TEMPEST

ACT I.

SCENE I-On a ship at sea. A storm, with thunder and lightning. Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain.

Master.

BOATSWAIN,

Boats. Here, master: what cheer?

Mast. Good: speak to the mariners fall to't yarely1, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. [Exit.

Enter Mariners.

Boats. Heigh, my hearts; cheerly, cheerly, my hearts; yare, yare: take in the top-sail: tend to the master's whistle.-Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough!

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo, and others.

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.

(1) Readily.

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 you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present1, 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 top-mast; 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, uncharitable dog!

Boats. Work you, then.

Ant. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent noise-maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

(1) Present instant.

Gon. I'll warrant him from drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstaunched1 wench.

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

Enter Mariners, wet.

Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! [Exeunt.

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 merely2 cheated of our lives by drunkards.

This wide-chapped rascal;—'Would, thou might'st lie drowning,

The washing of ten tides!

Gon.
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, 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.

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,

(1) Incontinent.

(2) Absolutely.

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'er1
It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and
The freighting souls within her.

Pro.
Be collected;
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart,
There's no harm done.

Mira.

O, wo the day!

Pro.

No harm.

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

Mira.

More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pro. 'Tis time I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me.-So; [Lays down his mantle. 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 further.

Mira.

(1) Before.

You have often

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

Pro.

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.

Mira.

Certainly, sir, I can. Pro. By what? by any other house, or person? Of any thing 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 abysm2 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.

Mira.

Pro. Twelve years since,
Miranda, twelve years 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 issued.

Mira.

O, the heavens ! What foul play had we, that we came from thence? Or blessed was't we did?

Pro.

Both, both, my girl: By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence; But blessedly holp hither.

(1), Quite.

(2) Abyss.