- cid
- bafkreia4h5yqkiqhe6v5x22j44t3blxd5youvq46dwbdelx4ov7fkl5jgq
- content_type
- image/jpeg
- filename
- 01_tempest_1901_illustrated_bell_page_0058.jpg
- height
- 2400
- key
- pdf-page-1769806466691-5gm3kxwop5v
- page_number
- 58
- pdf_type
- born_digital
- size
- 415960
- text
- ACT
TWO
THE
TEMPEST
SCENE
ONE
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 '11 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 doubt 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' the moon 's too slow,— till new-born chins
42
- text_extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:54:26.691Z
- text_extracted_by
- pdf-processor
- text_has_content
- true
- text_source
- born_digital
- uploaded
- true
- width
- 1642