There is some space.
Ant. A space whose every cubit
Seems to cry out, 'How shall that Claribel 266
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 sleeps; lords that can prate
As amply and unnecessarily 272
As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do! what a sleep 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 278
You did supplant your brother Prospero.
Ant. True:
And look how well my garments sit upon me;
Much feater than before; my brother's servants
Were then my fellows; now they are my men.
Seb. But, for your conscience,— 283
Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kibe,
'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not
This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they,
And melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother, 288
No better than the earth he lies upon,
If he were that which now he's like, that's dead;
267 Measure: trace
273, 274 make . . . chat: teach a jackdaw to chatter as profoundly
277 content: contentment
278 Tender: provide for
281 feater: more gracefully
284 kibe: chilblain
287 candied, etc.; cf. n.
