Mira.

Pro. Hence; hang not on my garments.

Mira.

Beseech you, father!

Sir, have pity;

Silence: one word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What An advocate for an impostor? hush!

Thou think'st, there are no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench. To the most of men this is a Caliban,

And they to him are angels.

Mira.

My affections

Are then most humble; I have no ambition

To see a goodlier man.

Pro.

Come on; obey:

[To Ferd.

So they are:

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,
And have no vigour in them.

Fer.

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison, once a day,
Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.

It works:-Come on.

Pro. Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!-Follow me.

[To Ferd. and Mira.

Be of comfort;

Hark, what thou else shall do me. [To Ariel.

Mira.

My father's of a better nature, sir,

Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted,
Which now came from him.

Pro.

Thou shalt be as free

As mountain winds: but then exactly do

All points of my command.

Ari.

To the syllable.

Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt

ACT II.

SCENE I-Another part of the island. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and others.

Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have

cause

(So have we all) of joy; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss: our hint of wo
Is common; every day, some sailor's wife,

The masters of some merchant, and the merchant,
Have just our theme of wo: but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions

Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wi; by and by it will strike.

Gon. Sir.

Seb. One:- -Tell.

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's offer d, Comes to the entertainer

Seb.

A dollar.

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you proposed.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

Gon. Therefore, my lord,

Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! Alon. I pr'ythee, spare.

Gon. Well, I have done: but yet

Seb. He will be talking.

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?

Seb. Done: the wager?

Ant. A laughter.

Seb. A match.

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,Seb. Ha, ha, ha!

Ant. So, you've pay'd.

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,Seb. Yet,

Adr. Yet

Ant. He could not miss it.

Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.

Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen.

Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life.
Ant. True; save means to live.

Seb. Of that there's none, or little.

Gon. How lush2 and lusty the grass looks! how

green!

Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny.

Seb. With an eye3 of green in't.

Ant. He misses not much.

Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is, indeed, almost beyond credit-)

Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are.

Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness, and glosses; being rather new dy'd, than stain'd with salt water.

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, He lies?

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.
Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as

(1) Temperature. (2) Rank. (3) Shade of colour

when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis.

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their queen.

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time.

Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! how came that widow in? Widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had said, widower Æneas too? good lord, how you take it!

Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of that she was of Carthage, not of Tunis Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

Adr. Carthage?

Gon. I assure you, Carthage.

Ant. His word is more than the miraculous har Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next?

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple.

Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.

Gon. Ay?

Ant. Why, in good time.

Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis, at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen

Ant. And the rarest that c'er came there.
Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.
Ant. O, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first

day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.1

Ant. That sort was well fish'd for.

Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? (1) Degree or quality.

Alon. You cram these words into mine ears,

against

The stomach of my sense: 'would I had never
Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,
Who is so far from Italy remov'd,

I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee!

Fran.

Sir, he may live;
I saw him beat the surges under him,

And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln that met him: his bold
head

'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke

To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd
I not doubt,
As stooping to relieve him.

He came alive to land.

Alon.

No, no, he's gone.

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great

loss;

That would not bless our Europe with your daugh

ter,

But rather lose her to an African;

Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye,
Wno nath cause to wet the grief on't.

Alon.

Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd oth erwise

By all of us; and the fair soul herself

Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost

your son,

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have

More widows in them of this business' making, Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's Your own.

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.