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Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge.
Ant. The visitor will not give o'er so.

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

Gon. Sir,
Seb. One:--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 s you have spoken truer than you propos'd.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

Gon. Therefore, my lord,—
Ant. Fie, what a spend-thrift is he of his congue?
Alon. I pr’ythee, spare.
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.

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You cram tbefe' Words into my Ears againsi

The Stomacb of my Sense. seems te Mr. Pope to have been an Interpolation by the Players. For my part, tho' I allow the Matter of the Dialogue to be very poor and trivial, (of which, I am sorry to say, we don't want other Instances in our Poet;) I cannot be of this Gentleman's Opinion, that it is interpolated, For Mould we take out this intermediate Part, what would become of these Words of the King ?

Would I had never Married my Daughter there! What Daughter ? and, where married? For it is from this intermediate part of the Scene only, that we are told, the King had a Daughter nam'd Claribel, whom he had married into Tunis. 'Tis true, in a subsequent Scene, betwixt Antonio and Sebastian, we again hear her and Tunis mention'd: but in fuch a manner, that it would be quite obscure and unintelligible without this previous Information. Mr. Pope's Criticism therefore is injudicious and unweigh’d. Besides, poor and jejune as the Matter of the Dialogue is, it was certainly design'd to be of a ridiculous Stamp; to divert and

unsettle the King's Thoughts from reflecting too deeply on his Son's supposid Drowning,

Ant.

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

Adr. It must nceds be of subtle, tender, and delicato 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.
Şeb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
Ant. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen.
Gon. Here is every thing 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 in't.
Ant. He misses 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.

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their Queen.

Gon. Not fince 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

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 impoffiblc matter will he make easy next?

Seb. I think, he will carry this Hand home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Ant. And Towing the kernels of it in the fcain

, bring forth more Islands.

Gon. Ay,
Ant. Why, in good time.

Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments feem now, as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at che marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen. Ant. And the rareft that e'er came there. Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Ant. 0, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido!

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

Ant. That fort was well fish'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 nc'er again shall see her: O thou mine heir

OF

Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fith
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 trode the water ;
Whose enmity he fung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln 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 bafis bow'd,
As ftooping to relieve him: I not doubt,
He came alive to land.

Alon. No, no, he's gone.

Seb. Sir, you may thank your felf for this great loss, That would not bless our Europe with your Daughter, But rather lose 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 loft 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.

Alon. So is the deareft o'th' lofs.

Gon. My lord Sebastian,
The truth, you speak, doth lack some gentleness,
And time to speak it in: you rub the forc,
When you fhould bring the plaifter.

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 plantation of this ifle, my lord -
Ant, He'd sow't with nettle feed.

Seb.

Seb. Or docks, or mallows.
Gon. And were the King on't, 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,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, 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?

Alon. Pr’ythee, no more; thou dost talk nothing to me.

Gon. 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.

Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing ftill.

Ant.

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