---

Скачать книгу

---

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 doubts 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

       There is some space.

       ANTONIO.

       A space whose every cubit

       Seems to cry out ‘How shall that Claribel

       Measure us back to Naples?—Keep in Tunis,

       And let Sebastian wake.’—Say this were death

       That now hath seiz’d them; why, they were no worse

       Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples

       As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate

       As amply and unnecessarily

       As this Gonzalo: I myself could make

       A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore

       The mind that I do! What a sleep were this

       For your advancement! Do you understand me?

       SEBASTIAN.

       Methinks I do.

       ANTONIO.

       And how does your content

       Tender your own good fortune?

       SEBASTIAN.

       I remember

       You did supplant your brother Prospero.

       ANTONIO.

       True.

       And look how well my garments sit upon me;

       Much feater than before; my brother’s servants

       Were then my fellows; now they are my men.

       SEBASTIAN.

       But, for your conscience,—

       ANTONIO.

       Ay, sir; where lies that? If ‘twere a kibe,

       ‘Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not

       This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences

       That stand ‘twixt me and Milan, candied be they

       And melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,

       No better than the earth he lies upon,

       If he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead:

       Whom I, with this obedient steel,—three inches of it,—

       Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,

       To the perpetual wink for aye might put

       This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who

       Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,

       They’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk:

       They’ll tell the clock to any business that

       We say befits the hour.

       SEBASTIAN.

       Thy case, dear friend,

       Shall be my precedent: as thou got’st Milan,

       I’ll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke

       Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay’st,

       And I the king shall love thee.

       ANTONIO. Draw together:

       And when I rear my hand, do you the like,

       To fall it on Gonzalo.

       SEBASTIAN.

       O! but one word.

       [They converse apart.]

       [Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible.]

       ARIEL.

       My master through his art foresees the danger

       That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth—

       For else his project dies—to keep thee living.

       [Sings in GONZALO’S ear]

      

---

Скачать книгу