rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

Re-enter Boatswain.

[Exeunt.

Boats. Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try with main-course. [A cry within.] A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office. Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo.

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, incharitBoats. Work you, then.

[able dog! Ant. Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noise-maker. We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench. Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses; off to sea again; lay her off.

Enter Mariners wet.

i Mariners. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

t Boats. What, must our mouths be cold?

oiGon. The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them, tha For our case is as theirs.

Jaseb.

I'm out of patience. beant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards: This wide-chapp'd rascal,―would thou mightst lie drowning The washing of ten tides!

vi

r

t

Gon.

He'll be hang'd yet,

Though every drop of water swear against it,
And gape at widest 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 !']

Ant. Let's all sink with the king.

Seb. Let's take leave of him.

[Exeunt Ant. and Seb.

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

SCENE II

The wills death. [Exeunt.

The island. Before Prospero's cell.
Enter Prospero and Miranda.

Mir. 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 creature 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 ere

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

Pros.

Be collected:

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

Mir.

Pros.

O, woe the day!

No harm.

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.

Mir.

More to know

Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pros.

'Tis time I should inform thee farther. 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 ordered, 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 farther.

Mir.

You have often

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

Pros.

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.

Mir.

Certainly, sir, I can.

Pros. By what? by any other house or person?
Of any thing the image tell me, that

Hath kept with thy remembrance.

Mir.

"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?

Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
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 camest here,
How thou camest here thou mayst.

Mir.

But that I do not. Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and

A prince of power.

Mir.

Sir, are not you my father?

Pros. 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.

Mir.

O the heavens !

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

Pros.

Both, both, my girl : By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence; But blessedly holp thither.

Mir.

O, my heart bleeds

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

Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther. Pros. 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 loved, and to him put
The manage of my state; as at that time
Through all the signories 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?

Mir.

Sir, most heedfully.

Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them, who to advance, and who
To trash for over-topping, new created

The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em, Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on 't. Mir. O, good sir, I do.

Pros.

Thou attend'st not,

I pray thee, mark me.
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
With that which, but by being so retired,
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of him

A falsehood in its contrary, as great

As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,
But what my power might else exact, like one
Who having into truth, 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 the outward face of royalty,

With all prerogative:-hence his ambition growing,→
Dost thou hear?

Mir.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pros. To have no screen between this part he play'd And him 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.

Mir.

O the heavens !

Pros. Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me If this might be a brother.

Mir.

I should sin

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

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.

Mir.

Alack, for pity!
I, not remembering how I cried out then,
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint

That wrings mine eyes to 't.

Pros.

Hear a little further,

And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now's upon's; without the which, this story Were most impertinent.

Mir.

That hour destroy us?

Pros.

Wherefore did they not

Well demanded, wench:

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
So dear the love my people bore me; nor set
A mark so bloody on the business; but

With colours fairer painted their foul ends.

In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,

Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very

rats

Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.

Mir.

Was I then to you!

Pros.

Alack, what trouble

O, a cherubin

Thou didst smile,

Thou wast that did preserve me.

Infused with a fortitude from heaven,

When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me