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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.
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.
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.
[A confused noise within.] Mercy on us! - We
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 :
Certainly, sir, I can.
Pro. By what? by any other house, or person?
That my remembrance warrants: Had I not
Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda: But how
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,
I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,
O, woe the day!
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
For thou must now know further.
The hour's now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA.
Pro. Twelve years since,
Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you Miranda, twelve years since, thy father was
Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not
But that I do not.
Both, both, my girl: say'st, were we heav'd
Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Anto-