THE TEMPEST. УильÑм ШекÑпир
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,
Which since have steaded much: so, of his gentleness,
Knowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me,
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
MIRANDA.
Would I might
But ever see that man!
PROSPERO.
Now I arise:—
[Resumes his mantle]
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arriv’d: and here
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
Than other princes can, that have more time
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.
MIRANDA.
Heavens thank you for’t! And now, I pray you, sir,—
For still ‘tis beating in my mind,—your reason
For raising this sea-storm?
PROSPERO.
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 choose.—
[MIRANDA sleeps]
Come away, servant, come! I am ready now.
Approach, my Ariel; Come!
[Enter ARIEL]
ARIEL.
All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
To answer thy best pleasure; be’t to fly,
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curl’d clouds; to thy strong bidding task
Ariel and all his quality.
PROSPERO.
Hast thou, spirit,
Perform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee?
ARIEL.
To every article.
I boarded the King’s ship; now on the beak,
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
I flam’d amazement; sometime I’d divide,
And burn in many places; on the topmast,
The yards, and boresprit, would I flame distinctly,
Then meet and join: Jove’s lightning, the precursors
O’ th’ dreadful thunderclaps, more momentary
And sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,
Yea, his dread trident shake.
PROSPERO.
My brave spirit!
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
Would not infect his reason?
ARIEL.
Not a soul
But felt a fever of the mad, and play’d
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
Then all afire with me: the King’s son, Ferdinand,
With hair upstaring—then like reeds, not hair—
Was the first man that leapt; cried ‘Hell is empty,
And all the devils are here.’
PROSPERO.
Why, that’s my spirit!
But was not this nigh shore?
ARIEL.
Close by, my master.
PROSPERO.
But are they, Ariel, safe?
ARIEL.
Not a hair perish’d;
On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
But fresher than before: and, as thou bad’st me,
In troops I have dispers’d them ‘bout the isle.
The king’s son have I landed by himself,
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
In an odd angle of the isle,