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Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Anthonio, Gonzalo, Adrian,

Francisco, and others.


ESEECH 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, fome failor's wife,
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant
Have just our theam 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.

Alon. Pr’ythee peace.
Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge.
Ant. s 'The adviser will not give o'er fo.

Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit, by and by it will strike,

Gon. Sir.
Seb. On: tell.

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd ; comes to the entertainer

Seb. A dollor.

Gon. Dolour comes to him indeed, you have spoken truer than he propos’d.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.
Gon. Therefore, my lord.
Ant. Fie, what a spend-thrift he is of his tongue

Alon. I proythee spare.

Gon. 5 The visitor ... old edit. Warb. emend.

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Gon. Well, I have done : but yet
Seb. He will be talking.

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

Seb. The old cock.
Ant. The cockrell.
Seb. Done : the wager?
Ant. A laughter.
Seb. A match.
Adr. Though this Inand seem to be desart-
Seb. Ha, ha, ha.
Ant. So : you're paid.
Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible
Seb. Yet,
Adr. Yet,
Ant. He could not miss't.

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

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.
Seb. Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly deliver'd.
Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
Ant. Or, as 'twere perfum’d by a fen.
Gon. Here is everything advantageous to life.
Ant. True, save means to live.
Seb. Of that there's none or little.
Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks ? how green?
Ant. The ground indeed is tawny.
Seb. With an eye of green
Ant. He miffes not much.
Seb; No: he does but mistake the truth totally.

Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit

Seb. As many voucht rarities are.

Gon. That our garments being (as they were) drench'd in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new dy'd than stain’d with salt water.

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



Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

Gon. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Africk, at the marriage of the King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we profper well in

our return.

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their Queen.

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time.

Ant. Widow ? a pox o' that: how came that widow in? widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had said widower Æneas too? Good lord, how you take it!

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

Gon. This Tunis, Sir, was Carthage.
Adr. Carthage?
Gon. I assure you Carthage.
Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp.
Seb. He hath rais’d the wall, and houses too.
Ant. What impossible matter will he make easie next?

Seb. I think he will carry this INand home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple.

Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more Inands.

Gon. Ay.
Ant. Why in good time.

Gon. 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.

Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there,
Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.
Ant. O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido!

Gon. Is not my doublet, Sir, as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean in a fort.

Ant. That fort was well fith'd for.
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage.
Alon. 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 loft, and, in my rate, she too,
Who is so far from Italy remov’d,
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?

Fran. 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 swoll'n that met him: his bold head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty strokes
To th' fhore; that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt
He came alive to land.

Alon. No, no, he's gone.

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, But rather lofe her to an African ; Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief on’t.

Alon. Pr’ythee peace.

Seb. You were kneeld to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us : and the fair soul her self Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at Which end the beam should bow. We've lost your fon 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.

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.

Gon. My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And th’ time you speak it in: you rub the fore
When you should bring the plaister.

Seb. Very well.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good Sir,
When you are cloudy.

Seb. Foul weather?
Ant. Very foul.
Gon. Had I the planting of this Ille, my lord
Ant. He'd sow't with nettle-feed.
Seb. Or docks, or mallows,
Gon. And were the King ? 'of it,' what would I do?
Seb. Scape being drunk, for want of wine.

Gon. I'th' commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffick
Would I admit; no name of magistrate ;
Letters should not be known; wealth, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Borne, bound of land, tilth, s /vineyard, olives, none;'
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oyl;
No occupation, all men idle, all,
And women too; but innocent and pure:
No Sov'reignty.

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 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 foyzon, all abundance
To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ?
Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.

Gon. I would with such perfection govern, Sir,
T'excell the golden age.

Seb. Save his Majesty!
Ant: Long live Gonzalo!
Gon. And do you mark me, Sir?
Ant: Prythee no more; thou dost talk nothing to me.

Gon, 6 plantation 7 on't, 8 vineyard, none;

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