Mira.
If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them:
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to th'welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O! I have suffer'd
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 Pow'r, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth; or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and
The fraighting souls within her.

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

Mira.
O wo the day!^{8 note}

Pro.
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.

Mira.
More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.

Pro.
'Tis time,
I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magick garment from me; so! [Lays down his mantle.
Lye there my Art. Wipe thou thine eyes, have comfort.

The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,^{9 note}
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely order'd, that there is no soul,^{1 note}

Mira.
You have often
Begun to tell we what I am, but stopt,
And left me to a bootless inquisition;
Concluding, Stay, not yet.—

Pro.
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.

Mira.
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.

Mira.
'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 hadst, and more, Miranda: but how is it,
That this lives in thy mind? what seest thou else
In the dark back-ward and abysme of time?
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here;
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st.

Mira.
But that I do not.

Pro.
'Tis twelve years since, Miranda.—Twelve years since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and
A Prince of Pow'r.

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^{2 note}
And Princess, no worse issu'd.

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

Pro.
Both, both, my girl:
By foul play (as thou say'st) were we heav'd thence;
But blessedly holp hither.

Mira.
O, my heart bleeds
To think o'th' teene that I have turn'd you to.
Which is from my remembrance. Please you, further.

Pro.
My brother, and thy uncle, called Anthonio—
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?

Mira.
Sir, most heedfully.

Pro.
Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them; whom t'advance, and whom
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^{2 note}
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 suckt my verdure out on't.—Thou attend'st not.

Mira.
O Good Sir, I do.

Pro.
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 retired,
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of him^{3 note}
A falshood 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,^{4 note}

Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie, he did believe
He was, indeed, the Duke; from substitution,
And executing th'outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing—
Dost thou hear?

Mira.
Your tale, Sir, would cure deafness.

Pro.
To have no screen between this part he plaid,
And him he plaid 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 ignoble stooping.

Mira.
O the heav'ns!

Pro.
Mark his condition, and th'event; then tell me,
If this might be a Brother.

Mira.
I should sin,
To think but nobly of my grandmother;
Good wombs have bore bad sons.

Pro.
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 levy'd, one mid-night
Fated to th'purpose, did Anthonio open
The gates of Milan; and, i'th'dead of darkness,
The ministers for the purpose hurry'd thence
Me, and thy crying self.

Mira.
Alack, for pity!
I, not remembring how I cry'd out then,
Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint,
That wrings mine eyes to't.

Pro.
Hear a little further,
And then I'll bring thee to the present business,
Which now's upon's; without the which this story
Were most impertinent.

Mira.
Why did they not
That hour destroy us?

Pro.
Well demanded, wench;
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
So dear the love my people bore me, set
A mark so bloody on the business; but
With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
In few, they hurry'd us aboard a bark;
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had 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.

Mira.
Alack! what trouble
Was I then to you?

Pro.
O! a cherubim
Thou wast, that did preserve me: Thou didst smile,
Infused with a fortitude from heav'n,

When I have deck'd the sea with drops full-salt;^{5 note}
Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me
An undergoing stomach, to bear up
Against what should ensue.

Mira.
How came we a-shore?

Pro.
By providence divine.
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity, being then appointed
Master of this design, did give us, with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,
Which since have steeded much. So of his gentleness,
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me
From my own library, with volumes that
I prize above my Dukedom.

Mira.
Would I might
But ever see that man!

Pro.
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
Than other Princes can, that have more time
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.

Mira.
Heav'ns thank you for't! And now, I pray you, Sir,
(For still 'tis beating in my mind) your reason
For raising this sea-storm?

Pro.
Know thus far forth.
By accident most strange, bountiful fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore: 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 dulness,^{6 note}
And give it way—aside. I know, thou canst not chuse— [Miranda sleeps.
Come away, servant, come; I'm ready now:
Approach, my Ariel, Come.

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