Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir,
To excel the golden age.
Seb.
[’Save] his majesty!
Ant. Long live Gonzalo!
Gon.
And,—do you mark me, sir?
Alon. Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.
165 Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing.
Ant. ’Twas you we laughed at.