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Sweetest Bard that ever sung, Nature's Glory, Fancy's Child; Never sure did Poet's tongue Warble forth such wood-notes wild.



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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? Master. Good: Speak to the mariners fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. [Exit.


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Where's the

What care To cabins:

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 present, 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.

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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!
Ant. Let's all sink with the king.
Seb. Let's take leave of him.

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.


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


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.

'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 had'st, and more, Miranda: But how
is it,

That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else SCENE II. The Island: before the Cell of If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam’st here, In the dark backward and abysm of time?


How thou cam'st here, thou may'st.

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'er
It should the good ship so have swallowed, and
The freighting souls within her.

3 Absolutely.

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

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

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.

More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.

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.

'Tis time

Sit down;

For thou must now know further.

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


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 into this cell?



Pro. Twelve years since,

Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you 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.

I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not
Out three years old.

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But that I do not.

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

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Both, both, my girl: say'st, were we heav'd

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Anto-
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,

4 Quite.

5 Sorrow

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