Page 1060 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

I saw him beat the surges under him, [110]
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 oared
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke [115]
To th’ shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bowed,
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, [120]
But rather loose 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 importun’d otherwise,
By all of us; and the fair soul herself [125]

Weigh’d between loathness and obedience, at
Which end o’ th’ beam should bow. We have lost your son,
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
Mo widows in them of this business’ making

Than we bring men to comfort them: [130]
The fault’s your own.

ALONSO
So is the dear’st o’ th’ loss.

GONZALO