We two my Lord, will guard your person,
While you take your rest, and watch your safety.
Thanke you: Wondrous heauy.
What a strange drowsines possesses them?
It is the quality o’th’Clymate.
Doth it not then our eye-lids sinke? I finde
Not my selfe dispos’d to sleep.
Nor I, my spirits are nimble:
They sell together all, as by consent
They dropt, as by a Thunder-stroke: what might
Worthy Sebastian? O, what might? no more:
And yet, me thinkes I fee it in thy face,
What thou should’st be: th’occasion speaks thee, and
My strong imagination fee’s a Crowne
Dropping vpon thy head.
What: art thou waking?
Do you not heare me fpeake?
I do, and surely
It is a sleepy Language; and thou fpeak’st
Out of thy sleepe: What is it thou didst fay?
This is a strange repose, to be asleepe
With eyes wide open: standing, speaking, mouing:
And yet so fast asleepc.
Thou let’st thy fortune sleepe: die rather: wink’st
Whiles thou art waking.
Thou do’st snore distinctly,
There’s meaning in thy snores.
I am more serious then my custome: you
Must be so too, if heed me: which to do,
Trebbles thee o’re.
Well: I am standing water.
Ile teach you how to slow.
Do so: to ebbe
Hereditary Sloth instructs me.
If you but knew how you the purpose cherish
Whiles thus you mocke it: how in stripping it
You more inuest it: ebbing men, indeed
(Most often) do so neere the bottome run
By their owne feare, or sloth.
Pre-thee fay on,
The setting of thine eye, and cheeke proclaime
A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed,
Which throwes thee much to yeeld.
Although this Lord of weake remembrance; this
Who shall be of as little memory
When he is earth’d, hath here almost perswaded
(For hee’s a Spirit of perfwasion, onely
Professes to perswade) the King his fonne’s aliue,
’Tis as impossible that hee’s vndrown’d,
As he that sleepes heere, swims.
I haue no hope
That hee’s vndrown’d.
O, out of that no hope,
What great hope haue you? No hope that way, Is
Another way so high a hope, that euen
Ambition cannot pierce a winke beyond
But doubt discouery there. Will you grant with me
That Ferdinand is drown’d.
Then tell me, who’s the next heire of Naples?
She that is Queene of Tunis: she that dwels
Ten leagues beyond mans life: she that from Naples
Can haue no note, vnlesse the Sun were post:
The Man i’th Moone’s too slow, till new-borne chinnes
Be rough, and Razor-able: She that from whom
We all were sea-fwallow’d, though some cast againe,
(And by that destiny) to performe an act
Whereof, what’s past is Prologue; what to come
In yours, and my discharge.
What stuffe is this? How fay you?
’Tis true my brothers daughter’s Queene of Tunis,
So is she heyre of Naples, 'twixt which Regions
There is some space.
A space, whose eu’ry cubit
Seemes to cry out, how shall that Claribell
Measure vs backe to Naples ? keepe in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake. Say, this were death
That now hath seiz’d them, why they were no worse
Then now they are: There be that can rule Naples
As well as he that sleepes: Lords, that can prate
As amply, and vnnecessarily
As this Gonzallo: I my selse could make
A Chough of as deepe chat: O, that you bore
The minde that I do; what a sleepe were this
For your aduancement? Do you vnderstand me?
Me thinkes I do.
And how do’s your content
Tender your owne good fortune?
You did supplant your Brother Profpero.
And looke how well my Garments sit vpon me,
Much seater then before: My Brothers feruants
Were then my fellowes, now they are my men.
But for your conscience.
I Sir: where lies that? If ’twere a kybe
’Twould put me to my slipper: But I seele not
This Deity in my bosome: Twentie consciences
That stand ’twixt me, and Millaine, candied be they,
And melt ere they mollest: Heere lies your Brother,
No better then the earth he lies vpon,
If he were that which now hee’s like (that’s dead)
Whom I with this obedient steelc (three inches of it)
Can lay to bed for euer: whiles you doing thus,
To the perpetuall winke for aye might put
This ancient morsell: this Sir Prudence, who
Should not vpbraid our course: for all the rest
They’l take suggestion, as a Cat laps milke,
They’l tell the clocke, to any businesse that
We fay befits the houre.
Thy case, deere Friend
Shall be my president: As thou got’st Millaine,
I’le come by Naples: Draw thy sword, one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou paiest,
And I the King shall loue thee.
And when I reare my hand, do you the like
To fall it on Gonzalo.
O, but one word.
Enter Ariell with Muficke and Song.
My Master through his Art foresees the danger
That you (his friend) are in, and sends me forth
(For else his proiect dies) to keepe them liuing.
While you here do fnoaring lie,