The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 490

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 compa.s.sion 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 a.s.surance 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 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 signories 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 into 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' subst.i.tution, 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 ign.o.ble 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 n.o.bly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO. Now the condition: 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 rememb'ring 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 busines Which now's upon 's; without the which this story Were most impertinent.

MIRANDA. Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us?

PROSPERO. Well demanded, wench!

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, So dear the love my people bore me; nor set A mark so b.l.o.o.d.y 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 prepared A rotten carca.s.s of a b.u.t.t, not rigg'd, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us, To cry to th' sea, that roar'd to us; to sigh To th' winds, whose pity, sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong.

MIRANDA. Alack, what trouble Was I then to you!

PROSPERO. O, a cherubin Thou wast that did preserve me! Thou didst smile, Infused with a fort.i.tude 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 stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue.

MIRANDA. How came we ash.o.r.e?

PROSPERO. By Providence divine.

Some food we had and some fresh water that A n.o.ble 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 gentleness, Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.

MIRANDA. Would I might But ever see that man!

PROSPERO. Now I arise. [Puts on his mantle]

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.

Here in this island we arriv'd; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princess' can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.

MIRANDA. 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?

PROSPERO. Know thus far forth: By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this sh.o.r.e; and by my prescience I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions; Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dullness, And give it way. I know thou canst not choose.

[MIRANDA sleeps]

Come away, servant; come; I am ready now.

Approach, my Ariel. Come.

Enter ARIEL

ARIEL. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come 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 Ariel and all his quality.

PROSPERO. Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?

ARIEL. To every article.

I boarded the King's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement. Sometime I'd divide, And burn in many places; on the topmast, The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet and join Jove's lightning, the precursors O' th' dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake.

PROSPERO. My brave spirit!

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason?

ARIEL. Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all afire with me; the King's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring-then like reeds, not hair- Was the first man that leapt; cried 'h.e.l.l is empty, And all the devils are here.'

PROSPERO. Why, that's my spirit!

But was not this nigh sh.o.r.e?

ARIEL. Close by, my master.

PROSPERO. But are they, Ariel, safe?

ARIEL. Not a hair perish'd; On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me, In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle.

The King's son have I landed by himself, Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, His arms in this sad knot.

PROSPERO. Of the King's ship, The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd, And all the rest o' th' fleet?

ARIEL. Safely in harbour Is the King's ship; in the deep nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid; The mariners all under hatches stowed, Who, with a charm join'd to their suff'red labour, I have left asleep; and for the rest o' th' fleet, Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, And are upon the Mediterranean flote Bound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the King's ship wreck'd, And his great person perish.

PROSPERO. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work.

What is the time o' th' day?

ARIEL. Past the mid season.

PROSPERO. At least two gla.s.ses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously.

ARIEL. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, Which is not yet perform'd me.

PROSPERO. How now, moody?

What is't thou canst demand?

ARIEL. My liberty.

PROSPERO. Before the time be out? No more!

ARIEL. I prithee, Remember I have done thee worthy service, Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd Without or grudge or grumblings. Thou didst promise To bate me a full year.

PROSPERO. Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee?

ARIEL. No.

PROSPERO. Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze Of the salt deep, To run upon the sharp wind of the north, To do me business in the veins o' th' earth When it is bak'd with frost.

ARIEL. I do not, sir.

PROSPERO. Thou liest, malignant thing. Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?

ARIEL. No, sir.

PROSPERO. Thou hast. Where was she born?

Speak; tell me.

ARIEL. Sir, in Argier.

PROSPERO. O, was she so? I must Once in a month recount what thou hast been, Which thou forget'st. This d.a.m.n'd witch Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier Thou know'st was banish'd; for one thing she did They would not take her life. Is not this true?

ARIEL. Ay, sir.

PROSPERO. This blue-ey'd hag was. .h.i.ther brought with child, And here was left by th'sailors. Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant; And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers, And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine; within which rift Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which s.p.a.ce she died, And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island- Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckl'd whelp, hag-born-not honour'd with A human shape.

ARIEL. Yes, Caliban her son.

PROSPERO. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in; thy groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the b.r.e.a.s.t.s Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment To lay upon the d.a.m.n'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo. It was mine art, When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape The pine, and let thee out.