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Ant. What a blow was there given ?

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long.

Gon. 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.

Enter Ariel, playing solemn Musick. (13)

Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.
Ant. Nay, my good lord, be not angry.

Gon. No, I warrant you, I will not adventure my difcretion so weakly: will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy ?

Ant. Go, fleep, and hear us.

Alon. What all so soon afleep? I wish, mine eyes Would with themselves shut up my thoughts: I find, They are inclin'd to so do.

Seb. Please you, Sir,

Do not omit the heavy offer of it :

It seldom visits forrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

Ant. We two, my lord,

Will guard your person, while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

Alon. Thank you: wond'rous heavy.

All fleep but Seb. and Ant.

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them?
Ant. It is the quality o'th' climate.

Seb. Why

Doth it not then our eye-lids sink? I find not
My self dispos'd to fleep.

Ant. Nor I, my spirits are nimble:

They fell together all as by consent,

They dropt as by a thunder-stroke. What might,

Worthy Sebastian - O, what might

And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,

no more.

What thou should'st be: th'occasion speaks thee, and

(13) Enter Ariel, playing] This Marginal Direction I have restor'd from the Old Folio's; and, furely, 'tis very necessary, it should be inserted; as it contains a Strain of Inchantment, which accounts for Gonzalo, Alonzo, &c. fo fuddenly dropping afleep.

My

My fstrong imagination fees a crown

Dropping upon thy head.

Seb. What, art thou waking?

Ant. Do you not hear me speak?

Seb. I do; and, furely,

It is a fleepy language; and thou speak'st
Out of thy fleep: what is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be afleep

With eyes wide open standing, speaking, moving,
And yet so fast asleep.

Ant. Noble Sebastian,

Thou let'st thy fortune sleep: die rather: wink'st,
Whilst thou art waking.

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly;

There's meaning in thy snores.

Ant. I am more ferious than my custom. You
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do,
Trebles thee o'er. (14)

Seb. Well: I am standing water.
Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb. Do so: to ebb

Hereditary floth instructs me.

Ant. O!

If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish,
Whilst thus you mock it; how, in stripping it,
You more invest it: ebbing men, indeed,

(14) Trebles thee o'er.] i. e. makes thee thrice what thou now art. Thus the two first Folio's, and all the other Impressions of any Authority, that I have seen, exhibit the Text: and the Phrafe is familiar both to our Poet, & other Stage-Writers of his Time. Merchant of Venice. Act. 3. Sc. 2.

yet for You

I would be trebled twenty times my self,

K. Richard III. Act 5. Sc. 3.

Why, our Battalion trebles that account.

So, Pericles, Prince of Tyre;

The Boat-fwain whistles, and the Master calls,

And trebles their Confufion.

And so, Marston in his Sophonisba;

Think, ev'ry Honour, that doth grace thy Sword,

Trebles my Love.

Troubles thee d'er - is a foolish Reading, which, I believe, first got Birth in Mr. Pope's 2 Editions of our Poet; and, I dare say, will lie buried there in a proper Obscurity.

Moft

Most often do so near the bottom run,
By their own fear or floth.

Seb. Pry'thee, say on;

The fetting of thine eye and cheek proclaim
A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,

Which throes thee much to yield.

Ant. Thus Sir:

Although this lord of weak remembrance, this,
(Who shall be of as little memory,
When he is earth'd;) hath here almost persuaded
(For he's a spirit of perfuafion, only
Professes to perfuade) the King, his son's alive;
'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd,
As he, that fleeps here, swims.

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
Another way so high an hope, that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,

But doubt discovery there. Will you grant, with me, That Ferdinand is drown'd?

Seb. He's gone.

Ant. 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, unless the fun were poft, (The man i'th' moon's too flow) 'till new-born chins Be rough and razorable; she, from whom (15) We were fea-fwallow'd; tho' some, cast again, May by that destiny perform an act,

Whereof, what's past is prologue; what to come,

(15)

She, for whom

We were sea-fwallow'd,] Thus Mr. Pope, with as little Reason, as Authority. All the Copies, that I have seen, read, - from whom, &c. And why not from? Were they not shipwreck'd, as is evident above, in

their Return from her?

- Would I had never

Married my Daughter there! for coming thence, &c.

Is

Is yours and my discharge

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. A space, whose ev'ry cubit
Seems to cry out, how shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake. Say, this were death
That now hath seiz'd them, why, they were no worse
Than now they are: there be, that can rule Naples,
As well as he that fleeps; lords that can prate
As amply, and unneceffarily,

As this Gonzalo; I my self could make

A Chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do; what a fleep were this
For your advancement! do you understand me?

Seb. Methinks, I do.

Ant. And how does your content

Tender your own good fortune?
Seb. I remember,

You did fupplant your brother Profpe'ro.

Ant. True:

And, look, how well my garments fit upon me;
Much feater than before. My brother's servants
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.
Seb. But, for your confcience, -
Ant. Ay, Sir; where lyes that?

If 'twere a kybe, 'twould put me to my flipper:
But I feel not this deity in my bosom.
Ten confciences, that stand 'twixt me and Milan,
Candy'd be they, and melt, e'er they moleft!
Here lyes your brother

No better than the earth he lyes upon,
If he were that which now he's like, that's dead;
Whom I with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
Can lay to bed for ever: you doing thus,
To the perpetual wink for ay might put
This ancient Morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,

They'll

They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk;
They'll tell the clock to any business, that,
We say, befits the hour.

Seb. Thy cafe, dear friend,

Shall be my precedent: as thou got'st Milan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword; one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st,

And I the King shall 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 master through his art foresees the danger, That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth (For else 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,
Shake off slumber and beware :
Awake! awake!

Ant. Then let us both be sudden.

Gon. Now, good angels preserve the King! [They wake. Alon. Why, how now, ho? awake? why are you drawn?

Wherefore this ghastly looking?
Gon. What's the matter?

Seb. While we stood here fecuring your repose,
Ev'n now we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Like bulls, or rather lions; did't not wake you?
It strook mine ear most terribly.

Alon. I heard nothing.

Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear To make an earthquake: fure, it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions.

Alon. Heard you this?

VOL. I.

D

Gon

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