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ALONSO, King of Naples.

STEPHANO, a drunken Butler.

SEBASTIAN, his Brother.

PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan.

Master of a Ship, Boatswain, Mariners.
MIRANDA, Daughter to Prospero.

ANTONIO, his Brother, the usurping Duke of ARIEL, an airy Spirit.


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CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave. TRINCULO, a Jester.


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Other Spirits attending on Prospero.

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

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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!-Out of our way, I say. [Exit.

Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; 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 hanged, our case is miserable. [Exeunt.

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Enter Mariners, wet. Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! [Exeunt. Boats. What, must our mouths be cold? 58 Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let us assist them,

For our case is as theirs.

I am out of patience. 60
Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by

This wide-chapp'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, 64
And gape at wid'st to glut him.

[A confused noise within,-'Mercy on us!'We split, we split!'-' Farewell, my wife and children!'

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Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd, And left me to a bootless inquisition, 67 Concluding,‘Stay; not yet.' [Exit. Pro.

'Farewell, brother!'-'We split, we split, we split!'-]

Ant. Let's all sink wi' the king.
Seb. Let's take leave of him.

[Exit. 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. [Exit. SCENE II.-The Island: before the Cell of PROSPERO.

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 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.

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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 anything the image tell me, that

| Hath kept with thy remembrance.

'Tis far off; 44

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

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.
But that I do not.
Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year

Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
A prince of power.


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.



O, the heavens! What foul play had we that we came from thence?

Or blessed was't we did?



Both, both, my girl:

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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 trans-
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 80 To trash for over-topping; new created

The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em,

Or else new form'd 'em: having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state 84
To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was
The ivy which had bid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't.-Thou at
tend'st not.



Mira. O, good sir! I do. Pro. I pray thee, mark me. 88 I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated 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 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 th' outward face of royalty, 104 With all prerogative:-Hence his ambition growing,

Dost thou hear?


Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pro. 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 royal-

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.
O the heavens!
Pro. Mark his condition and the event; then

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To think but nobly of my grandmother:
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,
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me and thy crying self.

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 to 't.




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

That hour destroy us? Pro.


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 prepar'd
A rotten carcass of a boat, 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 149
To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.
Was I then to you!

Alack! what trouble

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