Mira. O deere Father, What I say, Make not too rash a triall of him, for Hee's gentle, and not fearfull, Pros. My foote my Tutor? Put thy sword up Traitor, Who mak'st a shew, but dar'st not strike: thy conscience For I can heere disarme thee with this sticke, Mira. Pros. Hence, hang not on my garments. Mira. Ile be his surety. Pros. Beseech you Father. Sir have pity, Silence: One word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee: What, An advocate for an Impostor? Hush : Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, (Having seene but him and Caliban :) Foolish wench, To th'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. Pros. Come on, obey: Thy Nerves are in their infancy againe. And have no vigour in them. Fer. So they are: My spirits, as in a dreame, are all bound up: My Fathers losse, the weaknesse which I feele, Behold this Mayd: all corners else o'th'Earth Pros. It workes: Come on. Thou hast done well, fine Ariell: follow me, Harke what thou else shalt do mee. Mira. My Fathers of a better nature (Sir) Be of comfort, Then he appeares by speech: this is unwonted Which now came from him. Pros. Thou shalt be as free As mountaine windes; but then exactly do All points of my command. Ariell. To th'syllable. Pros. Come follow: speake not for him. Actus Secundus. Exeunt. Scana Prima. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Anthonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and others. Gonz. Beseech you Sir, be merry; you have cause, (So have we all) of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our losse; our hint of woe Is common, every day, some Saylors wife, The Masters of some Merchant, and the Merchant Alons. Prethee peace. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porredge. Ant. The Visitor will not give him ore so. Seb. Looke, hee's winding up the watch of his wit, By and by it will strike. Gon. Sir. Seb. One: Tell. Gon. When every greefe is entertaind, That's offer'd comes to th'entertainer. Seb. A dollor. Gon. Dolour comes to him indeed, you have spoken truer then you purpos'd. Seb. You have taken it wiselier then I meant you should. Gon. Therefore my Lord. Ant. Fie, what a spend-thrift is he of his tongue. Alon. I pre-thee spare. Gon. Well, I have done: But yet Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which, of he, or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? Seb. The old Cocke. Ant. The Cockrell, Seb. Done: The wager? Ant. A Laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this Island seeme to be desert. Seb. Ha, ha, ha. Ant. So; you'r paid. Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible. Seb. Yet Adr. Yet Ant. He could not misse't. Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temper ance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. I, and a subtle, as he most learnedly deliver'd. Adr. The ayre breathes upon us here most sweetly. Ant. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a Fen. Gon. Heere is every thing advantageous to life. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Gon. How lush and lusty the grasse lookes? How greene? Ant. The ground indeed is tawny. Ant. He misses not much. Seb. No he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rariety of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit. Seb. As many voucht rarieties are. Gon. That our Garments being (as they were) drencht in the Sea, hold notwithstanding their freshnesse and glosses, being rather new dy'de then stain'd with salte water. Ant. If but one of his pockets could speake, would it not say he lyes? Seb. I, or very falsely pocket up his report. Gon. Me thinkes our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Affricke, at the marriage of the kings faire daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our returne. Adri. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a Paragon to their Queene. Gon. Not since widdow Dido's time. Ant. Widow? A pox o'that: how came that Widdow in? Widdow Dido! Seb. What if he had said Widdower Eneas too? Good Lord, how you take it? Adri. Widdow Dido said you? You make me study of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis Sir was Carthage. Adri. Carthage? Gon. I assure you Carthage. Ant. His word is more then the miraculous Harpe. Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. Ant. What impossible matter wil he make easy next? Seb. I thinke hee will carry this Island home in his pocket, and give it his sonne for an Apple. Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the Sea, bring forth more Islands. Gon. I. Ant. Why in good time. Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seeme now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queene. Ant. And the rarest that ere came there. Seb. Bate (I beseech you) widdow Dido. Ant. O Widdow Dido? I, Widdow Dido. Gon. Is not Sir my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it : I meane in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughters marriage. I ne're againe shall see her: O thou mine heire Fran. Sir he may live, I saw him beate the surges under him, And ride upon their backes; he trod the water The surge most swolne that met him: his bold head To th'shore; that ore his wave-worne basis bowed He came alive to Land, Alon. No, no, hee's gone. Seb. Sir you may thank your selfe for this great losse, That would not blesse our Europe with your daughter, But rather loose her to an Affrican, Where she at least, is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the greefe on't. Alon. Pre-thee peace. |