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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 daugh

ter,

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

More widows in them of this business' making,

Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's

Your own.

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My lord Sebastian,

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,

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

When

you

Seb.

should bring the plaister.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

Very well.

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,

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Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,-
Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed.

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. I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffick
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; no use of service,
Of riches or of poverty; no contracts,
Successions; 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.

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 foizon, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects?

sir,

Ant. None, man: all idle; whores, and knaves, Gon. I would with such perfection govern, 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 musick. 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: Wond'rous 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 eye-lids 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?

I do; and, surely,

Ant. Do you not hear me speak?

Seb.

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.

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Do so: to ebb,

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.

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,)

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 an hope, that even

VOL. I.

D

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