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: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, 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. Re-enter Boatswain. 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, incharitable dog! Boats. Work you, then. 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. Beats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses: off to sea again; lay her off. Re-enter Mariners, wet. Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! Boats. What, must our mouths be cold? Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let us assist them, For our case is as theirs. Seb. I am out of patience." Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. [Exeunt. This wide-chapp'd rascal,-would thou might'st lie drowning, Gon. [Exit Boatswain. He'll be hanged yet, Though every drop of water swear against it, And gape at wid'st 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. [Exit. [Exit. Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, anything. 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 The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel, Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and (Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!) who Mira. More to know 'Tis time Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pro. I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me.-So: [Lays down his robe. 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 order'd, that there is no soul— No, not so much perdition as a 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. Mira. You have often Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd, Pro. The hour's now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear: Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not Mira. 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. Mira. "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? 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, Mira. But that I do not. Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, 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 issu❜d. Mira. O the heavens! What foul play had we, that we came from thence? To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther. Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio, I pray thee, mark me,—that a brother should Be so perfidious !-he whom, next thyself, The manage of my state; as, at that time, (And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed Without a parallel: those being all my study, And to my state grew stranger, being transported, Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, whom t' advance, and whom To trash for over-topping, new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd them, Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleas'd 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. Pro. As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit, 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 such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie,-he did believe He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution, 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 royalties He thinks me now incapable; confederates (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples Pro. Mark his condition, and th' event; then tell me If this might be a brother. I should sin Mira. Pro. This king of Naples, being an enemy Now the condition. To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness, And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now's upon 's; without the which, this story 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 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats |