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.

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'm out of patience.

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.

This wide-chopp'd rascal ;-'Would thou mightst lie drowning,

The washing of ten tides!

[Exit Boatswain. He'll be hang'd yet;

Gon.
Though every drop of water swear against it,
And gape at wid'st to glut him.

[Confused voices within.—Mercy on us!

We split, we split!-Farewell, my wife and chil

dren!

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; ling, heath, broom, 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

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 creature 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;

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

Mira.

Pro.

O, woe the day!

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

'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 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 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 farther.

You have often

Mira.
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 anything the image tell me, that

Hath kept with thy remembrance.

Mira.

And rather like a dream than an

'Tis far off;

assurance Had I not

That my remembrance warrants.
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 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.

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 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 heaved

thence;

But blessedly holp hither.

Mira.

O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance!

farther.

Please you,

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd An

tonio,

I pray thee mark me that a brother should
Be so perfidious ;—he whom, next thyself,
Of all the world I loved, and to him put
The manage of my state, as, at that time,
Through all the signiories it was the first,
And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
In dignity; and for the liberal arts

Without a parallel: those being all my study,
The government I cast upon my brother,

And to my state grew stranger, being transported

And rapt in secret studies.
Dost thou attend me?

Thy false uncle

Mira.

Sir, most heedfully.

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them, whom to advance, and whom
To trash for overtopping,-new created
The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed
them,

Or else new form'd them; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state
To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't.-Thou at-
tend'st not.

Mira. O good sir, I do.

Pro. I pray thee, mark me. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness, and the bettering of my mind With that, which, but by being so retired, O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother Awaked an evil nature: and my trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood, in its contrary as great

As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revénue 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 of the substitution,
And executing the outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative :-hence his ambition
growing,-

Dost thou hear?

Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.