Ari.
You are three men of sin, whom destiny
(That hath to instrument this lower world,

And what is in't) the never-surfeited sea
Hath caused to belch up; and on this Island
Where man doth not inhabit, you 'mongst men
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;
And ev'n with such like valour men hang and drown
Their proper selves. You fools! I and my fellows
Are ministers of fate; the elements,
Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well
Wound the loud winds, or with bemockt-at stabs
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
One down that's in my plume: my fellow-ministers
Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
Your swords are now too massie for your strengths,
And will not be up-lifted. But remember,
(For that's my business to you) that you three
From Milan did supplant good Prospero:
Expos'd unto the sea (which hath requit it)
Him, and his innocent child: for which foul deed
The powers delaying, not forgetting, have
Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,
Against your peace: thee of thy son, Alonso,
They have bereft; and do pronounce by me,
Ling'ring perdition, worse than any death
Can be at once, shall step by step attend
You and your ways; whose wrath to guard you from,
(Which here in this most desolate Isle else falls
Upon your heads,) is nothing but heart's sorrow,
And a clear life ensuing. He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft musick, Enter the shapes again, and dance with mops and mowes, and carrying out the table.

Pro.
Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring:
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated,
In what thou hadst to say: so with good life,
And observation strange, my meaner ministers

Their several kinds have done; my high charms work,
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up
In their distractions: they are in my power;
And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit
Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,)
And his and my lov'd darling. [Exit Prospero from above.

Gon.
I'th' name of something holy, Sir, why stand you
In this strange stare?

Alon.
O, it is monstrous! monstrous!
&wlquo;Methoughts, the billows spoke, and told me of it;
&wlquo;The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,
&wlquo;That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd
&wlquo;The Name of Prosper: it did base my trespass.&wrquo;
Therefore my son i'th' ooze is bedded; and
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded,
And with him there lye mudded. [Exit.

Seb.
But one fiend at a time,
I'll fight their legions o'er.

Ant.
I'll be thy second. [Exeunt.

Gon.
All three of them are desperate; &wlquo;their great guilt,
&wlquo;Like poison giv'n to work a great time after,
&wlquo;Now 'gins to bite the spirits.&wrquo; I do beseech you,
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly;
And hinder them from what this ecstasie
May now provoke them to.

Adri.
Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt.

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