William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

ALONSO.

Ay.

ANTONIO.

Why, in good time.

GONZALO. [To ALONSO.] 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.

ANTONIO.

And the rarest that e’er came there.

SEBASTIAN.

Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

ANTONIO.

O! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.

GONZALO. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.

ANTONIO.

That sort was well fish’d for.

GONZALO.

When I wore it at your daughter’s marriage?

ALONSO.

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?

FRANCISCO.

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 th’ shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bowed,

As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt

He came alive to land.

ALONSO.

No, no; he’s gone.

SEBASTIAN.

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.

ALONSO.

Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN.

You were kneel’d to, and importun’d otherwise

By all of us; and the fair soul herself

Weigh’d between loathness and obedience at

Which end o’ th’ 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.

ALONSO.

So is the dearest of the loss.

GONZALO.

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.

SEBASTIAN.

Very well.

ANTONIO.

And most chirurgeonly.

GONZALO.

It is foul weather in us all, good sir,

When you are cloudy.

SEBASTIAN.

Foul weather?

ANTONIO.

Very foul.

GONZALO.

Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,—

ANTONIO.

He’d sow ‘t with nettle-seed.

SEBASTIAN.

Or docks, or mallows.

GONZALO.

And were the king on’t, what would I do?

SEBASTIAN.

‘Scape being drunk for want of wine.

GONZALO.

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,—

SEBASTIAN.

Yet he would be king on’t.

ANTONIO.

The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.

GONZALO.

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 it own kind, all foison, all abundance,

To feed my innocent people.

SEBASTIAN.

No marrying ‘mong his subjects?

ANTONIO.

None, man: all idle; whores and knaves.

GONZALO.

I would with such perfection govern, sir,

To excel the golden age.

SEBASTIAN.

Save his Majesty!

ANTONIO.

Long live Gonzalo!

GONZALO.

And,—do you mark me, sir?

ALONSO.

Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

GONZALO. 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.

ANTONIO.

‘Twas you we laugh’d at.

GONZALO. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still.

ANTONIO.

What a blow was there given!

SEBASTIAN.

An it had not fallen flat-long.

GONZALO. 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]

SEBASTIAN.

We would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.

ANTONIO.

Nay, good my lord, be not angry.

GONZALO. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?

ANTONIO.

Go sleep, and hear us.

[All sleep but ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, and ANTONIO]

ALONSO.

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.

SEBASTIAN.

Please you, sir,

Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,

It is a comforter.

ANTONIO.

We two, my lord,

Will guard your person while you take your rest,

And watch your safety.

ALONSO.

Thank you. Wondrous heavy!

[ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL.]

SEBASTIAN.

What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

ANTONIO.

It is the quality o’ th’ climate.

SEBASTIAN.

Why

Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not

Myself dispos’d to sleep.

ANTONIO.

Nor I: my spirits are nimble.

They fell together all, as by consent;

They dropp’d, as by a thunderstroke. 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.

SEBASTIAN.

What! art thou waking?

ANTONIO.

Do you not hear me speak?

SEBASTIAN.

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.

ANTONIO.

Noble Sebastian,

Thou let’st thy fortune sleep—die rather: wink’st

Whiles thou art waking.

SEBASTIAN.

Thou dost snore distinctly:

There’s meaning in thy snores.

ANTONIO.

I am more serious than my custom; you

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

Trebles thee o’er.

SEBASTIAN.

Well, I am standing water.

ANTONIO.

I’ll teach you how to flow.

SEBASTIAN.

Do so: to ebb,

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

ANTONIO.

O!

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.

SEBASTIAN.

Prithee, say on:

The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim

A matter from thee, and a birth, indeed

Which throes thee much to yield.

ANTONIO.

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,