Tom Conti credited as playing...
Gonzalo
- Gonzalo: Though this island seem to be desert, uninhabitable and almost inaccessible...
- Sebastian: Yet.
- Gonzalo: Yet...
- Antonio: I could not miss it.
- Gonzalo: The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
- Sebastian: As if it hand lungs, and rotten ones.
- Antonio: Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.
- Gonzalo: Here is everything advantageous to life.
- Antonio: True, save means to live.
- Sebastian: Of that there's none, or little.
- Gonzalo: How lush and lusty the grass looks! Mm? How green!
- Antonio: The ground indeed is tawny.
- Sebastian: With an eye of green in't.
- King Alonso: Good boatswain, have care! Where's the master? Play the men!
- Boatswain: I pray now, keep below!
- King Alonso: Where is the master, boatswain?
- Guard: Do you not hear him? You mar our labor!
- Boatswain: Keep your cabins! You do assist the storm!
- Gonzalo: Nay, good, be patient!
- Boatswain: When the sea is!
- Gonzalo: The rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit, that our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric. In-In Tunis. At the marriage of your fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.
- King Alonso: You cram these words into mine ears against the stomach of my sense. Would I had never married my daughter there. For, coming thence, my son is lost and, in my rate, she too, who is so far from Italy removed I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir of Naples and Milan, what strange fish hath made his meal on thee?
- Antonio: Sir, he may live. I saw him beat the surges under him and ride upon their backs. I not doubt he came alive to land.
- King 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, but rather lose her to an African.
- King Alonso: Prithee, peace.
- Sebastian: We have lost your son, I fear, forever. The fault's your own.
- King Alonso: So is the dearest o' the loss.
- Gonzalo: My lord Sebastian, the truth you speak doth lack some gentleness. You rub the sore when you should bring the plaster.
- Sebastian: Very well.
- Antonio: And most like a surgeon.
- Gonzalo: Beseech you, sir. Be merry. You have cause, so have we all, of joy, for our escape is much beyond our loss. But for the miracle, I-I mean our preservation, few in millions can speak like us. Then wisely, good sir, weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
- King Alonso: Prithee, peace.
- Sebastian: He receives comfort like cold porridge.
- Antonio: Look. He's winding up the watch of his wit. By and by it will strike.
- Gonzalo: Sir...
- Sebastian: One! Tell.
- Gonzalo: When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd comes to the entertainer...
- Sebastian: A dollar.
- Gonzalo: Dolor comes to him, indeed. You have spoken truer than you purposed.
- Sebastian: You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.
- Gonzalo: There... thereford, my lord...
- Antonio: Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
- King Alonso: I prithee, spare.
- Gonzalo: I would with such perfection govern, sir, as to excel the golden age.
- Sebastian: [chuckling] God save his majesty!
- Antonio: Long live Gonzalo!
- Gonzalo: And, do you... do you mark me, sir?
- King Alonso: Prithee, no more. Thou dost talk nothing to me.
- Gonzalo: I do well believe your majesty, and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always used to laugh at nothing.
- Antonio: 'Twas you we laughed at.
- Gonzalo: Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you, so you may continue and laugh at nothing still.