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SCENE I. Another part of the island.
Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO,
ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others.
Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause
Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit ;
A dollar. Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have • spoken truer than you purposed.
Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.
Gon. Therefore, my lord,
Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?
Seb. The old cock.
Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.3
Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.
Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly de livered.
Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly, Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed 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 lush4 and lusty the grass looks? how
Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny.
Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed almost beyond credit) —
Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched 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.. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.
Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen. Gon. Not since 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 of Carthage, not of Tunis.
Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. *Adr. Carthage?
s Shade of colour,
Gon. I assure you, Carthage.
Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next?
Seb. I think, he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple.
Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Gon. Ay?
Ant. Why, in good time. Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen.
Ant. And the rarest that e’er came there.
Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.“
Ant. That sort was well fish'd for.
Sir, he may live;
I saw him beat the surges under him,
No, no, he's gone.
My lord Sebastian,
: Very well. Ant. And most chirurgeonly.