The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

>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; space 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 cock.

ANTONIO. The cock’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 lusty the grass 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 assure 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 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 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.

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’ th’ 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, T’ 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 fall’n 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 shouldst be; th’ 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