Is much beyond our lofs; our stint of woe
Is common; every day, fome failor's wife,
The masters of fome merchant, and the merchant,
Have just our theam of woe: but for the miracle,
(I mean our preservation) few in millions

Can fpeak like us: then wifely, good Sir, weigh
Our forrow with our comfort.

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. 5

[Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Ant. The 'vifer will not give o'er fo.

6

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 dollor.

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you propos'd.

Seb. You have taken it wifelier than I meant you fhould.

Gon. Therefore, my lord,

Ant. Fie, what a spend-thrift is he of his tongue? Alon. I pr'ythee, fpare.

Gon. Well, I have done: but yet—

Seb. He will be talking.

4 our HINT of woe] hint of woe, can fignify only prognoftic of woe: which is not the fenfe required. We should read STINT, i. e. proportion, allotment.

-to

5 All this that follows after the words Pr'ythee, peace. the words, You cram these words, &c. feems to have been interpolated, (perhaps by the Players) the verses there beginning again; and all that is between in profe, not only being very impertinent ftuff, but most improper and ill-plac'd drollery, in the mouths of unhappy fhipwreckt people. There is more of the fame fort interfperfed in the remaining part of the Scene. Mr. Pope.

6 The VISITOR will not give o'er fo.] This Vifitor is a Comforter or Adviser. We must read then,

'VISER, i. e. the Advifer.

Ant.

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. It must needs be of fubtle, tender, and delicate temperance.

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.

Seb. Ay, and a fubtle, as he moft learnedly deliver'd,

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.

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. 7 As many voucht rarities are.

Gon. That our garments being (as they were) drench'd in the fea, hold notwithstanding their fresh

7 As many voucht rarities are.] A Satire on the extravagant accounts that Voyagers then told of the new discovered World.

nefs

nefs and gloffes; being rather new dy'd, than ftain'd with falt water.

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

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 sweet marriage, and we profper well

in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never grac'd 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 Æneas too? Good lord, how you take it!

Adr. Widow Dido, faid you? you make me ftudy 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 impoffible matter will he make eafy next? Seb. I think, he will carry this ifsland 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 iflands.

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 mar riage of your daughter, who is now Queen.

Ant. And the rareft that e'er came there.
Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

Ant.

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 nine ears against
The stomach of my fenfe. Would I had never
Married my daughter there! For, coming thence,
My fon is loft; and, in my rate, fhe too;
Who is fo far from Italy remov'd,

I ne'er again fhall fee her: O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what ftrange fish
Hath made his meal on thee?

Fran. Sir, he may live.

I faw him beat the furges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water;
Whofe enmity he flung afide, and breasted

The furge moft fwoln that met him his bold head
"Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lufty ftrokes
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 lofs, That would not blefs our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African;

Where fhe, at leaft, is banifh'd from your eye,
Who hath caufe to wet the grief on't.

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us; and the fair foul herfelf

Weigh'd between lothness 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 bufinefs' making,

VOL. I.

Ꭰ

Than

Than we bring men to comfort them:
The fault's your own.

Alon, So is the deareft o' th' lofs.
Gon. My lord Sebaftian,

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

Seb. Very well.

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 plantation of this ifle, my lord

Ant. 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 magiftrate; "Letters fhould not be known; wealth, poverty, "And ufe of fervice, none; contract, fucceffion, "Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; "No ufe of metal, corn, or wine, or oyl; "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.,

8

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.

"Gon. All things in common, nature should produce, "Without fweat or endeavour. Treafon, felony,

8 The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.] All this Dialogue is a fine Satire on the Utopean Treatifes of Government, and the impracticable inconfiftent Schemes therein recommended.

"Sword,