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Ant. Widow, a pox o'that: how came that widow

in? widow Dido ! $

8

Seb. What if he had said, widower Æneas too? Good lord, how you take it !

Adr. Widow Dido, faid you? you make me study of that: she 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. Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.

Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy 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. I

Ant. Why, in good time.

Gon. Sir, we are talking, that our garments seem 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 beseech you, widow Dido.
Ant. O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido!

Gon. Is not my doublet, Sir, as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a fort.

Ant. That fort was well fish'd for.

Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage.
Alon. You cram these words into mine ears againft

The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
Married my daughter there! For, coming thence,
My fon is loft; and, in my rate, she too;
Who is fo far from Italy remov'd,
I ne'er again shall see her: O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish

8 The name of a widow brings to their minds their own shipwreck, which they confider as VOL. I.

having made many widows in Naples.

D

Hath

Hath made his meal on thee?

Fran. Sir, he may live.

I faw him beat the furges under him,
Ard ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
Whose enmity he flung afide, and breasted
The furge most swoln that met him: his bold head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himfelf with his good arms in lusty strokes
To th' fhore that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt,
He came alive to land.

Alon. No, no, he's gone.

Seb. 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.
Alon. Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importuned otherwise
By all of us; and the fair foul herself
Weigh'd between lothness and obedience, at
Which end the beam should bow. We've lost 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: 9
The fault's your own.

Alon. So is the dearest o'th' lofs.

Gon. My lord Sebastian,

The truth, you speak, doth lack fome gentleness,
And time to ipeak it in: you rub the fore,
When you should bring the plaifter.

Seb. Very well.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

9 It does not clearly appear whether the King and these lords thought the ship loft. This paffage feems to imply that they were themselves confident of returning, but imagined part of

the fleet destroyed. Why, indeed, should Sebastian plot against his brother in the following Scene unless he knew how to find the kingdom which he was to inherit.

Gon.

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good Sir,

When you are cloudy.

Seb. Foul weather ?

Ant. Very foul.

Gon. Had I the plantation of this ifle, my lordAnt. He'd fow't with nettle-feed.

Seb. Or docks, or mallows.

Gon. And were the King on't, what would I do?
Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.
Gon. I'th' commonwealth, I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffick
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; wealth, poverty,
And use of fervice, none; contract, fucceffion,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none:
No ufe of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation, all men idle, all,
And women too; but innocent and pure:
No Sov'reignty.

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 should produce, Without fweat or endeavour. Treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foyzon, all abundance To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying 'mong his fubjects?

A t. None, man; all idle, whores and knaves.
Gon. I would with such perfection govern, Sir,

T' excel the golden age.

Seb. Save his Majesty!

Ant. Long live Gonzalo !

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Gon. And do you mark me, Sir?
Alon. Pr'ythee no more; thou dost talk nothing to

[me.

Gon. I do well believe your Highness; and did it to minifter occafion to these gentlemen, who are of fuch sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing.

Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing ftill.

Ant. What a blow was there given ?

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long.

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave metal; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.

Enter Ariel, playing folemn Musick.

Seb. We would fo, and then go a bat-fowling.

Ant. Nay, my good lord, be not angry.

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

Ant. Go, fleep, and hear us,

Alon. What, all fo foon asleep? I wish mine eyes Would with themselves shut up my thoughts: I find, They are inclin'd to do so.

Seb. Please you, Sir,

Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

It feldom vifits forrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

Ant. We two, my lord,

Will guard your person, while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

Ant. Thank you: wondrous heavy

[All Sleep but Seb. and Ant.

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them?

Ant. It is the quality o' th' climate.

Seb.

Seb. Why

Doth it not then our eye-lids fink? I find not
Myself dispos'd to fleep

Ant. Nor I, my spirits are nimble: They fell together all as by confent, They dropt as by a thunder-stroke. 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 fees a crown Dropping upon thy head.

Seb. What, art thou waking?

Ant. Do you not hear me speak ?
Seb. I do; and, furely,

It is a fleepy language; and thou speak'it

Out of thy fleep: what is it thou didst say?

This is a strange repose, to be afleep

With eyes wide open: standing, speaking, moving;

And yet fo fast asleep.

Ant. Noble Sebastian,

Thou let'st thy fortune sleep; die rather: wink'st, Whilst thou art waking.

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly;

There's meaning in thy fnores.

Ant. I am more serious than my custom. You

Must be so too, if heed me; which to do,
Trebles thee o'er.

Seb. Well: I am standing water.
Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb. Do so: to ebb

Hereditary floth instructs me.

Ant. O!

If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish,
Whilft 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 floth.

Seb. Pr'ythee, say on;

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