LITMIR.BIZ

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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,

       ‘Tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d

       As he that sleeps here swims.

       SEBASTIAN.

       I have no hope

       That he’s undrown’d.

       ANTONIO.

       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 wink beyond,

       But doubts discovery there. Will you grant with me

       That Ferdinand is drown’d?

       SEBASTIAN.

       He’s gone.

       ANTONIO.

       Then tell me,

       Who’s the next heir of Naples?

       SEBASTIAN.

       Claribel.

       ANTONIO.

       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’ th’ Moon’s too slow—till newborn chins

       Be rough and razorable: she that from whom

       We all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again,

       And by that destiny, to perform an act

       Whereof what’s past

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