Why
Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
Myself dispos'd to sleep.

ANTONIO.
Nor I: my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent;
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
Worthy Sebastian? O! what might?--No more:--
And yet methinks I see it in thy face,
What thou should'st be: The occasion speaks thee; and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

SEBASTIAN.
What! art thou waking?

ANTONIO.
Do you not hear me speak?

SEBASTIAN.
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.

ANTONIO.
Noble Sebastian,