Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 8Sylvester, Charles Herbert
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Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 8
Sylvester, Charles Herbert
Children's literature; Literature -- Collections
_Gonza._ I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no
drowning-mark upon him; his complexion[367-8] is perfect gallows.--Stand
fast, good Fate, to his hanging! make the rope of his destiny our cable,
for our own doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hang'd, our
case is miserable. [_Exeunt._
_Re-enter_ Boatswain.
_Boats._ Down with the top-mast! yare; lower, lower! Bring her to try
wi' th' main-course.[367-9] [_A cry within._] A plague upon this
howling! they are louder than the weather or our office,[367-10]--
_Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO._
Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er, and drown? Have you a
mind to sink?
_Sebas._ A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable
dog!
_Boats._ Work you, then.
_Anto._ Hang, cur, hang! you insolent noisemaker, we are less afraid to
be drown'd than thou art.
_Gonza._ I'll warrant him for drowning,[368-11] though the ship were no
stronger than a nut-shell.
_Boats._ Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses![368-12] off to sea
again: lay her off!
_Re-enter _Mariners,_ wet._
_Mariners._ All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! [_Exeunt._
_Boats._ What, must our mouths be cold?
_Gonza._ The King and Prince at prayers! let us assist them,
For our case is as theirs.
_Sebas._ I'm out of patience.
_Anto._ We're merely[368-13] cheated out of our lives by drunkards.
This wide-chopp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning,
The washing of ten tides!
_Gonza._ He'll be hang'd yet,
Though every drop of water swear against it,
And gape at widest to glut[368-14] him.
(_A confused noise within._) Mercy on us! We split, we split!--Farewell,
my wife and children!--Farewell, brother!--We split, we split, we split!
[_Exit_ Boatswain.
_Anto._ Let's all sink wi' th' King. [_Exit._
_Sebas._ Let's take leave of him. [_Exit._
_Gonza._ Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of
barren ground; ling, heath, broom, furze,[369-15] anything. The
wills[369-16] above be done! but I would fain die a dry death.
[_Exit._
SCENE II.--_The Island: before the Cell of PROSPERO._
_Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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