Do not omit the heavy Offer of it: İt feldom vifits Sorrow; when it doth, it is a Comforter. While you take your Reft, and watch your Safety. [All fleep but Seb. and Ant. Seb. What a ftrange Drowfinefs poffeffes them? Ant. It is the Quality o'th' Climate. Seb. Why Doth it not then our Eye-lids fink? I find Ant. Nor I, my Spirits are nimble: What might, no more. What thou shouldft be: The Occafion fpeaks thee, and My strong Imagination fees a Crown Dropping upon thy Head. Seb. What, art thou waking? Seb. I do; and furely It is a fleepy Language, and thou speak'st Out of thy Sleep: What is it thou didft say? This is a ftrange Repofe, to be afleep With Eyes wide open: Standing, fpeaking, moving; And yet fo faft afleep. Ant. Noble Sebaftian, Thou let'ft thy Fortune fleep; die rather: Wink'ft Seb. Thou doft fnore diftin&tly; There's Meaning in thy Snores. Ant. I am more ferious than my Cuftom. You Seb. Well: I am standing Water. Hereditary Sloth instructs me. If Ant. O! you but knew how you the Purpose cherish, 1 Whilft thus you mock it; how in ftripping it Seb. Prethee fay on, The fetting of thine Eye and Cheek proclaim Ant. Thus Sir: Although this Lord of weak Remembrance; this When he is earth'd, hath here almost perfuaded Seb. I have no Hope That he's undrown'd. Ant. O, out of that no Hope, What great Hope have you? No Hope that way, is Ambition cannot pierce a Wink beyond, But doubt Discovery there. Will you grant, with me, Seb. He's gone. Ant. Then tell me who's the next Heir of Naples? Ant. She that is Queen of Tunis; the that dwells Ten Leagues beyond Man's Life; the that from Naples The Man i' th' Moon's too flow, 'till new-born Chins We all were Sea-fwallow'd, tho' fome caft again, Seb. What Stuff is this? How fay you? Tis true, my Brother's Daughter's Queen of Tunis, Ant Ant. A Space whofe ev'ry Cubit As this Gonzalo; I my felf could make A Chough of as deep Chat; O, that you bore Ant. And how does your Content You did fupplant your Brother Profpera. And look how well my Garments fit upon me, Ant. Ay, Sir; where lyes that? If 'twere a Kybe If he were that which now he's like, that's dead; Seb. Thy Cafe, dear Friend, Shall be my Prefident; As thou got'st Millan, And And I the King fhall love thee. Ant. Draw together: And when I rear my Hand, do you the like To fall it on Gonzalo. Seb. O, but one Word. Enter Ariel with Musick and Song. Ari. My Mafter through his Art forefees the Danger That you, his Friend, are in; and fends me forth (For elle his Project dies) to keep them living. [Sings in Gonzalo's Ear. While you here do Snoaring lye, Open-ey'd Conspiracy His time doth take: If of Life you keep a Care, Ant. Then let us both be fudden. Gon. Now, good Angels preferve the King. [They wake. Alon. Why how now ho? awake? why are you drawn? Wherefore this ghaftly Looking? Gon. What's the Matter? Seb. Whilft we ftood here fecuring your Repofe, Even now we heard a hollow Burft of bellowing Like Bulls, or rather Lions; did't not wake you? It ftrook mine Ear moft terribly. Alon. I heard nothing. Ant. O, 'twas a Din to fright a Monster's Ear; Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? Gon. Upon mine, Honour, Sir, I heard a Humming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me! I fhak'd you, Sir, and cry'd, as mine Eyes open'd, I faw their Weapons drawn: There was a Noife, That's verily. Tis beft we ftand upon our Guard; Or that we quit this Place; let's draw our Weapons. Alon. Lead off this Ground, and let's make further Search For my poor Son. Gon. Heav'ns keep him from these Beafts: For he is fure i'th'Island. Alon. Lead away. Ari. Profpero, my Lord, fhall know what I have done. So, King, go fafely on to feek thy Son. [Exeunt Enter Caliban with a Burden of Wood; a Noife of Cal. All the Infections that the Sun fucks up And yet I needs muft curfe. But they'll not pinch, All wound with Adders, who with cloven Tongues Tri. Here's neither Bush nor Shrub to bear off any Wea ther at all, and another Storm brewing; I hear it fing i'th' Wind: Yond fame black Cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul Bumbard that would fhed his Liquor. If it should Thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my Head: Yond fame Cloud cannot chufe but fall by Pailfuls What have we here, a Man or a Fish? dead or alive? A Fish; he smells like a Fish: A very ancient and fish-like Smell. A kind of, not of the newest Poor John: A ftrange Fish; were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this Fish painted, not an Holy-day-fool there but would give a piece of Silver; there would this Monster make a Man; any ftrange Beast there makes a Man: When they will not give a Doit to relieve a lame Beggar, they will lay out ten to fee a dead Indian. Leg'd like a Man! and his Fins like Arms! warm o'my troth: I do now let loofe my Opinion, hold it no longer; this is no Fish, but an Iflander, that hath lately fuffer'd by a Thunderbolt: Alas! the Storm is come again, |