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Exeunt |
BOATSWAIN. What, must our mouths be cold? |
GONZALO. The King and Prince at prayers! |
Let's assist them, |
For our case is as theirs. |
SEBASTIAN. I am out of patience. |
ANTONIO. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. |
This wide-chopp'd rascal-would thou mightst lie drowning |
The washing of ten tides! |
GONZALO. 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!] |
ANTONIO. Let's all sink wi' th' King. |
SEBASTIAN. Let's take leave of him. |
Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN |
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 |
dry death. Exeunt |
SCENE 2 |
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. |
PROSPERO. Be conected; |
No more amazement; tell your piteous heart |
There's no harm done. |
MIRANDA. O, woe the day! |
PROSPERO. 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. |
MIRANDA. More to know |
Did never meddle with my thoughts. |
PROSPERO. 'Tis time |
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 ordered 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 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. |
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 rememb'rest 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 |
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