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 creature in her)
Dash'd all to pieces. Oh! 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 ^{a note}fraighted souls within her.

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

Mira.
O wo the day!

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'm more, or 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 farther. 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 wrack, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such compassion in mine art
So safely order'd, that there's no soul lost;
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,

Mira.
You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopt,
And left me to the 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 remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Full 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 in 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 ought 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
A ^{b note}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 help'd hither.

Mira.
My heart bleeds
To think o'th † ^noteteene that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther.

Pro.
My brother and thy uncle, call'd Anthonio—
I pray thee mark me, (that a brother should
Be so perfidious!) he whom next thy self
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
Of officer and office, set all hearts
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.
Good Sir, I do.

Pro.
I pray thee mark me then.
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-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 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,
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 much 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 ^{c note}not nobly of my grand-mother;
Good wombs have born bad sons.

Pro.
Now the condition:
This King of Naples being an enemy
To me inveterate, ^{d note}hears 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 minister for th' 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: nor 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, nor 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 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,
Under my burthen 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, linnens, 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,
And give it way; I know thou canst not chuse.
Come away, servant, come; I'm ready now:
Approach, my Ariel. Come.

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