Ariel.
Prospero.
Now does my project gather to a head;
My charms crack not; my spirits obey, and time
Goes upright with his carriage: how's the Day?
Ari.
On the sixth hour, at which time, my lord,
You said, our work should cease.
Pro.
I did say so,
When first I rais'd the tempest; say, my spirit,
How fares the King and's followers?
Ari.
Confin'd
In the same fashion as you gave in charge;
Just as you left them, all your prisoners, Sir,
In the Lime-Grove which weather-fends your cell.
They cannot budge, 'till your release. The King,
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted;
And the remainder mourning over them,
Brim-full of sorrow and dismay; but, chiefly,
Him that you term'd the good old lord Gonzalo.
His tears run down his beard, like winter drops
From eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works 'em,
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender.
Pro.
Do'st thou think so, spirit?
Ari.
Mine would, Sir, were I human.
Pro.
And mine shall.
Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
Of their afflictions, and shall not my self,
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
-- 64 --
Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art?(28) note
Tho' with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick,
Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury
Do I take part; the rarer action is
In virtue than in vengeance; they being penitent,
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further; go, release them, Ariel;
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
And they shall be themselves.
Ari.
I'll fetch them, Sir.
[Exit.
Pro.
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune; and do fly him,
When he comes back; you demy-puppets, that
By moon-shine do the green sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid
(Weak masters tho' ye be) I have be-dimm'd
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault
Set roaring war; to the dread ratling thunder
Have I giv'n fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory
Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluckt up
-- 65 --
The pine and cedar: graves at my command(29) note
Have wak'd their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth
By my so potent art. But this rough magick
I here abjure; and when I have requir'd
Some heav'nly musick, which ev'n now I do,
(To work mine end upon their senses, that
This airy charm is for;) I'll break my staff;
Bury it certain fadoms in the earth;
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I'll drown my book.
[Solemn musick.
Here enters Ariel before; then Alonso with a frantick Gesture,
attended by Gonzalo. Sebastian and Anthonio in
like manner, attended by Adrian and Francisco. They
all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and there
stand charm'd; which Prospero observing, speaks.
A solemn air, and the best comforter
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains
Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand,
For you are spell-stopt.—
Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,
Mine eyes, ev'n sociable to th' shew of thine,
Fall fellow-drops.—The charm dissolves apace;
And as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness; so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ign'rant fumes, that mantle
Their clearer reason. O my good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal Sir
To him thou follow'st; I will pay thy graces
-- 66 --
Home both in word and deed.—Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act;
Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian, flesh and blood.(30) note
You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
Expell'd remorse and nature; who with Sebastian
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong)
Would here have kill'd your King; I do forgive thee,
Unnat'ral though thou art. Their understanding
Begins to swell, and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shore,
That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them,
That yet looks on me, or would know me.—Ariel,
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell;
I will dis-case me, and my self present,
[Exit Ariel, and returns immediately.
As I was sometime Milan: quickly, Spirit;
Thou shalt ere long be free.
Ariel sings, and helps to attire him.
Where the bee sucks, there lurk I;(31) note
In a cowslip's bell I lie:
There I couch, when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly,
After Sunset, merrily.(32) note
-- 67 --
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom, that hangs on the bough.
Pro.
Why, that's my dainty Ariel; I shall miss thee;
But yet thou shalt have freedom. So, so, so.
To the King's ship, invisible as thou art;
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain,
Being awake, enforce them to this place;
And presently, I pr'ythee.
Ari.
I drink the air before me, and return
Or e'er your pulse twice beat.
[Exit.
-- 68 --
Gon.
All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement
Inhabits here; some heav'nly power guide us
Out of this fearful country!
Pro.
Behold, Sir King,
The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero:
For more assurance that a living Prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;
And to thee and thy company I bid
A hearty welcome.
Alon.
Be'st thou he or no,
Or some inchanted trifle to abuse me,
As late I have been, I not know; thy pulse
Beats, as of flesh and blood; and since I saw thee,
Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which,
I fear, a Madness held me; this must crave
(And if this be at all) a most strange story:
Thy Dukedom I resign, and do intreat,
Thou pardon me my wrongs; but how should Prospero
Be living, and be here?
Pro.
First, noble friend,
Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot
Be measur'd or confin'd.
Gon.
Whether this be,
Or be not, I'll not swear.
Pro.
You do yet taste
Some subtilties o' th' Isle, that will not let you
Believe things certain: welcome, my friends all.
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded,
I here could pluck his Highness' frown upon you,
And justifie you traitors; at this time
I'll tell no tales.
Seb.
The devil speaks in him.
Pro.
No:—
For you, most wicked Sir, whom to call brother
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
Thy rankest faults; all of them; and require
My Dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know,
Thou must restore.
Alon.
If thou be'st Prospero,
Give us particulars of thy preservation,
-- 69 --
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since
Were wrackt upon this shore; where I have lost
(How sharp the point of this remembrance is!)
My dear son Ferdinand.
Pro.
I'm woe for't, Sir.
Alon.
Irreparable is the loss, and Patience
Says, it is past her cure.
Pro.
I rather think,
You have not sought her help; of whose soft grace,
For the like loss, I have her sov'reign aid,
And rest my self content.
Alon.
You the like loss?
Pro.
As great to me, as late; and, supportable
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
Than you may call to comfort you; for I
Have lost my daughter.
Alon.
A daughter?
O heav'ns! that they were living both in Naples,
The King and Queen there; that they were, I wish,
My self were mudded in that oozy bed,
Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?
Pro.
In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords
At this encounter do so much admire,
That they devour their reason; and scarce think,
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
Are natural breath: but howsoe'er you have
Been justled from your senses, know for certain,
That I am Prosp'ro, and that very Duke
Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely
Upon this shore, where you were wrackt, was landed
To be the lord on't. No more yet of this;
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, Sir;
This cell's my court; here have I few attendants,
And subjects none abroad; pray you, look in;
My Dukedom since you've given me again,
I will requite you with as good a thing;
At least, bring forth a wonder to content ye,
As much as me my Dukedom.
-- 70 --
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
