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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 Eneas' too?
Good Lord, how you take it!

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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 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 pocket, 90 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.

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.

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?
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

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?



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.

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.

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
Which end o' the beam should bow.

lost your son,

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have


We have


Mo widows in them of this business' making
Than we bring men to comfort them:

The fault's your own.

Gon. My lord Sebastian,


So is the dear'st o' the loss.

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,

When you should bring the plaster.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

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

Very well.


When you are cloudy.


Foul weather?


Very foul.

Or docks, or mallows.

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,—
Ant. He 'ld sow 't with nettle-seed.
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 ;-

Yet he would be king on 't.

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the



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

Of it 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.


'Save his majesty!


Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! Gon. And, do you mark me, sir? 170 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 used to laugh at nothing.

Ant. 'Twas you we laughed 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; discretion so weakly.

for I am very heavy?

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us.

I will not adventure my
Will you laugh me asleep,


[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.

Please you, sir,

Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

We two, my lord,

Will guard your person while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

Thank you.-Wondrous heavy. [Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel.

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
Ant. It is the quality o' the climate.

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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 shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee; and
My strong imagination sees a crown

Dropping upon thy head.

What, art thou waking?

Ant. Do you not hear me speak?

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