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SEBASTIAN:
Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.
ANTONIO:
O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido.
GONZALO:
Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I
wore it? I mean, in a sort.
ANTONIO:
That sort was well fished for.
GONZALO:
When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?
ALONSO:
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 lost and, in my rate, she too,
Who is so far from Italy removed
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee?
FRANCISCO:
Sir, he may live:
I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
Whose enmity he flung 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 stroke
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt
He came alive to land.
ALONSO:
No, no, he's gone.
SEBASTIAN:
Sir, you may thank yourself 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.
ALONSO:
Prithee, peace.
SEBASTIAN:
You were kneel'd to and importuned otherwise
By all of us, and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at
Which end o' the 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' the 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'ld sow't with nettle-seed.
SEBASTIAN:
Or docks, or mallows.
GONZALO:
And were the king on't, what would I do?
SEBASTIAN: