ACT II. SCENE I. Another Part of the Island. Enter Alonfo, Sebastian, Anthonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, GONZALO. ESEECH you Sir, be merry: you have cause Can fpeak like us: then wifely, good Sir, weigh Alon. Pr'ythee peace. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit, by and by it will ftrike. Gon. Sir. Seb. On: tell. Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd; comes to the entertainer Seb. A dollor. Gon. Dolour comes to him indeed, you have spoken truer than he propos'd. you Seb. You have taken it wifelier than I meant fhould. Ant. Fie, what a spend-thrift he is of his tongue? C 4 5 The vifitor... old edit. Warb, emend. Gon Gon. Well, I have done: but yet- Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, firft begins to crow? Seb. The old cock. Ant. The cockrell. Seb. Done: the wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this Ifland feem to be defart Seb. Ha, ha, ha. Ant. So you're paid. Adr. Uninhabitable, and almoft inacceffible- Adr. Yet, Ant. He could not mifs't. Adr. It must needs be of fubtle, tender, and delicate temperance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. Ay, and a fubtle, as he most learnedly deliver❜d. Ant. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen. Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. Ant. True, fave means to live. Seb. Of that there's none or little. Gon. How lush and lufty the grafs looks? how green? Ant. The ground indeed is tawny. Seb. With an eye of green in't. Ant. He miffes not much. Seb. No: he does but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit Seb. As many voucht rarities are. Gon. That our garments being (as they were) drench'd in the fea, hold notwithstanding their frefhnefs and gloffes, being rather new dy'd than ftain'd with falt water. Ant. If but one of his pockets could fpeak, would it not fay he lies? Seb. Seb. Ay, or very falfely pocket up his report. Gon. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Africk, at the marriage of the King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis. Seb. 'Twas a fweet marriage, and we profper well in our return. Adr. Tunis was never graced before with fuch a paragon to their Queen. Gon. Not fince widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow? a pox o' that: how came that widow in? widow Dido! Seb. What if he had faid widower Eneas too? Good lord, how you take it! Adr. Widow Dido, faid you? you make me ftudy of that: fhe was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis, Sir, was Carthage. Adr. Carthage? Gon. I affure you Carthage. Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. Ant. What impoffible matter will he make eafie next? Seb. I think he will carry this Island home in his pocket, and give it his fon for an apple. Ant. And fowing the kernels of it in the fea, bring forth more Islands. Gon. Ay. Ant. Why in good time. Gon. Sir, we were talking that our garments feem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen. Ant. And the rareft that e'er came there. Seb. Bate, I befeech you, widow Dido. Ant. O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido! Gon. Is not my doublet, Sir, as fresh as the firft day I wore it? I mean in a fort. Ant. That fort was well fifh'd for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage. The The ftomach of my fenfe. Would I had never I ne'er again fhall fee her: O thou mine heir Fran. Sir, he may live. I faw him beat the furges under him, The furge moft fwoll'n that met him: his bold head To th' fhore; that o'er his wave-worn bafis bow'd Alon. No, no, he's gone. Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great lofs, That would not blefs our Europe with your daughter, But rather lofe her to an African; Where fhe, at least, is banish'd from your eye, Alon. Pr'ythee peace. Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us and the fair foul her self Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at Which end the beam fhould bow. We've loft your fon 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 Alon. So is the dearest of the lofs. Gon. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack fome gentleness Seb. Very well. Ant Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good Sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Foul weather? Ant. Very foul. Gon. Had I the planting of this Ifle, my lord Ant. He'd fow't with nettle-feed. Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the King 7 'of it, what would I do? Gon. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries Letters fhould not be known; wealth, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, fucceffion, 8 Borne, bound of land, tilth, 'vineyard, olives, none;` No occupation, all men idle, all, And women too; but innocent and No Sov❜reignty. pure: Seb. And yet he would be King on't. Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. Gon. All things in common nature fhould produce Seb. No marrying 'mong his fubjects? Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. T'excell the golden age. Seb. Save his Majefty! Ant: Long live Gonzala! Gon. And do you mark me, Sir? Ant: Pr'ythee no more; thou doft talk nothing to me. 6 plantation 7 on't, 8 vineyard, none; Gon. 1 |