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Boats. What, must our mouths be cold?
Gonz. The king and prince at pray'rs ? let us assist 'em. For our cafe is as theirs.
Seb. I'm out of patience.
Ant. We're meerly cheated of our lives by drunkards. This wide-chopt rascal-would, thou might'ft lye drowning The washing of ten tides!
Gonz. He'll be hang'd yet,
Though every drop of water swear against it,
And gape at wid'ft to glut him.
Seb. Mercy on us!
[A confufed noife within.
We fplit, we split! farewell my wife and children,
Ant. Let's all fink with the king.
Seb. Let's take leave of him.
Gonz. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground: ling, heath, broom, furze, any thing;-the wills above be done, but I would fain die a dry death. [Exit.
The Inchanted Island.
Enter Profpero and Miranda.
Mira. F by your art, my dearest father, you have
With thofe that I faw fuffer: a brave vessel
Have funk the fea within the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and
Pro. Be collected;
No more amazement; tell your piteous heart,
Mira. O wo the day!
Pro. No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee
Mira. More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
[Lays down his mantle. Lye 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 provifion in mine art
So fafely order'd, that there's no foul loft;
No not fo much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'ft cry, which thou faw'ft fink: fit down, For thou must now know farther.
Mira. You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopt,
Pro. The hour's now come,
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canft, for then thou waft not
Mira. Certainly, fir, I can.
Pro. By what? by any other house, or person ? Of any thing the image tell me, that
Hath kept in thy remembrance?
Mira '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 hadft, and more, Miranda: but how is it That this lives in thy mind? what seest thou else
In the dark back-ward and abyfme of time?
If thou remember'ft ought ere thou cam'ft here,
How thou cam'ft here thou may'ft.
Mira. But that I do not.
Pro. 'Tis twelve years fince, Miranda; twelve years fince Thy father was the duke of Milan, and
A prince of pow'r.
Mira. Sir, are not you my father?
Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou waft my daughter; and thy father Was duke of Milan, thou his only heir
A princefs, no worse iffu'd.
Mira. O the heav'ns!
What foul play had we that we came from thence?
Pro. Both, both, my girl:
By foul play (as thou fay'ft) were we heav'd thence,
But bleffedly help'd hither.
Mira. My heart bleeds
To think o'th' teene that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance.
remembrance. Please you, farther. Pro. My brother and thy uncle, call'd AnthonioI pray thee mark me, (that a brother should
Be fo perfidious!) he whom next thy felf
Without a parallel; those being all my study,
Mira. Sir, most heedfully.
Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
The creatures that were mine; I fay, or chang'd 'em
To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was
Mira. Good fir, I do.
Pro. I pray thee, mark me then.
Thou attend'ft not.
I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
A falfhood, in its contrary as great
my truft was; which had indeed no limit,
But what my power might elfe exact; like one
To credit his own lie; he did believe
He was, indeed, the duke, from fubftitution
With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing-
Mira. Your tale, fir, would cure deafnefs.
Pro. To have no screen between this part he plaid,
Abfolute Milan. Me, poor man! — my library
Mira. O the heav'ns!
Pro. Mark the condition, and th' event, then tell me If this might be a brother?
Mira. I fhould fin,
To think not nobly of my grand-mother.
Pro. Good wombs have born bad fons. Now the condition :
This king of Naples being an enemy
To me inveterate, hears my brother's fuit;
gates of Milan, and i̇' th' dead of darkness The minifters for th' purpose hurry'd thence Me and thy crying self.
Mira. Álack for pity!
I not remembring how I cry'd out then,