Or stole it, rather.

Why, how now, Stephano!

He is drunk now: where had he wine?

Ha, ha!
What things are these, my lord Antonio?
Will money buy 'em?

A most high miracle!

Aside The devil speaks in him.

But one fiend at a time,
I'll fight their legions o'er.

No matter, since
They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.
Will't please you taste of what is here?

A living drollery. Now I will believe
That there are unicorns, that in Arabia
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix
At this hour reigning there.

Aside to ANTONIO I say, to-night: no more.

Aside to ANTONIO The next advantage
Will we take throughly.

Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Like bulls, or rather lions: did't not wake you?
It struck mine ear most terribly.

O, but one word.

Thy case, dear friend,
Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest;
And I the king shall love thee.

But, for your conscience?

I remember
You did supplant your brother Prospero.

Methinks I do.

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.

Claribel.

He's gone.

I have no hope
That he's undrown'd.

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.

Do so: to ebb
Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Well, I am standing water.

Thou dost snore distinctly;
There's meaning in thy snores.

I do; and surely
It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
And yet so fast asleep.

What, art thou waking?

Why
Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
Myself disposed to sleep.

What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

Please you, sir,
Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.

An it had not fallen flat-long.

God save his majesty!

No marrying 'mong his subjects?

Yet he would be king on't.

'Scape being drunk for want of wine.

Or docks, or mallows.

Foul weather?

Very well.

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 ...

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.

Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

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

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

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

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

Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report

As many vouched rarities are.

No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

With an eye of green in't.