Sebastian. Let's take leave of him.

[Exit. Gonzalo. 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 PROSPERO'S cell.

Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA.

Miranda. 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 th' welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
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 ere

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

(Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!), who
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.

Miranda.

More to know

'Tis time

Did never meddle with my thoughts.

Prospero.

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 wrack, 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.

Miranda.

You have often

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

Prospero.

The very minute bids thee ope

The hour's now come; 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.

Miranda.

Certainly, sir, I can.

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

Hath kept with thy remembrance.

Miranda.

"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?

Prospero. 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,

How thou cam'st here thou mayst.

Miranda.

But that I do not.

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

A prince of power.

Miranda.

Sir, are not you my father?

Prospero. 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

And princess, no worse issued.

Miranda.

O the heavens !

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

Prospero.

Both, both, my girl :

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

Miranda.

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

my remembrance! Please you, farther. Prospero. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,—

I pray thee, mark me,—that a brother should

Be so perfidious !-he whom, next thyself,

Of all the world I lov'd, 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. Thy false uncle-
Dost thou attend me?

Miranda.

Sir, most heedfully.

Prospero. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, who t' advance, and who

To trash for over-topping, new created

The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em,
Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' 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.
Miranda. O, good sir, I do!

Prospero.

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 retir'd,
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother
Awak'd 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 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' th' substitution,
And executing th' outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative :-hence his ambition
Growing, dost thou hear?

Miranda.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

Prospero. 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) wi' th' King of Naples
To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend

The dukedom, yet unbow'd (alas, poor Milan !),

To most ignoble stooping.

Miranda.

O the heavens !

Prospero. Mark his condition, and th' event; then tell me If this might be a brother.

Miranda.

I should sin

To think but nobly of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sons.

Now the condition.

Prospero.
This King of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
Which was, that he, in lieu o' th' premises,
Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,
With all the honours, on my brother: whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight
Fated to th' purpose, did Antonio open

The gates of Milan; and, i' th' dead of darkness,
The ministers for th' purpose hurried thence
Me and thy crying self.

Miranda.

Alack, for pity!

I, not remembering how I cried out then,

Will cry

it o'er again it is a hint

That wrings mine eyes to't.

Prospero.

Hear a little further,

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