250 Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake.” Say, this were death That now hath seized 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
255 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. 260 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 feater than before: my brother’s servants 265 Were then my fellows; now they are my men.
Seb. But for your conscience.
Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if ’twere a kibe, ’Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,
270 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, II. 1. 275 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; 280 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 payest; And I the king shall love thee.
Ant. 285 Draw together; And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo.
Seb. O, but one word. [They talk apart.
Re-enter A invisible.
Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth,— 290 For else his project dies,—to keep them living.
[Sings in Gonzalo’s ear.
While you here do snoring lie,
Open-eyed conspiracy
His time doth take.
If of life you keep a care,
295 Shake off slumber, and beware:
Awake, awake!
Ant. Then let us both be sudden.
