SEBASTIAN. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise
    By all of us; and the fair soul herself
    Weigh'd between loathness and obedience at
    Which end o' th' beam should bow. We have lost your son,
    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.
  ALONSO. So is the dear'st o' th' loss.
  GONZALO. My lord Sebastian,
    The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
    And time to speak it in; you rub the sore,
    When you should bring the plaster.
  SEBASTIAN. Very well.
  ANTONIO. And most chirurgeonly.
  GONZALO. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
    When you are cloudy.
  SEBASTIAN. Foul weather?
  ANTONIO. Very foul.
  GONZALO. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord-
  ANTONIO. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed.
  SEBASTIAN. Or docks, or mallows.
  GONZALO. And were the king on't, what would I do?
  SEBASTIAN. Scape being drunk for want of wine.
  GONZALO. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries
    Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
    Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
    Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
    And use of service, none; contract, succession,
    Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
    No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
    No occupation; all men idle, all;
    And women too, but innocent and pure;
    No sovereignty-
  SEBASTIAN. Yet he would be king on't.
  ANTONIO. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
    beginning.
  GONZALO. 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 it own kind, all foison, all abundance,
    To feed my innocent people.
  SEBASTIAN. No marrying 'mong his subjects?
  ANTONIO. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.
  GONZALO. I would with such perfection govern, sir,
    T' excel the golden age.
  SEBASTIAN. Save his Majesty!
  ANTONIO. Long live Gonzalo!
  GONZALO. And-do you mark me, sir?
  ALONSO. Prithee, no more; thou dost talk nothing to me.
  GONZALO. I do well believe your Highness; and did it to
    minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such
    sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh
    at nothing.
  ANTONIO. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.
  GONZALO. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to
    you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still.
  ANTONIO. What a blow was there given!
  SEBASTIAN. An it had not fall'n flat-long.
  GONZALO. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would
    lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue
    in it five weeks without changing.

[Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music]

  SEBASTIAN. We would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.
  ANTONIO. Nay, good my lord, be not angry.
  GONZALO. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my
    discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am
    very heavy?
  ANTONIO. Go sleep, and hear us.
                   [All sleep but ALONSO, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]
  ALONSO. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
    Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts; I find
    They are inclin'd to do so.
  SEBASTIAN. Please you, sir,
    Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
    It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
    It is a comforter.
  ANTONIO. We two, my lord,
    Will guard your person while you take your rest,
    And watch your safety.
  ALONSO. Thank you-wondrous heavy!
                                     [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL]
  SEBASTIAN. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
  ANTONIO. It is the quality o' th' climate.
  SEBASTIAN. Why
    Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
    Myself dispos'd to sleep.
  ANTONIO. Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
    They fell together all, as by consent;
    They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
    Worthy Sebastian? O, what might! No more!
    And yet methinks I see it in thy face,
    What thou shouldst be; th' occasion speaks thee; and
    My strong imagination sees a crown
    Dropping upon thy head.
  SEBASTIAN. What, art thou waking?
  ANTONIO. Do you not hear me speak?
  SEBASTIAN. I do; and surely
    It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st
    Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
    This is a strange repose, to be asleep
    With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
    And yet so fast asleep.
  ANTONIO. Noble Sebastian,
    Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st
    Whiles thou art waking.
  SEBASTIAN. Thou dost snore distinctly;
    There's meaning in thy snores.
  ANTONIO. I am more serious than my custom; you
    Must be so too, if heed me; which to do
    Trebles thee o'er.
  SEBASTIAN. Well, I am standing water.
  ANTONIO. I'll teach you how to flow.
  SEBASTIAN. Do so: to ebb,
    Hereditary sloth instructs me.
  ANTONIO. O,
    If you but knew how you the purpose cherish,
    Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,
    You more invest it! Ebbing men indeed,
    Most often, do so near the bottom run
    By their own fear or sloth.
  SEBASTIAN. Prithee say on.
    The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim
    A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,
    Which throes thee much to yield.
  ANTONIO. 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 persuasion, only
    Professes to persuade-the King his son's alive,
    'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd
    As he that sleeps here swims.
  SEBASTIAN. I have no hope
    That he's undrown'd.
  ANTONIO. O, out of that 'no hope'
    What great hope have you! No hope that way is
    Another way so high a hope, that even
    Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
    But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me
    That Ferdinand is drown'd?
  SEBASTIAN. He's gone.
  ANTONIO. Then tell me,
    Who's the next heir of Naples?
  SEBASTIAN. Claribel.
  ANTONIO. 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 sun were post,
    The Man i' th' Moon's too slow, till newborn chins
    Be rough and razorable; she that from whom
    We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again,
    And by that destiny, to perform an act
    Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come
    In yours and my discharge.
  SEBASTIAN. 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