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Boatf. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; fet her two courses; off to fea again, lay her off.

Enter Mariners wet.

Mar. All loft! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! [Exeunt. Boats. What, muft our mouths be cold?

Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let us affist them, For our cafe is as theirs.

Seb. I am out of patience.

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. This wide-chopp'd rafcal;-'Would, thou might'ft 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 confufed noife within.] Mercy on us!-We fplit, we fplit!-Farewell, my wife and children!-Farewell, bro. ther!-We fplit, we fplit, we fplit!

Ant. Let's all fink with the king.

Seb. Let's take leave of him.



Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of fea 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. [Exit.


The Island: before the Cell of Profpero.


Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them:
The fky, it feems, would pour down ftinking pitch,

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But that the fea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have fuffer'd

With thofe that I faw fuffer! a brave vessel,
Who had no doubt fome noble creatures in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart! Poor fouls! they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would

Have funk the fea within the earth, or e'er

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


Be collected!

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



O, woe the day!

I have done nothing but in care of thee,

No harm.

(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 Profpero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.


More to know

'Tis time

Did never meddle with my thoughts.


I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,

And pluck my magick 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 fuch provision in mine art So fafely order'd, that there is no foulNo, not fo much perdition as an hair, Betid to any creature in the vessel

Which thou heard'st cry, which thou faw'ft fink. 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 inquifition;
Concluding, Stay, not yet.-


The hour's now come;

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;

Obey, and be attentive. Can'ft thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?

*I do not think thou can'ft; for then thou wast not
Out three years old.


Certainly, fir, I can.

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

Hath kept with thy remembrance.

'Tis far off;

And rather like a dream, than an affurance
That my remembrance warrants: Had I not
Four or five women once, that tended me?

Pro. Thou had'ft, and more, Miranda: But how is it,
That this lives in thy mind? What feest thou elfe
In the dark backward and abyfin of time?

If thou remember'ft aught, ere thou cam'ft here,
How thou cam'ft here, thou may'st.


But that I do not.

Pro. Twelve years fince, Miranda, twelve years fince, 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 faid-thou waft my daughter; and thy father
Was duke of Milan; and his only heir

A princefs;-no worse issued.

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O the heavens !

What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was t, we did?


Both, both, my girl :

By foul play, as thou fay'ft, were we heav'd thence;
But bleffedly 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, further.
Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,-
I pray thee, mark me,-that a brother fhould
Be fo 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 figniories it was the first,
And Profpero the prime duke; being fo reputed
In dignity, and, for the liberal arts,

Without a parallel; thofe being all my study,
The government I cast upon my brother,

And to my state grew ftranger, being transported,
And rapt in fecret ftudies. Thy false uncle-
Doft thou attend me?


Sir, moft heedfully.

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant fuits, How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom To trash for over-topping; new created

The creatures that were mine; I fay, or chang'd them, Or elfe new form'd them: having both the key

Of officer and office, fet all hearts

To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was

The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk,

And fuck'd my verdure out on't.-Thou attend'ft not; I pray thee, mark me.


O good fir, I do.

Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate


To closeness, and the bettering of my mind
With that, which, but by being fo retir'd,
O'er-priz'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 falshood, in its contrary as great

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

But what my power might else exact,—like one,
Who having, unto truth, by telling of it,
Made fuch a finner of his memory,

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,-Doft hear?


Your tale, fir, would cure deafness.
Pro. To have no fcreen between this part he play'd
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
Abfolute Milan: Me, poor man!-my library
Was dukedom large enough; of temporal royalties
He thinks me now incapable: confederates
(So dry he was for fway) 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.


O the heavens !

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

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

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