SCENE I.-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.

Pr'ythee, 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.

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!

widow in? Widow Dido!

How came that

Gon. [To ADR.] 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?

Alon.

Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd 'otherBy all of us; and the fair soul herself [wise Weigh'd, between loathness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have [your son, 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.

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 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.

Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! Gon.

'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!

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 They are inclin'd to do so. [find

Seb.

Please you, Sir,

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. Th' occasion speaks thee;
My strong imagination sees a crown
[and
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.
Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Do so: to ebb

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.

Pr'ythee, 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.

That he's undrown'd.

Ani.

I have no hope

O, out of that no hope,

Who's the next heir of Naples?

Then, tell me,

Claribel.

Seb. 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' the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins Be rough and razorable; she, 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,

True:

You did supplant your brother Prospero.
Ant.

And look how well my garments sit upon me;
Much feater 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
Wherefore this ghastly looking?
[drawn?
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 it not wake you?
It struck mine ear most terribly.

Alon.

I heard nothing. Ani. 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 verity. '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 farFor my poor son. [ther search 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.

SCENE II.-Another part of the Island.

Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard.

[Exit.

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire, Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark

Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:
Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me,
And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my footfall: sometime am I
All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues
Do hiss me into madness.-Lo, now! lo!
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat;
Perchance, he will not mind me.

Enter TRINCULO.

Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i' the wind: yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls.-What have we here? a man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man: any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. [Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the dregs of the storm be past.

Ste.

Enter STEPHANO, singing; a bottle in his hand.
I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die a-shore:-

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral:
Well, here's my comfort.
[Drinks.

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,

Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car'd for Kate;

For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!

She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch:
Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang.

This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort.
[Drinks.

Cal. Do not torment me: O!

Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scaped drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, as proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils.

Cal. The spirit torments me: O!

Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather.