William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA.

More to know

Did never meddle with my thoughts.

PROSPERO.

‘Tis time

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,

And pluck my magic garment from me.—So:

[Lays down his mantle]

Lie 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 provision in mine art

So safely ordered that there is no soul—

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.

MIRANDA.

You have often

Begun to tell me what I am: but stopp’d,

And left me to a bootless inquisition,

Concluding ‘Stay; not yet.’

PROSPERO.

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.

MIRANDA.

Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO.

By what? By any other house, or person?

Of any thing the image, tell me, that

Hath kept with thy remembrance.

MIRANDA.

‘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?

PROSPERO.

Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it

That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else

In the dark backward and abysm of time?

If thou rememb’rest aught ere thou cam’st here,

How thou cam’st here, thou mayst.

MIRANDA.

But that I do not.

PROSPERO.

Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,

Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and

A prince of power.

MIRANDA.

Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO.

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

And princess,—no worse issued.

MIRANDA.

O, the heavens!

What foul play had we that we came from thence?

Or blessed was’t we did?

PROSPERO.

Both, both, my girl.

By foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d thence;

But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA.

O! my heart bleeds

To think o’ th’ teen that I have turn’d you to,

Which is from my remembrance. Please you, further.

PROSPERO.

My brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio—

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?

MIRANDA.

Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO.

Being once perfected how to grant suits,

How to deny them, who t’ advance, and who

To trash for overtopping; 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 i’ th’ state

To what tune pleas’d his ear: that now he was

The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,

And suck’d my verdure out on’t.—Thou attend’st not.

MIRANDA.

O, good sir! I do.

PROSPERO.

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 retir’d,

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 falsehood, 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; out o’ the substitution,

And executing th’ outward face of royalty,

With all prerogative.—Hence his ambition growing—

Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO.

To have no screen between this part he play’d

And him he play’d 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.

MIRANDA.

O the heavens!

PROSPERO.

Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me

If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA.

I should sin

To think but nobly of my grandmother:

Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO.

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’ the 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 levied, one midnight

Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open

The gates of Milan; and, i’ th’ dead of darkness,

The ministers for th’ purpose hurried thence

Me and thy crying self.

MIRANDA.

Alack, for pity!

I, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,

Will cry it o’er again: it is a hint

That wrings mine eyes to’t.

PROSPERO.

Hear a little further,

And then I’ll bring thee to the present business

Which now’s upon us; without the which this story

Were most impertinent.

MIRANDA.

Wherefore did they not

That hour destroy us?

PROSPERO.

Well demanded, wench:

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,

So dear the love my people bore me, nor set

A mark so bloody on the business; but

With colours fairer painted their foul ends.

In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,

Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared

A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg’d,

Nor tackle, sail, nor mast: the very rats

Instinctively have 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.

MIRANDA.

Alack! what trouble

Was I then to you!

PROSPERO.

O, a cherubin

Thou wast that did preserve me! Thou didst smile,

Infused with a fortitude from heaven,

When I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt,

Under my burden groan’d: which rais’d in me

An undergoing stomach, to bear up

Against what should ensue.

MIRANDA.

How came we ashore?

PROSPERO.

By Providence divine.

Some food we had and some fresh water that

A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,

Out of his charity,—who being then appointed

Master of this design,—did give us, with

Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,