_Anto._ Then, tell me, Who's the next heir of Naples? _Sebas._ Claribel. _Anto._ She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life;[406-57] she that from Naples Can have no note,[406-58] unless the Sun were post,--[406-59] The Man-i'-the-moon's too slow,--till new-born chins Be rough and razorable. She 'twas for whom we All were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again;[406-60] And, by that destiny, to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come[406-61] In yours and my discharge. _Sebas._ 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. _Anto._ A space whose every cubit Seems to cry out, _How shall thou, Claribel, Measure us back[407-62] to Naples? Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake!_ Say, this were death That now hath seized them; why, they were no worse Than now they are. There be[407-63] 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[407-64] of as deep chat.[407-65] O, that you bore The mind that I do! what a sleep were this For your advancement! Do you understand me? _Sebas._ Methinks I do. _Anto._ And how does your content Tender your own good fortune?[407-66] _Sebas._ I remember You did supplant your brother Prospero. _Anto._ True: And look how well my garments sit upon me; Much feater[407-67] than before: my brother's servants Were then my fellows; now they are my men. _Sebas._ But, for your conscience-- _Anto._ Ay, sir; and where lies that? if 'twere a kibe,[408-68] 'Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences, That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied[408-69] 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; whom I, With this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink[408-70] for aye might put This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, They'll take suggestion[408-71] as a cat laps milk; They'll tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour.[408-72] _Sebas._ Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent; as thou gott'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. _Anto._ Draw together;[408-73] And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo.