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ALONSO, King of Naples.

FERDINAND, his son.

SEBASTIAN, brother to Alonso.

Master of a ship, Boatswain, and

PROSPERO, the rightful Duke of CALIBAN, a savage and deformed



ANTONIO, his brother, the usurp- MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero. ing Duke of Milan.

GONZALO, an honest old coun- ARIEL, an airy spirit.



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Other Spirits attending on Prospero.

On board a ship at sea; afterwards various parts of an island.


SCENE I. On board a ship at sea: a storm, with thunder and



Enter Master and Boatswain severally.


Boats. Here, master: what cheer?

Mast. Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves a-ground: bestir, bestir.

Enter Mariners.


Boats. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail! Tend to the master's

whistle! [Exeunt Mariners.]- Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough!


Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men.

Boats. I pray now, keep below.

Ant. Where is the master, boatswain?

Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do assist the storm.

Gon. Nay, good, be patient.

Boats. When the sea is. Hence! What care these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not. Gon. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

Boats. None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if I can command these elements to silence, and work the peace 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: 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 noisemaker, 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.

Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses! off to sea again; lay her off!

Re-enter Mariners wet.

Mariners. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boats. What, must our mouths be cold?


Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them, For our case is as theirs.


I'm out of patience.

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:— This wide-chapp'd rascal, — would thou mightst lie drowning, The washing of ten tides!

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He'll be hang'd 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.

[Exit Boatswain.


Let's take leave of him. [Exit.

Gon. 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.


SCENE II. The island: before the cell of PROSPERO.


Mir. 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 the 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.



O, woe the day!

No harm.


I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter,
Art ignorant of what thou art, naught knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.


More to know

Did never meddle with my thoughts.


'Tis time

I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me.

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[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 prevision in mine art

So safely order'd, that there is no soul
No, not so much perdition as an 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 further.

You have often

Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd,
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding, "Stay, not yet."


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.

Pros. By what? by any other house or person? Of any thing the image tell me that

Hath kept with thy remembrance.


'Tis far off,

And rather like a dream than an assurance remembrance warrants. Had I not

That my

Four or five women once that tended me?

Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thy mind? What see'st 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 mayst.


But that I do not.

Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and

A prince of power.


Sir, are not you my father?

Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Milan; thou his only heir,

A princess,

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