And have no vigour in them.
FERDINAND.
So they are:
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wrack of all my friends, nor this man’s threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.
PROSPERO.
[Aside] It works.—[To FERDINAND] Come on.—
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To FERDINAND] Follow me.—
[To ARIEL] Hark what thou else shalt do me.
MIRANDA.
Be of comfort;
My father’s of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted,
Which now came from him.
PROSPERO.
Thou shalt be as free
As mountain winds; but then exactly do
All points of my command.
ARIEL.
To the syllable.
PROSPERO.
[To FERDINAND] Come, follow.—Speak not for him.
[Exeunt]
ACT 2
SCENE I.—Another part of the island
[Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS]
GONZALO.
Beseech 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, some sailor’s wife,
The masters of some merchant and the merchant,
Have just our theme 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.
ALONSO.
Prithee, peace.
SEBASTIAN.
He receives comfort like cold porridge.
ANTONIO.
The visitor will not give him o’er so.
SEBASTIAN. Look, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.
GONZALO.
Sir,—
SEBASTIAN.
One: tell.
GONZALO.
When every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,
Comes to the entertainer—
SEBASTIAN.
A dollar.
GONZALO. Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.
SEBASTIAN.
You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.
GONZALO.
Therefore, my lord,—
ANTONIO.
Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
ALONSO.
I prithee, spare.
GONZALO.
Well, I have done: but yet—
SEBASTIAN.
He will be talking.
ANTONIO. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?
SEBASTIAN.
The old cock.
ANTONIO.
The cockerel.
SEBASTIAN.
Done. The wager?
ANTONIO.
A laughter.
SEBASTIAN.
A match!
ADRIAN.
Though this island seem to be desert,—
SEBASTIAN.
Ha, ha, ha! So, you’re paid.
ADRIAN.
Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—
SEBASTIAN.
Yet—
ADRIAN.
Yet—
ANTONIO.
He could not miss it.
ADRIAN. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.
ANTONIO.
Temperance was a delicate wench.
SEBASTIAN.
Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.
ADRIAN.
The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
SEBASTIAN.
As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
ANTONIO.
Or, as ‘twere perfum’d by a fen.
GONZALO.
Here is everything advantageous to life.
ANTONIO.
True; save means to live.
SEBASTIAN.
Of that there’s none, or little.
GONZALO.
How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
ANTONIO.
The ground indeed is tawny.
SEBASTIAN.
With an eye of green in’t.
ANTONIO.
He misses not much.
SEBASTIAN.
No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.
GONZALO. But the rarity of it is,—which is indeed almost beyond credit,—
SEBASTIAN.
As many vouch’d rarities are.
GONZALO. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stain’d with salt water.
ANTONIO. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?
SEBASTIAN.
Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.
GONZALO. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king’s fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.
SEBASTIAN.
‘Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.
ADRIAN. Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon