SEBASTIAN.
I have no hope
That he's undrown'd.
ANTONIO.
O! out of that 'no hope'
What great hope have you! No hope that way is
Another way so high a hope, that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant with me
That Ferdinand is drown'd?
SEBASTIAN.
He's gone.
ANTONIO.
Then tell me,
Who's the next heir of Naples?
SEBASTIAN.
Claribel.
ANTONIO.
She that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples
Can have no note, unless the sun were post —
The Man i' th' Moon's too slow — till newborn chins
Be rough and razorable: she that from whom
We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again,
And by that destiny, to perform an act
Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come
In yours and my discharge.
SEBASTIAN.
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.
