Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and

Mir.

Pros.

Mir.

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

A princess, no worse issued.

O the heavens !

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

Both, both, my girl : 61 By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence; But blessedly holp hither.

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

70

Mir.

And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-
Dost thou attend me?

Sir, most heedfully.

Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits,

How to deny them, who to advance, and who 80
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. Thou attend'st not. Mir. O, good sir, I do.

Pros.

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,

90

Mir.

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,

100

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

III

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

Mir.

If this might be a brother.

I should sin

To think but nobly of my grandmother:

Pros.

Mir.

Pros.

Mir.

Good wombs have borne bad sons.

Now the condition. 120

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, 130
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence

Me and thy crying self.

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.

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.

That hour destroy us?

Wherefore did they not

Pros.

Mir.

Pros.

Mir.

Well demanded, wench:

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
So dear the love my people bore me; nor set 141
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.

Was I then to you!

Alack, what trouble

O, a cherubin

Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile,
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
An undergoing stomach, to bear up

Against what should ensue.

Pros. By Providence divine.

How came we ashore?

150