And that you will some good instruction give, Mira. No, wonder, sir; Fer. My language!/heavens! I am the best of them that speak this speech, Pro. How! the best? What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee? Mira. Alack, for mercy! Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of Milan, And his brave son, being twain. Pro. The duke of Milan, [Aside. And his more braver daughter, could control thee, I'll set thee free for this!-A word, good sir; I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a word. Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father Fer. O, if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you Pro. Soft, sir; one word more They are both in either's powers; but this swift business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside. Make the prize light.-One word more; I charge thee That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself From me, the lord on't." Fer. No, as I am a man. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair an house, Good things will strive to dwell with't. Pro. Follow me. [To Ferdinand. Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.-Come. 1 Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks Wherein the acorn cradled: Follow. Fer. No; I will resist such entertainment, till Mine enemy has more power. Mira. O dear father, Make not too rash a trial of him, for Pro. What, I say, [He draws. My foot my tator!-Pat thy sword up, traitor; And make thy weapon drop. Mira. Beseech you, father! Pro. Hence; hang not on my garments. I'll be his surety. Pro. Silence: one word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! An advocate for an impostor? hush! Thou think'st, there are no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban: Foolish wench! To the most of men this is a Caliban, And they to him are angels. Mira. My affections Are then most humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. Pro. Come on; obey: Thy nerves are in their infancy again, And have no vigour in them. Fer. So they are: My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. [To Ferd. The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats, Pro. It works:-Come on. Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!-Follow me. [To Ferdinand and Miranda. [To Aricl. Hark, what thou else shalt do me. Mira. Be of comfort; C Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted, Pro. Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds: but then exactly do Ari. To the syllable. Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Another Part of the Island. Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GON- Is much beyond our loss: Our hint of woe The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, Can speak like us: then wisely, 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 strike. Gon. Sir, Seb. One-Tell. Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer Seb. A dollar. Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you purpos'd. Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. Gon. Therefore, my lord, Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! Gon. Well, I have done: But yet Seb. He will be talking, Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? Seb. The old cock, Ant. The cockrel. Seb. Done: The wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,- Ant. So you've pay'd. Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,- Adr. Yet Ant. He could not miss it. Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered. Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks? how green? Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. Seb. With an eye of green in't. Ant. He misses not much. Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed almost beyond credit),— Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. Gon. That our garments, being as they were, drench'd in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses; being rather new dyed, than stain'd with salt water. Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, he lies? Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. Gon. 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. Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. Adr. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their queen. Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow? a pox o'that! How came that widow in? Widow Dido! Seb. What if he had said, widower Æneas too? good lord, how you take it! Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. Adr. Carthage? Gon. I assure yon, 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 son for an apple. Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Gon. Ay? Ant. Why, in good time. Gon. 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. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? I ne'er again shall see her. O thou, mine heir Fran. Sir, he may live; I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 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, |