The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 492

MIRANDA. My affections Are then most humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man.

PROSPERO. Come on; obey.

Thy nerves are in their infancy again, And have no vigour in them.

FERDINAND. So they are; My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.

My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth Let liberty make use of; s.p.a.ce enough Have I in such a prison.

PROSPERO. [Aside] It works. [To FERDINAND] Come on.- Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To FERDINAND] Follow me.

[To ARIEL] Hark what thou else shalt do me.

MIRANDA. Be of comfort; My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted Which now came from him.

PROSPERO. [To ARIEL] Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds; but then exactly do All points of my command.

ARIEL. To th' syllable.

PROSPERO. [To FERDINAND] Come, follow. [To MIRANDA]

Speak not for him. Exeunt

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ACT II. SCENE 1

Another part of the island

Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS

GONZALO. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common; every day, some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us. Then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort.

ALONSO. Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN. He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANTONIO. The visitor will not give him o'er so.

SEBASTIAN. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.

GONZALO. Sir- SEBASTIAN. One-Tell.

GONZALO. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, Comes to th' entertainer- SEBASTIAN. A dollar.

GONZALO. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you purpos'd.

SEBASTIAN. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

GONZALO. Therefore, my lord- ANTONIO. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

ALONSO. I prithee, spare.

GONZALO. Well, I have done; but yet- SEBASTIAN. He will be talking.

ANTONIO. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?

SEBASTIAN. The old c.o.c.k.

ANTONIO. The c.o.c.k'rel.

SEBASTIAN. Done. The wager?

ANTONIO. A laughter.

SEBASTIAN. A match!

ADRIAN. Though this island seem to be desert- ANTONIO. Ha, ha, ha!

SEBASTIAN. So, you're paid.

ADRIAN. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible- SEBASTIAN. Yet- ADRIAN. Yet- ANTONIO. He could not miss't.

ADRIAN. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.

ANTONIO. Temperance was a delicate wench.

SEBASTIAN. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly deliver'd.

ADRIAN. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

SEBASTIAN. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.

ANTONIO. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen.

GONZALO. Here is everything advantageous to life.

ANTONIO. True; save means to live.

SEBASTIAN. Of that there's none, or little.

GONZALO. How lush and l.u.s.ty the gra.s.s looks! how green!

ANTONIO. The ground indeed is tawny.

SEBASTIAN. With an eye of green in't.

ANTONIO. He misses not much.

SEBASTIAN. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

GONZALO. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit- SEBASTIAN. As many vouch'd rarities are.

GONZALO. That our garments, being, as they were, drench'd in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dy'd, than stain'd with salt water.

ANTONIO. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?

SEBASTIAN. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

GONZALO. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.

SEBASTIAN. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

ADRIAN. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their queen.

GONZALO. Not since widow Dido's time.

ANTONIO. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 'widow'

in? Widow Dido!

SEBASTIAN. What if he had said 'widower Aeneas' too?

Good Lord, how you take it!

ADRIAN. 'Widow Dido' said you? You make me study of that. She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

GONZALO. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

ADRIAN. Carthage?

GONZALO. I a.s.sure you, Carthage.

ANTONIO. His word is more than the miraculous harp.

SEBASTIAN. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.

ANTONIO. What impossible matter will he make easy next?

SEBASTIAN. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple.

ANTONIO. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.

GONZALO. Ay.

ANTONIO. Why, in good time.

GONZALO. 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 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?

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 oared Himself with his good arms in l.u.s.ty stroke To th' sh.o.r.e, 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 Moe widows in them of this business' making, Than we bring men to comfort them; The fault's your own.

ALONSO. So is the dear'st o' th' 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.