test.txt

rance ta'en
As shall with either part's agreement stand?

BAPTISTA:
Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know,
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants:
Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still;
And happily we might be interrupted.

TRANIO:
Then at my lodging, an it like you:
There doth my father lie; and there, this night,
We'll pass the business privately and well.
Send for your daughter by your servant here:
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
The worst is this, that, at so slender warning,
You are like to have a thin and slender pittance.

BAPTISTA:
It likes me well. Biondello, hie you home,
And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
And, if you will, tell what hath happened,
Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua,
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.

BIONDELLO:
I pray the gods she may with all my heart!

TRANIO:
Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?
Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer:
Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa.

BAPTISTA:
I follow you.

BIONDELLO:
Cambio!

LUCENTIO:
What sayest thou, Biondello?

BIONDELLO:
You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?

LUCENTIO:
Biondello, what of that?

BIONDELLO:
Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind, to
expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.

LUCENTIO:
I pray thee, moralize them.

BIONDELLO:
Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the
deceiving father of a deceitful son.

LUCENTIO:
And what of him?

BIONDELLO:
His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.

LUCENTIO:
And then?

BIONDELLO:
The old priest of Saint Luke's church is at your
command at all hours.

LUCENTIO:
And what of all this?

BIONDELLO:
I cannot tell; expect they are busied about a
counterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her,
'cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum:' to the
church; take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient
honest witnesses: If this be not that you look for,
I have no more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for
ever and a day.

LUCENTIO:
Hearest thou, Biondello?

BIONDELLO:
I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an
afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to
stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir: and so, adieu,
sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint
Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against
you come with your appendix.

LUCENTIO:
I may, and will, if she be so contented:
She will be pleased; then wherefore should I doubt?
Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her:
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her.

PETRUCHIO:
Come on, i' God's name; once more toward our father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!

KATHARINA:
The moon! the sun: it is not moonlight now.

PETRUCHIO:
I say it is the moon that shines so bright.

KATHARINA:
I know it is the sun that shines so bright.

PETRUCHIO:
Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself,
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
Or ere I journey to your father's house.
Go on, and fetch our horses back again.
Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd!

HORTENSIO:
Say as he says, or we shall never go.

KATHARINA:
Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please:
An if you please to call it a rush-candle,
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

PETRUCHIO:
I say it is the moon.

KATHARINA:
I know it is the moon.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, then you lie: it is the blessed sun.

KATHARINA:
Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun:
But sun it is not, when you say it is not;
And the moon changes even as your mind.
What you will have it named, even that it is;
And so it shall be so for Katharina.

HORTENSIO:
Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.

PETRUCHIO:
Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,
And not unluckily against the bias.
But, soft! company is coming here.
Good morrow, gentle mistress: where away?
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty,
As those two eyes become that heavenly face?
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.

HORTENSIO:
A' will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.

KATHARINA:
Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,
Whither away, or where is thy abode?
Happy the parents of so fair a child;
Happier the man, whom favourable stars
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow!

PETRUCHIO:
Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad:
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd,
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is.

KATHARINA:
Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
That have been so bedazzled with the sun
That everything I look on seemeth green:
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father;
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.

PETRUCHIO:
Do, good old grandsire; and withal make known
Which way thou travellest: if along with us,
We shall be joyful of thy company.

VINCENTIO:
Fair sir, and you my merry mistress,
That with your strange encounter much amazed me,
My name is call'd Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa;
And bound I am to Padua; there to visit
A son of mine, which long I have not seen.

PETRUCHIO:
What is his name?

VINCENTIO:
Lucentio, gentle sir.

PETRUCHIO:
Happily we met; the happier for thy son.
And now by law, as well as reverend age,
I may entitle thee my loving father:
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not,
Nor be grieved: she is of good esteem,
Her dowery wealthy, and of worthy birth;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.
Let me embrace with old Vincentio,
And wander we to see thy honest son,
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.

VINCENTIO:
But is it true? or else is it your pleasure,
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
Upon the company you overtake?

HORTENSIO:
I do assure thee, father, so it is.

PETRUCHIO:
Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.

HORTENSIO:
Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
Have to my widow! and if she be froward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.

BIONDELLO:
Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready.

LUCENTIO:
I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee
at home; therefore leave us.

BIONDELLO:
Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and
then come back to my master's as soon as I can.

GREMIO:
I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.

PETRUCHIO:
Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house:
My father's bears more toward the market-place;
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.

VINCENTIO:
You shall not choose but drink before you go:
I think I shall command your welcome here,
And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward.

GREMIO:
They're busy within; you were best knock louder.

Pedant:
What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?

VINCENTIO:
Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?

Pedant:
He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.

VINCENTIO:
What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to
make merry withal?

Pedant:
Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall
need none, so long as I live.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua.
Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances,
I pray you, tell Signior Lucentio that his father is
come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him.

Pedant:
Thou liest: his father is come from Padua and here
looking out at the window.

VINCENTIO:
Art thou his father?

Pedant:
Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.

PETRUCHIO:

Pedant:
Lay hands on the villain: I believe a' means to
cozen somebody in this city under my countenance.

BIONDELLO:
I have seen them in the church together: God send
'em good shipping! But who is here? mine old
master Vincentio! now we are undone and brought to nothing.

VINCENTIO:

BIONDELLO:
Hope I may choose, sir.

VINCENTIO:
Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?

BIONDELLO:
Forgot you! no, sir: I could not forget you, for I
never saw you before in all my life.

VINCENTIO:
What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see
thy master's father, Vincentio?

BIONDELLO:
What, my old worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir:
see where he looks out of the window.

VINCENTIO:
Is't so, indeed.

BIONDELLO:
Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me.

Pedant:
Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!

PETRUCHIO:
Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of
this controversy.

TRANIO:
Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?

VINCENTIO:
What am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal
gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a velvet
hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat! O, I
am undone! I am undone! while I play the good
husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at
the university.

TRANIO:
How now! what's the matter?

BAPTISTA:
What, is the man lunatic?

TRANIO:
Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your
habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, sir,
what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I
thank my good father, I am able to maintain it.

VINCENTIO:
Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.

BAPTISTA:
You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir. Pray, what do
you think is his name?

VINCENTIO:
His name! as if I knew not his name: I have brought
him up ever since he was three years old, and his
name is Tranio.

Pedant:
Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio and he is
mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio.

VINCENTIO:
Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold
on him, I charge you, in the duke's name. O, my
son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, where is my son Lucentio?

TRANIO:
Call forth an officer.
Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista,
I charge you see that he be forthcoming.

VINCENTIO:
Carry me to the gaol!

GREMIO:
Stay, officer: he shall not go to prison.

BAPTISTA:
Talk not, Signior Gremio: I say he shall go to prison.

GREMIO:
Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be
cony-catched in this business: I dare swear this
is the right Vincentio.

Pedant:
Swear, if thou darest.

GREMIO:
Nay, I dare not swear it.

TRANIO:
Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.

GREMIO:
Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.

BAPTISTA:
Away with the dotard! to the gaol with him!

VINCENTIO:
Thus strangers may be hailed and abused: O
monstrous villain!

BIONDELLO:
O! we are spoiled and--yonder he is: deny him,
forswear him, or else we are all undone.

LUCENTIO:

VINCENTIO:
Lives my sweet son?

BIANCA:
Pardon, dear father.

BAPTISTA:
How hast thou offended?
Where is Lucentio?

LUCENTIO:
Here's Lucentio,
Right son to the right Vincentio;
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine,
While counterfeit supposes bleared thine eyne.

GREMIO:
Here's packing, with a witness to deceive us all!

VINCENTIO:
Where is that damned villain Tranio,
That faced and braved me in this matter so?

BAPTISTA:
Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?

BIANCA:
Cambio is changed into Lucentio.

LUCENTIO:
Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in the town;
And happily I have arrived at the last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
What Tranio did, myself enforced him to;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.

VINCENTIO:
I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent
me to the gaol.

BAPTISTA:
But do you hear, sir? have you married my daughter
without asking my good will?

VINCENTIO:
Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but
I will in, to be revenged for this villany.

BAPTISTA:
And I, to sound the depth of this knavery.

LUCENTIO:
Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.

GREMIO:
My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest,
Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast.

KATHARINA:
Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado.

PETRUCHIO:
First kiss me, Kate, and we will.

KATHARINA:
What, in the midst of the street?

PETRUCHIO:
What, art thou ashamed of me?

KATHARINA:
No, sir, God forbid; but ashamed to kiss.

PETRUCHIO:
Why, then let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away.

KATHARINA:
Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay.

PETRUCHIO:
Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:
Better once than never, for never too late.

LUCENTIO:
At last, though long, our jarring notes agree:
And time it is, when raging war is done,
To smile at scapes and perils overblown.
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine.
Brother Petruchio, sister Katharina,
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house:
My banquet is to close our stomachs up,
After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;
For now we sit to chat as well as eat.

PETRUCHIO:
Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!

BAPTISTA:
Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.

PETRUCHIO:
Padua affords nothing but what is kind.

HORTENSIO:
For both our sakes, I would that word were true.

PETRUCHIO:
Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.

Widow:
Then never trust me, if I be afeard.

PETRUCHIO:
You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you.

Widow:
He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.

PETRUCHIO:
Roundly replied.

KATHARINA:
Mistress, how mean you that?

Widow:
Thus I conceive by him.

PETRUCHIO:
Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?

HORTENSIO:
My widow says, thus she conceives her tale.

PETRUCHIO:
Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.

KATHARINA:
'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round:'
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.

Widow:
Your husband, being troubled with a shrew,
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe:
And now you know my meaning,

KATHARINA:
A very mean meaning.

Widow:
Right, I mean you.

KATHARINA:
And I am mean indeed, respecting you.

PETRUCHIO:
To her, Kate!

HORTENSIO:
To her, widow!

PETRUCHIO:
A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.

HORTENSIO:
That's my office.

PETRUCHIO:
Spoke like an officer; ha' to thee, lad!

BAPTISTA:
How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?

GREMIO:
Believe me, sir, they butt together well.

BIANCA:
Head, and butt! an hasty-witted body
Would say your head and butt were head and horn.

VINCENTIO:
Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you?

BIANCA:
Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, that you shall not: since you have begun,
Have at you for a bitter jest or two!

BIANCA:
Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush;
And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
You are welcome all.

PETRUCHIO:
She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio.
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not;
Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd.

TRANIO:
O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound,
Which runs himself and catches for his master.

PETRUCHIO:
A good swift simile, but something currish.

TRANIO:
'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:
'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.

BAPTISTA:
O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.

LUCENTIO:
I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.

HORTENSIO:
Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here?

PETRUCHIO:
A' has a little gall'd me, I confess;
And, as the jest did glance away from me,
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.

BAPTISTA:
Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.

PETRUCHIO:
Well, I say no: and therefore for assurance
Let's each one send unto his wife;
And he whose wife is most obedient
To come at first when he doth send for her,
Shall win the wager which we will propose.

HORTENSIO:
Content. What is the wager?

LUCENTIO:
Twenty crowns.

PETRUCHIO:
Twenty crowns!
I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.

LUCENTIO:
A hundred then.

HORTENSIO:
Content.

PETRUCHIO:
A match! 'tis done.

HORTENSIO:
Who shall begin?

LUCENTIO:
That will I.
Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.

BIONDELLO:
I go.

BAPTISTA:
Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes.

LUCENTIO:
I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.
How now! what news?

BIONDELLO:
Sir, my mistress sends you word
That she is busy and she cannot come.

PETRUCHIO:
How! she is busy and she cannot come!
Is that an answer?

GREMIO:
Ay, and a kind one too:
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.

PETRUCHIO:
I hope better.

HORTENSIO:
Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith.

PETRUCHIO:
O, ho! entreat her!
Nay, then she must needs come.

HORTENSIO:
I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Now, where's my wife?

BIONDELLO:
She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
She will not come: she bids you come to her.

PETRUCHIO:
Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
Intolerable, not to be endured!
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;
Say, I command her to come to me.

HORTENSIO:
I know her answer.

PETRUCHIO:
What?

HORTENSIO:
She will not.

PETRUCHIO:
The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.

BAPTISTA:
Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina!

KATHARINA:
What is your will, sir, that you send for me?

PETRUCHIO:
Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?

KATHARINA:
They sit conferring by the parlor fire.

PETRUCHIO:
Go fetch them hither: if they deny to come.
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands:
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.

LUCENTIO:
Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.

HORTENSIO:
And so it is: I wonder what it bodes.

PETRUCHIO:
Marry, peace it bodes, and love and quiet life,
And awful rule and right supremacy;
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy?

BAPTISTA:
Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
Another dowry to another daughter,
For she is changed, as she had never been.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, I will win my wager better yet
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.
See where she comes and brings your froward wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not:
Off with that bauble, throw it under-foot.

Widow:
Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh,
Till I be brought to such a silly pass!

BIANCA:
Fie! what a foolish duty call you this?

LUCENTIO:
I would your duty were as foolish too:
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time.

BIANCA:
The more fool you, for laying on my duty.

PETRUCHIO:
Katharina, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.

Widow:
Come, come, you're mocking: we will have no telling.

PETRUCHIO:
Come on, I say; and first begin with her.

Widow:
She shall not.

PETRUCHIO:
I say she shall: and first begin with her.

KATHARINA:
Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband's foot:
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready; may it do him ease.

PETRUCHIO:
Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.

LUCENTIO:
Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha't.

VINCENTIO:
'Tis a good hearing when children are toward.

LUCENTIO:
But a harsh hearing when women are froward.

PETRUCHIO:
Come, Kate, we'll to bed.
We three are married, but you two are sped.
'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white;
And, being a winner, God give you good night!

HORTENSIO:
Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew.

LUCENTIO:
'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so.

Master:
Boatswain!

Boatswain:
Here, master: what cheer?

Master:
Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely,
or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

Boatswain:
Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!
yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the
master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind,
if room enough!

ALONSO:
Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?
Play the men.

Boatswain:
I pray now, keep below.

ANTONIO:
Where is the master, boatswain?

Boatswain:
Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your
cabins: you do assist the storm.

GONZALO:
Nay, good, be patient.

Boatswain:
When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers
for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

GONZALO:
Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

Boatswain:
None that I more love than myself. You are a
counsellor; if you can command these elements to
silence, and work the peace of the present, we will
not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you
cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make
yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of
the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out
of our way, I say.

GONZALO:
I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he
hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is
perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his
hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable,
for our own doth little advantage. If he be not
born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

Boatswain:
Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring
her to try with main-course.
A plague upon this howling! they are louder than
the weather or our office.
Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er
and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN:
A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
incharitable dog!

Boatswain:
Work you then.

ANTONIO:
Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!
We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

GONZALO:
I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were
no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an
unstanched wench.

Boatswain:
Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to
sea again; lay her off.

Mariners:
All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boatswain:
What, must our mouths be cold?

GONZALO:
The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,
For our case is as theirs.

SEBASTIAN:
I'm out of patience.

ANTONIO:
We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:
This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning
The washing of ten tides!

GONZALO:
He'll be hang'd yet,
Though every drop of water swear against it
And gape at widest to glut him.

ANTONIO:
Let's all sink with the king.

SEBASTIAN:
Let's take leave of him.

GONZALO:
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an
acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any
thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain
die a dry death.

MIRANDA:
If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO:
Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.

MIRANDA:
O, woe the day!

PROSPERO:
No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA:
More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.

PROSPERO:
'Tis time
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me. So:
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul--
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.

MIRANDA:
You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

PROSPERO:
The hour's now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Out three years old.

MIRANDA:
Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO:
By what? by any other house or person?
Of any thing the image tell me that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.

MIRANDA:
'Tis far off
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
Four or five women once that tended me?

PROSPERO:
Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
How thou camest here thou mayst.

MIRANDA:
But that I do not.

PROSPERO:
Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
A prince of power.

MIRANDA:
Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO:
Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir
And princess no worse issued.

MIRANDA:
O the heavens!
What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO:
Both, both, my girl:
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,
But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA:
O, my heart bleeds
To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

PROSPERO:
My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio--
I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should
Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself
Of all the world I loved and to him put
The manage of my state; as at that time
Through all the signories it was the first
And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
In dignity, and for the liberal arts
Without a parallel; those being all my study,
The government I cast upon my brother
And to my state grew stranger, being transported
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle--
Dost thou attend me?

MIRANDA:
Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO:
Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them, who to advance and who
To trash for over-topping, new created
The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em,
Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.

MIRANDA:
O, good sir, I do.

PROSPERO:
I pray thee, mark me.
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
With that which, but by being so retired,
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of him
A falsehood in its contrary as great
As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,
But what my power might else exact, like one
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie, he did believe
He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution
And executing the outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing--
Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA:
Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO:
To have no screen between this part he play'd
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
He thinks me now incapable; confederates--
So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples
To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
Subject his coronet to his crown and bend
The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!--
To most ignoble stooping.

MIRANDA:
O the heavens!

PROSPERO:
Mark his condition and the event; then tell me
If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA:
I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO:
Now the condition.
The King of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises
Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan
With all the honours on my brother: whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight
Fated to the purpose did Antonio open
The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness,
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me and thy crying self.

MIRANDA:
Alack, for pity!
I, not remembering how I cried out then,
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint
That wrings mine eyes to't.

PROSPERO:
Hear a little further
And then I'll bring thee to the present business
Which now's upon's; without the which this story
Were most impertinent.

MIRANDA:
Wherefore did they not
That hour destroy us?

PROSPERO:
Well demanded, wench:
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
So dear the love my people bore me, nor set
A mark so bloody on the business, but
With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh
To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.

MIRANDA:
Alack, what trouble
Was I then to you!

PROSPERO:
O, a cherubim
Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile.
Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me
An undergoing stomach, to bear up
Against what should ensue.

MIRANDA:
How came we ashore?

PROSPERO:
By Providence divine.
Some food we had and some fresh water that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity, being then appointed
Master of this design, did give us, with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.

MIRANDA:
Would I might
But ever see that man!

PROSPERO:
Now I arise:
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arrived; and here
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
Than other princesses can that have more time
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.

MIRANDA:
Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,
For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
For raising this sea-storm?

PROSPERO:
Know thus far forth.
By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
I find my zenith doth depend upon
A most auspicious star, whose influence
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions:
Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness,
And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.
Come away, servant, come. I am ready now.
Approach, my Ariel, come.

ARIEL:
All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task
Ariel and all his quality.

PROSPERO:
Hast thou, spirit,
Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?

ARIEL:
To every article.
I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide,
And burn in many places; on the topmast,
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,
Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,
Yea, his dread trident shake.

PROSPERO:
My brave spirit!
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
Would not infect his reason?

ARIEL:
Not a soul
But felt a fever of the mad and play'd
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand,
With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,--
Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty
And all the devils are here.'

PROSPERO:
Why that's my spirit!
But was not this nigh shore?

ARIEL:
Close by, my master.

PROSPERO:
But are they, Ariel, safe?

ARIEL:
Not a hair perish'd;
On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
But fresher than before: and, as thou badest me,
In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle.
The king's son have I landed by himself;
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
In an odd angle of the isle and sitting,
His arms in this sad knot.

PROSPERO:
Of the king's ship
The mariners say how thou hast disposed
And all the rest o' the fleet.

ARIEL:
Safely in harbour
Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid:
The mariners all under hatches stow'd;
Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
I have left asleep; and for the rest o' the fleet
Which I dispersed, they all have met again
And are upon the Mediterranean flote,
Bound sadly home for Naples,
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd
And his great person perish.

PROSPERO:
Ariel, thy charge
Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work.
What is the time o' the day?

ARIEL:
Past the mid season.

PROSPERO:
At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now
Must by us both be spent most preciously.

ARIEL:
Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,
Let me remember thee what thou hast promised,
Which is not yet perform'd me.

PROSPERO:
How now? moody?
What is't thou canst demand?

ARIEL:
My liberty.

PROSPERO:
Before the time be out? no more!

ARIEL:
I prithee,
Remember I have done thee worthy service;
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served
Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise
To bate me a full year.

PROSPERO:
Dost thou forget
From what a torment I did free thee?

ARIEL:
No.

PROSPERO:
Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze
Of the salt deep,
To run upon the sharp wind of the north,
To do me business in the veins o' the earth
When it is baked with frost.

ARIEL:
I do not, sir.

PROSPERO:
Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?

ARIEL:
No, sir.

PROSPERO:
Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.

ARIEL:
Sir, in Argier.

PROSPERO:
O, was she so? I must
Once in a month recount what thou hast been,
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argier,
Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did
They would not take her life. Is not this true?

ARIEL:
Ay, sir.

PROSPERO:
This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child
And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
By help of her more potent ministers
And in her most unmitigable rage,
Into a cloven pine; within which rift
Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
A dozen years; within which space she died
And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans
As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island--
Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckled whelp hag-born--not honour'd with
A human shape.

ARIEL:
Yes, Caliban her son.

PROSPERO:
Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts
Of ever angry bears: it was a torment
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
Could not again undo: it was mine art,
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
The pine and let thee out.

ARIEL:
I thank thee, master.

PROSPERO:
If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak
And peg thee in his knotty entrails till
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.

ARIEL:
Pardon, master;
I will be correspondent to command
And do my spiriting gently.

PROSPERO:
Do so, and after two days
I will discharge thee.

ARIEL:
That's my noble master!
What shall I do? say what; what shall I do?

PROSPERO:
Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: be subject
To no sight but thine and mine, invisible
To every eyeball else. Go take this shape
And hither come in't: go, hence with diligence!
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake!

MIRANDA:
The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.

PROSPERO:
Shake it off. Come on;
We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.

MIRANDA:
'Tis a villain, sir,
I do not love to look on.

PROSPERO:
But, as 'tis,
We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood and serves in offices
That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban!
Thou earth, thou! speak.

CALIBAN:

PROSPERO:
Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee:
Come, thou tortoise! when?
Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
Hark in thine ear.

ARIEL:
My lord it shall be done.

PROSPERO:
Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

CALIBAN:
As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye
And blister you all o'er!

PROSPERO:
For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made 'em.

CALIBAN:
I must eat my dinner.
This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first,
Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me
Water with berries in't, and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less,
That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:
Cursed be I that did so! All the charms
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
For I am all the subjects that you have,
Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest o' the island.

PROSPERO:
Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,
Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
The honour of my child.

CALIBAN:
O ho, O ho! would't had been done!
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else
This isle with Calibans.

PROSPERO:
Abhorred slave,
Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which
good natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
Deservedly confined into this rock,
Who hadst deserved more than a prison.

CALIBAN:
You taught me language; and my profit on't
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you
For learning me your language!

PROSPERO:
Hag-seed, hence!
Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best,
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

CALIBAN:
No, pray thee.
I must obey: his art is of such power,
It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
and make a vassal of him.

PROSPERO:
So, slave; hence!
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Courtsied when you have and kiss'd
The wild waves whist,
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!

FERDINAND:
Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth?
It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon
Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This music crept by me upon the waters,
Allaying both their fury and my passion
With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.
No, it begins again.
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell
Hark! now I hear them,--Ding-dong, bell.

FERDINAND:
The ditty does remember my drown'd father.
This is no mortal business, nor no sound
That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.

PROSPERO:
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance
And say what thou seest yond.

MIRANDA:
What is't? a spirit?
Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.

PROSPERO:
No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses
As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest
Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd
With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him
A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows
And strays about to find 'em.

MIRANDA:
I might call him
A thing divine, for nothing natural
I ever saw so noble.

PROSPERO:

FERDINAND:
Most sure, the goddess
On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer
May know if you remain upon this island;
And that you will some good instruction give
How I may bear me here: my prime request,
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
If you be maid or no?

MIRANDA:
No wonder, sir;
But certainly a maid.

FERDINAND:
My language! heavens!
I am the best of them that speak this speech,
Were I but where 'tis spoken.

PROSPERO:
How? the best?
What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?

FERDINAND:
A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;
And that he does I weep: myself am Naples,
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
The king my father wreck'd.

MIRANDA:
Alack, for mercy!

FERDINAND:
Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan
And his brave son being twain.

PROSPERO:

MIRANDA:
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
To be inclined my way!

FERDINAND:
O, if a virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
The queen of Naples.

PROSPERO:
Soft, sir! one word more.
They are both in either's powers; but this swift business
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
Make the prize light.
One word more; I charge thee
That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp
The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself
Upon this island as a spy, to win it
From me, the lord on't.

FERDINAND:
No, as I am a man.

MIRANDA:
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with't.

PROSPERO:
Follow me.
Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come;
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:
Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

FERDINAND:
No;
I will resist such entertainment till
Mine enemy has more power.

MIRANDA:
O dear father,
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He's gentle and not fearful.

PROSPERO:
What? I say,
My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience
Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward,
For I can here disarm thee with this stick
And make thy weapon drop.

MIRANDA:
Beseech you, father.

PROSPERO:
Hence! hang not on my garments.

MIRANDA:
Sir, have pity;
I'll be his surety.

PROSPERO:
Silence! one word more
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!
An advocate for an imposter! hush!
Thou think'st there is 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.

MIRANDA:
My affections
Are then most humble; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.

PROSPERO:
Come on; obey:
Thy nerves are in their infancy again
And have no vigour in them.

FERDINAND:
So they are;
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.

PROSPERO:

MIRANDA:
Be of comfort;
My father's of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted
Which now came from him.

PROSPERO:
Thou shalt be free
As mountain winds: but then exactly do
All points of my command.

ARIEL:
To the syllable.

PROSPERO:
Come, follow. Speak not for him.

GONZALO:
Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,
So have we all, of joy; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Is common; every day some sailor's wife,
The masters of some merchant and the merchant
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

ALONSO:
Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN:
He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANTONIO:
The visitor will not give him o'er so.

SEBASTIAN:
Look he's winding up the watch of his wit;
by and by it will strike.

GONZALO:
Sir,--

SEBASTIAN:
One: tell.

GONZALO:
When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
Comes to the entertainer--

SEBASTIAN:
A dollar.

GONZALO:
Dolour comes to him, indeed: you
have spoken truer than you purposed.

SEBASTIAN:
You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

GONZALO:
Therefore, my lord,--

ANTONIO:
Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

ALONSO:
I prithee, spare.

GONZALO:
Well, I have done: but yet,--

SEBASTIAN:
He will be talking.

ANTONIO:
Which, of he or Adrian, for a good
wager, first begins to crow?

SEBASTIAN:
The old cock.

ANTONIO:
The cockerel.

SEBASTIAN:
Done. The wager?

ANTONIO:
A laughter.

SEBASTIAN:
A match!

ADRIAN:
Though this island seem to be desert,--

SEBASTIAN:
Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid.

ADRIAN:
Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,--

SEBASTIAN:
Yet,--

ADRIAN:
Yet,--

ANTONIO:
He could not miss't.

ADRIAN:
It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate
temperance.

ANTONIO:
Temperance was a delicate wench.

SEBASTIAN:
Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

ADRIAN:
The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

SEBASTIAN:
As if it had lungs and rotten ones.

ANTONIO:
Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.

GONZALO:
Here is everything advantageous to life.

ANTONIO:
True; save means to live.

SEBASTIAN:
Of that there's none, or little.

GONZALO:
How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!

ANTONIO:
The ground indeed is tawny.

SEBASTIAN:
With an eye of green in't.

ANTONIO:
He misses not much.

SEBASTIAN:
No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

GONZALO:
But the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost
beyond credit,--

SEBASTIAN:
As many vouched rarities are.

GONZALO:
That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in
the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and
glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with
salt water.

ANTONIO:
If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not
say he lies?

SEBASTIAN:
Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report

GONZALO:
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.

SEBASTIAN:
'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

ADRIAN:
Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to
their queen.

GONZALO:
Not since widow Dido's time.

ANTONIO:
Widow! a pox o' that! How came that widow in?
widow Dido!

SEBASTIAN:
What if he had said 'widower AEneas' too? Good Lord,
how you take it!

ADRIAN:
'Widow Dido' said you? you make me study of that:
she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

GONZALO:
This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

ADRIAN:
Carthage?

GONZALO:
I assure you, Carthage.

SEBASTIAN:
His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath
raised the wall and houses too.

ANTONIO:
What impossible matter will he make easy next?

SEBASTIAN:
I think he will carry this island home in his pocket
and give it his son for an apple.

ANTONIO:
And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring
forth more islands.

GONZALO:
Ay.

ANTONIO:
Why, in good time.

GONZALO:
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.

ANTONIO:
And the rarest that e'er came there.

SEBASTIAN:
Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

ANTONIO:
O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido.

GONZALO:
Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I
wore it? I mean, in a sort.

ANTONIO:
That sort was well fished for.

GONZALO:
When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?

ALONSO:
You cram these words into mine ears against
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
My son is lost and, in my rate, she too,
Who is so far from Italy removed
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee?

FRANCISCO:
Sir, he may live:
I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
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,
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt
He came alive to land.

ALONSO:
No, no, he's gone.

SEBASTIAN:
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.

ALONSO:
Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN:
You were kneel'd to and importuned otherwise
By all of us, and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at
Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost your
son,
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business' making
Than we bring men to comfort them:
The fault's your own.

ALONSO:
So is the dear'st o' the loss.

GONZALO:
My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
When you should bring the plaster.

SEBASTIAN:
Very well.

ANTONIO:
And most chirurgeonly.

GONZALO:
It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
When you are cloudy.

SEBASTIAN:
Foul weather?

ANTONIO:
Very foul.

GONZALO:
Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,--

ANTONIO:
He'ld sow't with nettle-seed.

SEBASTIAN:
Or docks, or mallows.

GONZALO:
And were the king on't, what would I do?

SEBASTIAN:
'Scape being drunk for want of wine.

GONZALO:
I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty;--

SEBASTIAN:
Yet he would be king on't.

ANTONIO:
The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
beginning.

GONZALO:
All things in common nature should produce
Without sweat 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 foison, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.

SEBASTIAN:
No marrying 'mong his subjects?

ANTONIO:
None, man; all idle: whores and knaves.

GONZALO:
I would with such perfection govern, sir,
To excel the golden age.

SEBASTIAN:
God save his majesty!

ANTONIO:
Long live Gonzalo!

GONZALO:
And,--do you mark me, sir?

ALONSO:
Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

GONZALO:
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.

ANTONIO:
'Twas you we laughed at.

GONZALO:
Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing
to you: so you may continue and laugh at
nothing still.

ANTONIO:
What a blow was there given!

SEBASTIAN:
An it had not fallen flat-long.

GONZALO:
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.

SEBASTIAN:
We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.

ANTONIO:
Nay, good my lord, be not angry.

GONZALO:
No, I warrant you; I will not adventure
my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh
me asleep, for I am very heavy?

ANTONIO:
Go sleep, and hear us.

ALONSO:
What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find
They are inclined to do so.

SEBASTIAN:
Please you, sir,
Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

ANTONIO:
We two, my lord,
Will guard your person while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

ALONSO:
Thank you. Wondrous heavy.

SEBASTIAN:
What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

ANTONIO:
It is the quality o' the climate.

SEBASTIAN:
Why
Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
Myself disposed to sleep.

ANTONIO:
Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent;
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
Worthy Sebastian? O, what might?--No more:--
And yet me thinks I see it in thy face,
What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee, and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

SEBASTIAN:
What, art thou waking?

ANTONIO:
Do you not hear me speak?

SEBASTIAN:
I do; and surely
It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
And yet so fast asleep.

ANTONIO:
Noble Sebastian,
Thou let'st thy fortune sleep--die, rather; wink'st
Whiles thou art waking.