THE TEMPEST
67
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.
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.
Who hath cause to wet the grief on ’t. Prithee, peace.
Sebastian.
You were kneel’d to and importuned otherwise
By all of us, and the fair sout herself
Weigh’d, between loathness and obedience, at
Which end 0’ 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.
By all of us, and the fair sout herself
Weigh’d, between loathness and obedience, at
Which end 0’ 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.
The fault ’s your own. 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.
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.
When you should bring the plaster. Very well.
Antonio.
And most chirurgeonly.
