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Lyrics
GONZALO.
Beseech you, sir, be merry;
you have cause of joy; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Is common: every day, some sailor's wife,
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
Few can speak like us: then good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.
ALONSO.
Prithee, peace.
ADRIAN.
The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
SEBASTIAN.
As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
ANTONIO
Who's the next heir of Naples?
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; my daughter too
Who is so far from Italy remov'd,
O thou, mine heir of Naples
What strange fish hath made his meal on thee?
ANTONIO
Worthy Sebastian? O! what might?--No more:--
And yet methinks I see it in thy face,
What thou should'st be:
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.
And look how well my garments sit upon me;
My brother's servants are my men.
Draw together:
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
To fall it on Gonzalo.
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