Seb. You were kneel'd too, & importun'd otherwise By all of us and the faire soule her selfe

Waigh'd betweene loathnesse, and obedience, at

Which end o'th'beame should bow: we have lost your son,
I feare for ever: Millaine and Naples have

Mo widdowes in them of this businesse making,

Then we bring men to comfort them:

The faults your owne.

Alon. So is the deer'st o'th'losse.

Gon.

My Lord Sebastian,

The truth you speake doth lacke some gentlenesse,

And time to speake it in: you rub the sore,

When you should bring the plaister.

Seb. Very well.

Ant. And most Chirurgeonly.

Gon. It is foule weather in us all, good Sir,

When you are cloudy.

Seb. Fowle weather?

Ant. Very foule.

Gon. Had I plantation of this Isle my Lord.
Ant. Hee'd sow't with Nettle-seed.

Seb. Or dockes, or Mallowes.

Gon. And were the King on't, what would I do?
Seb. Scape being drunke, for want of Wine.
Gon. I'th'Commonwealth I would (by contraries)
Execute all things: For no kinde of Trafficke
Would I admit: No name of Magistrate :
Letters should not be knowne: Riches, poverty,
And use of service, none: Contract, Succession,
Borne, bound of Land, Tilth, Vineyard none :
No use of Mettall, Corne, or Wine, or Oyle:
No occupation, all men idle, all:

And Women too, but innocent and

No Soveraignty.

Seb.

pure :

Yet he would be King on't.

Ant. The latter end of his Common-wealth forgets the beginning.

Gon. All things in common Nature should produce
Without sweat or endevour: Treason, fellony,
Sword, Pike, Knife, Gun, or neede of any Engine
Would I not have: but Nature should bring forth
Of it owne kinde, 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 such perfection governe Sir: T'Excell the Golden Age.

Seb. 'Save his Majesty.
Ant. Long live Gonzalo.

Gon. And do

you marke me, Sir?

Alon. Pre-thee no more: thou dost talke nothing to me.

Gon. I do well beleeve your Highnesse, and did it to minister occasion to these Gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble Lungs, that they alwayes 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. And it had not falne flat-long.

Gon. You are Gentlemen of brave mettal: you would lift the Moone out of her spheare, if she would continue in it five weekes without changing.

Enter Ariell playing solemne Musicke.

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 asleepe, for I am very heavy.

:

Ant. Go sleepe, and heare us.

Alon. What, all so soone asleepe?

Would (with themselves) shut up my thoughts,

I finde they are inclin'd to do so.

Seb.

Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

I wish mine eyes

Please you Sir.

It sildome 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. Thanke you: Wondrous heavy.

Seb. What a strange drowsines possesses them :
Ant. It is the quality o' th' Clymate.

Seb.

Why

Doth it not then our eye-lids sinke? I finde
Not my selfe dispos'd to sleep.

Ant. Nor I, my spirits are nimble :

They fell together all, as by consent

They dropt, as by a Thunder-stroke: what might
Worthy Sebastian? O, what might? no more:
And yet, me thinkes I see it in thy face,

What thou should'st be: th'occasion speaks thee, and
My strong imagination see's a Crowne

Dropping upon thy head.

Seb.

What art thou waking?

Ant. Do you not heare me speake?
Seb.

I do, and surely

It is a sleepy Language; and thou speak'st

Out of thy sleepe: What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleepe

With eyes wide open: standing, speaking, moving:

There's meaning in thy snores.

Ant. I am more serious then my custome: you

Must be so too, if heed me: which to do,

Trebbles thee o're.

Seb.

Well: I am standing water.

Ant. Ile teach you how to flow:

Seb.

Do so to ebbe

O!

Hereditary Sloth instructs me.

Ant.

If you but knew how you the purpose cherish
Whiles thus you mocke it: how in stripping it
You more invest it: ebbing men, indeed
(Most often) do so neere the bottome run

By their owne feare, or sloth.

Seb.

'Pre-thee say on,

The setting of thine eye, and cheeke proclaime
A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,
Which throwes thee much to yeeld.

Thus Sir:

Ant.
Although this Lord of weake remembrance; this
Who shall be of as little

memory

When he is earth'd, hath here almost perswaded (For hee's a Spirit of perswasion, onely

Professes to perswade) the King his sonne's alive, 'Tis as impossible that hee's undrown'd,

As he that sleepes heere, swims.

Seb.

That hee's undrown'd.

Ant.

I have no hope

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 winke beyond
But doubt discovery there.

'That Ferdinand is drown'd.

Seb.

Will you grant with me

He's gone.

Ant. Then tell me, who's the next heire of Naples? Seb. Claribell.

Ant. She that is Queene of Tunis: she that dwels Ten leagues beyond mans life: she that from Naples Can have no note, unlesse the Sun were post:

The Man i'th Moone's too slow, till new-borne chinnes

Be rough, and Razor-able: She that from whom We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast againe, (And by that destiny) to performe an act

Whereof, what's past is Prologue; what to come

In yours, and my discharge.

Seb.

What stuffe is this? How say you?

'Tis true my brothers daughter's Queene of Tunis, So is she heyre of Naples, 'twixt which Regions There is some space.

Ant.

A space, whose ev'ry cubit

Seemes to cry out, how shall that Claribell
Measure us backe to Naples? keepe in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake. Say, this were death
That now hath seiz'd them, why they were no worse
Then now they are: There be that can rule Naples
As well as he that sleepes: Lords, that can prate
As amply, and unnecessarily

As this Gonzallo: I my selfe could make

A Chough of as deepe chat: O, that you bore
The minde that I do; what a sleepe were this
For
your advancement? Do you understand me?
Seb. Me thinkes I do.
Ant.

And how do's your content

Tender your owne good fortune?

Seb.

I remember

True:

You did supplant your Brother Prospero.
Ant.
And looke how well my Garments sit upon me,
Much feater then before: My Brothers servants
Were then my fellowes, now they are my men.
Seb. But for your conscience.

Ant. I Sir: where lies that? If 'twere a kybe
"Twould put me to my slipper: But I feele not
This Deity in my bosome: 'Twentie consciences
That stand 'twixt me, and Millaine, candied be they,