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 banished from your eye, Who has cause to wet the grief on't. Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Seb. You were kneeled to, and importuned other wise By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weighed,1 between loathness and obedience, at your son, I fear, forever; Milan and Naples have We have lost More widows in them of this business' making, 2 Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. Gon. When you should bring the plaster. Seb. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. My lord Sebastian, Very well. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Ant. Foul weather? Very foul. Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord,- Seb. Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, 1 i. e. deliberated, was in suspense. 2 The reader is referred to Horne Tooke for the best commentary on the apparently opposite uses of this word by the ancient writers. Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none: No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil: And women too; but innocent and pure: No sovereignty: 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 sweat or endeavor: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,1 Seb. No marrying among his subjects? Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves. Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. Seb. Ant. Long live Gonzalo! 'Save his majesty! 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 minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing. Ant. 'Twas you we laughed at. Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. Ant. What a blow was there given? Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you 1 An engine was a term applied to any kind of machine in Shakspeare's age. 2 Foison is only another word for plenty or abundance of provision, but chiefly of the fruits of the earth. In a subsequent scene we have “Earth's increase, and foison plenty.” Ant. Do you not hear me speak? Seb. I do; and, surely, It is a sleepy language; and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep: What is it thou didst say? With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, Ant. Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly; There's meaning in thy snores. Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you Must be so too, if heed me; which to do, Trebles thee o'er.1 Seb. Well; I am standing water. Do so: to ebb, Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. Hereditary sloth instructs me. Ant. If you but knew how you the purpose cherish, By their own fear, or sloth. Seb. Pr'ythee, say on: The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim Which throes thee much to yield. Ant. Thus, sir: Although this lord of weak remembrance, this (Who shall be of as little memory, 1 Antonio apparently means to say, "You must be more serious than you usually are, if you would pay attention to my proposals; which attention, if you bestow it, will in the end make you thrice what you are! 2 Sebastian introduces the simile of water. It is taken up by Antonio, who says he will teach his stagnant waters to flow. "It has already learned to ebb," says Sebastian. To which Antonio replies-"O, if you but knew how much even that metaphor, which you use in jest, encourages the design which I hint at; how, in stripping it of words of their common meaning, and using them figuratively, you adapt them to your own situation."-Edinburgh Magazine, Nov. 1786. When he is earthed,) hath here almost persuaded (For he's a spirit of persuasion, only Professes to persuade) the king, his son's alive; 'Tis as impossible that he's undrowned, As he that sleeps here, swims. Seb. That he's undrowned. Ant. I have no hope O, out of that no hope, What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me, Seb. 1 He's gone. Then tell me, Who's the next heir of Naples? Seb. Claribel. Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples Can have no note,1 unless the sun were post, (The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins Be rough and razorable: she, from whom We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast again; And, by that destiny, to perform an act, Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come, In yours and my discharge.2 Seb. What stuff is this?-How say you? 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis; So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions There is some space. Ant. 1 The commentators have treated this as a remarkable instance of Shakspeare's ignorance of geography; but though the real distance between Naples and Tunis is not so immeasurable, the intercourse in early times between the Neapolitans and the Tunisians was not so frequent as to make it popularly considered less than a formidable voyage. 2 What is past is the prologue to events which are to come; that depends on what you and I are to perform. |