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Sc. I


hand a rope more; use your authority. If you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.-Cheerly, good hearts!-Out of our way, I [exit. GON. I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning-mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows.---Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging! make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hang'd, our case is miserable. [exeunt.

Re-enter Boatswain.

BOATS. Down with the top-mast! yare; lower, lower!
Bring her to try wi' th' main-course.1 [A cry within.]
A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the

weather or our office.



Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o’er, and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEB. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!

BOATS. Work you, then.


ANT. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent noisemaker, we are less afraid to be drown'd than thou art. GON. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstanch wench.

BOATS. Lay her a-hold, a-hold!2 set her two courses!3 off to sea again; lay her off!

Re-enter Mariners, wet.

MARINERS. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

BOATS. What, must our mouths be cold?



GON. The King and Prince at prayers! let us assist

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ANT. We're merely1 cheated of our lives by drunkards. This wide-chopp'd rascal-would thou might'st lie drowning

The washing of ten tides!


He'll be hang'd yet,

Though every drop of water swear against it,

And gape at wid'st to glut him.


[A confused noise within.] Mercy on us! We split, we split!-Farewell, my wife and children!-Farewell, brother! We split, we split, we split! [Exit Boatswain. ANT. Let's all sink wi' the King. SEB. Let's take leave of him.



GON. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, any thing. The Wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death.



The Island: before the Cell of PROSPERO.

MIRA. If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's' cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd
With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel,
Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her,

Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock

Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish'd!
Had I been any god of power, I would

Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er

It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and
The fraughting souls within her.


Be collected;

No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.



Sc. I

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Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am; nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell
And thy no greater father.

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'Tis time I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me.-So:


[lays down his robe.


Lie there, my art.-Wipe thou thine eyes;

The direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch'd
very virtue of compassion in thee,

I have with such prevision in mine art
So safely order'd, that there is no soul-
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel


Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;

For thou must now know further.


You have often

Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd,
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding, Stay, not yet.


The hour's now come;

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear:
Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember

A time before we came unto this cell?

I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Out' three years old.


Certainly, sir, I can.

PRO. By what? by any other house or person ?

Of any thing the image tell me that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.


"Tis far off,

And rather like a dream than an assurance

That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
Four or five women once that tended me?

PRO. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it


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That this lives in thy mind? What see'st thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st ought ere thou cam'st here,
How thou cam❜st here thou may'st.


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But that I do not.

PRO. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and

A prince of power.


Sir, are not you my father?

PRO. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and

She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Milan; thou, his only heir,

A princess-no worse issued.


O the Heavens !

What foul play had we, that we came from thence? 60
Or blessed was 't we did?


Both, both, my girl:

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence,

But blessedly holp hither.


O, my heart bleeds

To think o' the teen1 that I have turn'd you to,

Which is from my remembrance! Please you, further.

PRO. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio



thee, mark me-that a brother should
Be so perfidious!-he whom, next thyself,
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put
The manage of my State; as, at that time,
Through all the signiories it was the first,
And Prospero the prime Duke; being so reputed
In dignity, and for the liberal arts

Without a parallel: those being all my study,
The government I cast upon my brother,

And to my State grew stranger, being transported
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-
Dost thou attend me ?

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PRO. -Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them, who t' advance, and who
To trash for over-topping-new-created
The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em,

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my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revénue yielded,

But what my power might else exact-like one
Who having to untruth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory

To credit his own lie-he did believe

He was indeed the Duke; out o' the substitution,
And executing th' outward face of royalty,

With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing—
Dost thou hear?

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
PRO. To have no screen between this part he play'd
And them he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
Was Dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
He thinks me now incapable; confederates-
So dry he was for sway-wi' the King of Naples
To give him annual tribute, do him homage,

Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend
The Dukedom, yet unbow'd-alas, poor Milan !--
To most ignoble stooping.

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PRO. Mark his condition, and th' event; then tell me,
If this might be a brother.




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