(Which to you shall seem probable) of every These happen'd accidents: till when, be cheerful, And think of each thing well. Come hither,

spirit ;

Set Caliban and his companions free :

[To ARIEL.

Untie the spell. How fares my gracious sir?
There are yet missing of your company
Some few odd lads, that you remember not.

[Aside.

289

Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO,

and TRINCULO, in their stolen Apparel.

Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself; for all is but fortune :Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio!

Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight.

Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits, indeed! How fine my master is! I am afraid

He will chastise me.

"Sch. Ha, ha;

"What things are these, my lord Anthonio!

"Will money buy them?

"Ant. Very like; one of them

“Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.”

300

Pro, Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say, if they be true :-This mis-shapen

knave,

His mother was a witch; and one so strong

That

That could controul the moon, make flows and

ebbs,

"And deal in her command without her power:'
These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil
(For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them
To take my life: two of these fellows, you
Must know, and own; this thing of darkness, I
Acknowledge mine.

. Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death.

Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler ?
Seb. He's drunk now: where had he wine?

310

Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they

Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them?-
How cam'st shou in this pickle ?

Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.

Seb. Why, how now, Stephano?

321

Ste. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a

cramp.

Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah?

Ste. I should have been a sore one then.

Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on.

[Pointing to CALIBAN.

Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, As in his shape:-Go, sirrah, to my cell; Take with you your companions; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,

330

And seek for grace: What a thrice-double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,
And worship this dull fool?

Pro. Go to; away!

Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.

Seb. Or stole it, rather.

Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, To my poor cell: where you shall take your rest 340 For this one night; which (part of it) I'll waste With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away: the story of my life, And the particular accidents, gone by, Since I came to this isle: And in the

morn,

I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,
Where I have hope to see the nuptials
Of these our dear beloved solemniz'd;
And thence retire me to my Milan, where
Every third thought shall be my grave.

Alon. I long

To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely.

Pro. I'll deliver all;

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch
Your royal fleet far off.-My Ariel;-chick,-
That is thy charge, then to the elements

350

Aside.

Be free, and fare thou well !-Please you, draw near.

[Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

EPILOGUE. Spoken by PROSPERO.

Now

my charms are all o' erthrown,

'tis true,

And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now,
I must be here confin'd by you,
Or sent to Naples : let me not,
Since I have my dukedom gat,
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island, by your spell;
But release me from my bands,
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours, my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please: Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant:
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be reliev'd by prayer,
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free!

THE END.

BY

SAM. JOHNSON & GEO. STEEVENS,

AND

THE VARIOUS COMMENTATORS,

UPON

The TEMPEST,

WRITTEN BY

WILL. SHAKSPERE.

SIC ITUR AD ASTRA,

VIRC.

LONDON:

Printed for, and under the Direction of,

JOHN BELL, British-Library, STRAND, Bookseller to His Royal Highness the PRINCE OF WALES.

MDCC LXXXVII.