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If this might be a brother.
I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sous.
Now the condition.
This king of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ;
The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness,
Me, and thy crying self.
Alack, for pity!
I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then,
Will cry it o'er again; it is a bintt,
That wrings mine eyes.
Hear a little further,
And then I'll bring thee to the present business
Which now's upon us; without the which, this story
That hour destroy us?
Wherefore did they not
Well demanded, wench;
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst
(So dear the love my people bore me) nor set
A mark so bloody on the business; but
With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark;
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh
Was I then to you!
Alack! what trouble
O! a cherubim
Thou wast, that did preserve me! Thou didst smile, Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt; Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me
An undergoing stomacht, to bear up
Against what should ensue.
How came we ashore?
Pro. By Providence divine.
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity (who being then appointed
Master of this design), did give us; with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentle
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me,
From my own library, with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
But ever see that man!
'Would I might
Now I arise:-
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea sorrow.
Here in this island we arriv'd; and here
Have I, thy school-master, made thee more profit
Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,
(For still 'tis beating in my mind), your reason For raising this sea-storm?
Know thus far forth.
By accident most strange, bountiful fortune,
+ Stubborn resolution.
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
A most auspicious star; whose influence
Will ever after droop.-Here cease more questions;
[Miranda sleeps. Come away, servant, come: I am ready now; Approach, my Ariel; come.
Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I
To answer thy best pleasure; be' t to fly,
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curl'd clouds; to thy strong bidding, task
Hast thou, spirit,
Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee }
I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,
The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly;
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
And sight-outrunning were not: the fire, and cracks Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble; Yea, his dread trident shake.
My brave spirit!
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coilt
Would not infect his reason?
The minutest article.
+ Bustle, tumult,
Not a soul
But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
But was not this nigh shore?
Why, that's my spirit!
Close by, my master.
Not a hair perish'd;
Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe?
On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
Of the king's ship,
The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd,
Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
Bound sadly home for Naples;
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd,
And his great person perish.
Ariel, thy charge
Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work:
What is the time o' the day?
Past the mid season.
Pro. At least two glasses: the time 'twixt six
Must by us both be spent most preciously.
Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd,
What is't thou can'st demand?
How now ? moody?
I pray thee
Pro. Before the time be out? no more. Ari. Remember, I have done thee worthy service; Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst pro
Pro. Thou dost; and think'st
It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep;
I do not, sir.
Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou
The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age, and envy, Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?
Once in a month, recount what thou hast been,
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax,