sarnab/Shakespeare_Corpus · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 4 3.08k
PROSPERO: Come, follow. Speak not for him.
GONZALO: Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common; every day some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant and the merchant Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort.
ALONSO: Prithee, peace.
SEBASTIAN: He receives comfort like cold porridge.
ANTONIO: The visitor will not give him o'er so.
SEBASTIAN: Look he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.
GONZALO: Sir,--
SEBASTIAN: One: tell.
GONZALO: When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer--
SEBASTIAN: A dollar.
GONZALO: Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.
SEBASTIAN: You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.
GONZALO: Therefore, my lord,--
ANTONIO: Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
ALONSO: I prithee, spare.
GONZALO: Well, I have done: but yet,--
SEBASTIAN: He will be talking.
ANTONIO: Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?
SEBASTIAN: The old cock.
ANTONIO: The cockerel.
SEBASTIAN: Done. The wager?
ANTONIO: A laughter.
SEBASTIAN: A match!
ADRIAN: Though this island seem to be desert,--
SEBASTIAN: Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid.
ADRIAN: Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,--
SEBASTIAN: Yet,--
ADRIAN: Yet,--
ANTONIO: He could not miss't.
ADRIAN: It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate temperance.
ANTONIO: Temperance was a delicate wench.
SEBASTIAN: Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.
ADRIAN: The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
SEBASTIAN: As if it had lungs and rotten ones.
ANTONIO: Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.
GONZALO: Here is everything advantageous to life.
ANTONIO: True; save means to live.
SEBASTIAN: Of that there's none, or little.
GONZALO: How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
ANTONIO: The ground indeed is tawny.
SEBASTIAN: With an eye of green in't.
ANTONIO: He misses not much.
SEBASTIAN: No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.
GONZALO: But the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost beyond credit,--
SEBASTIAN: As many vouched rarities are.
GONZALO: That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water.
ANTONIO: If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?
SEBASTIAN: Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report
GONZALO: Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.
SEBASTIAN: 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.
ADRIAN: Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen.
GONZALO: Not since widow Dido's time.
ANTONIO: Widow! a pox o' that! How came that widow in? widow Dido!
SEBASTIAN: What if he had said 'widower AEneas' too? Good Lord, how you take it!
ADRIAN: 'Widow Dido' said you? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.
GONZALO: This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.
ADRIAN: Carthage?
GONZALO: I assure you, Carthage.
SEBASTIAN: His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath raised the wall and houses too.
ANTONIO: What impossible matter will he make easy next?
SEBASTIAN: I think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple.
ANTONIO: And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.
GONZALO: Ay.
ANTONIO: Why, in good time.
GONZALO: 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.
ANTONIO: And the rarest that e'er came there.
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: 'Scape being drunk for want of wine.
GONZALO: I' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things; for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too, but innocent and pure; No sovereignty;--
SEBASTIAN: Yet he would be king on't.
ANTONIO: The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.
GONZALO: All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people.
SEBASTIAN: No marrying 'mong his subjects?
ANTONIO: None, man; all idle: whores and knaves.
GONZALO: I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age.
SEBASTIAN: God save his majesty!
ANTONIO: Long live Gonzalo!
GONZALO: And,--do you mark me, sir?
ALONSO: Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

PROSPERO: Come, follow. Speak not for him.

GONZALO: Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common; every day some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant and the merchant Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort.

ALONSO: Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN: He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANTONIO: The visitor will not give him o'er so.

SEBASTIAN: Look he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.

GONZALO: Sir,--

SEBASTIAN: One: tell.

GONZALO: When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer--

SEBASTIAN: A dollar.

GONZALO: Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.

SEBASTIAN: You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

GONZALO: Therefore, my lord,--

ANTONIO: Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

ALONSO: I prithee, spare.

GONZALO: Well, I have done: but yet,--

SEBASTIAN: He will be talking.

ANTONIO: Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?

SEBASTIAN: The old cock.

ANTONIO: The cockerel.

SEBASTIAN: Done. The wager?

ANTONIO: A laughter.

SEBASTIAN: A match!

ADRIAN: Though this island seem to be desert,--

SEBASTIAN: Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid.

ADRIAN: Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,--

SEBASTIAN: Yet,--

ADRIAN: Yet,--

ANTONIO: He could not miss't.

ADRIAN: It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate temperance.

ANTONIO: Temperance was a delicate wench.

SEBASTIAN: Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

ADRIAN: The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

SEBASTIAN: As if it had lungs and rotten ones.

ANTONIO: Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.

GONZALO: Here is everything advantageous to life.

ANTONIO: True; save means to live.

SEBASTIAN: Of that there's none, or little.

GONZALO: How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!

ANTONIO: The ground indeed is tawny.

SEBASTIAN: With an eye of green in't.

ANTONIO: He misses not much.

SEBASTIAN: No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

GONZALO: But the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost beyond credit,--

SEBASTIAN: As many vouched rarities are.

GONZALO: That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water.

ANTONIO: If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?

SEBASTIAN: Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report

GONZALO: Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.

SEBASTIAN: 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

ADRIAN: Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen.

GONZALO: Not since widow Dido's time.

ANTONIO: Widow! a pox o' that! How came that widow in? widow Dido!

SEBASTIAN: What if he had said 'widower AEneas' too? Good Lord, how you take it!

ADRIAN: 'Widow Dido' said you? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

GONZALO: This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

ADRIAN: Carthage?

GONZALO: I assure you, Carthage.

SEBASTIAN: His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath raised the wall and houses too.

ANTONIO: What impossible matter will he make easy next?

SEBASTIAN: I think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple.

ANTONIO: And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.

GONZALO: Ay.

ANTONIO: Why, in good time.

GONZALO: 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.

ANTONIO: And the rarest that e'er came there.

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: 'Scape being drunk for want of wine.

GONZALO: I' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things; for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too, but innocent and pure; No sovereignty;--

SEBASTIAN: Yet he would be king on't.

ANTONIO: The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.

GONZALO: All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people.

SEBASTIAN: No marrying 'mong his subjects?

ANTONIO: None, man; all idle: whores and knaves.

GONZALO: I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age.

SEBASTIAN: God save his majesty!

ANTONIO: Long live Gonzalo!

GONZALO: And,--do you mark me, sir?

ALONSO: Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.