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Alonso, King of Naples.
Sebastian, his Brother.

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Ferdinand, Son to the King of Naples.
Gonzalo, an honest old Counsellor of Naples.
Adrian,
Francisco, J
Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave.
Trinculo, a Jester.

Lords.

Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan.
Antonio, his Brother, the usurping Duke of Miranda, Daughter to Prospero.

Milan.

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SCENE, The Sea, with a Ship; afterwards an uninhabited Island.

Stephano, a drunken Butler.

Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners.

Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men.

Boats. I pray now, keep below. Aut. Where is the master, Boatswain? Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour; Keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. Gon. Nay, good, be patient. Boats. When the sea is. Hence! What care these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence: trouble us not,

Ariel, an airy Spirit.

Iris,
Ceres,

Juno,
Nymphs,
Reapers,

}

Other Spirits attending on Prospero.

Spirits.

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Seb. I am out of patience.

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.

Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boats. None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not 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. our way, I say.

Gon.

He'll be hanged 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 my and children! well, brother! We split, we split, we split!Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Erit. Seb. Let's take leave of him. Exit. Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of

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 sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath, be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. brown furze, any thing: The wills above be done! [Exeunt. but I would fain die a dry death.

{Exit.

B

This wide-chapp'd rascal ;-'Would, thou might'st
lie drowning,
The washing of ten tides!

SCENE II. The Island: before the Cell of Prospero. I
Enter Prospero and Miranda.

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 the 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 freighting souls within her.

Pro.

Be collected;
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart,
There's no harm done.

Mira.

O, woe the day!

No harm.
Pro.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
(Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!) who
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.

Mira.

More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pro. 'Tis time I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me.-So; [Lays down his Mantle. Lie there, my art.-Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.

The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision 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

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.

Mira.

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.

Mira.
'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?

[it,

Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: but how is
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here,
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st.

Mira.
O, my heart bleeds
To think o'the teen that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance! Please you fur-
ther.

Mira.

But that I do not.
Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years
Thy father was the duke of Milan, and
A prince of power..

[since,

Mira.

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; and his only heir.
A princess;-no worse issued.
Mira,
O, the heavens!
What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't we did?

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

But what my power might else exact,-like one,

Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, 13

Made such a sinner of his memory,

Sit down;
For thou must now know further.
Mira.
You have often
Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition;
Concluding, Stay, not yet.-

Pro.

Pro.

Both, both, my girl:
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence,
But blessedly holp hither.

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,-
I pray 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?

Mira.

Sir, most heedfully.

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom
To trash for over-topping; new created
The creatures that were mine; I say, or chang'd
them,

Or else new form'd them: having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts

To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, [not:
And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st
I pray thee, mark me.

Mira.

O good sir, I do.

Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
With that, which, but by being so retir'd,
O'erpriz'd all popular rate, in my false brother,
Awak'd an evil nature: and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of him
A falsehood, in its contrary as great

To credit his own lie,-he did believe
He was the duke; out of the substitution,
And executing the outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative :-Hence his ambition
Growing, Dost hear?

Mira.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
Pro. To have no screen between this part he
And him he play'd it for, he needs will he play'd,
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) with 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.

Mira.

O the heavens!
Pro. Mark his condition, and the event; then
If this might be a brother.
[tell me,

Mira.

I should sin

To think but nobly of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sons.

Pro.

Now the condition
This king of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
Which was, that he in lieu o'the premises,
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute,-
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom; and confer fair Milan,
With all the honours, on my brother: whereon
A treacherous army levied, one midnight
Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open
The gates of Milan; and i'the dead of darkness,
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me, and thy crying self.

#

"

Mira.

Alack, for pity!
I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then,
Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint,
That wrings mine eyes.

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