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.

ANTONIO.
A space whose every cubit
Seems to cry out 'How shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples?--Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake.'--Say this were death