Ari. Silver! there it goes, Silver! Pros. Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark, hark! Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints Ari. Hark, they roar! Pros. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou ACT V. SCENE I. Before the cell of PROSPERO. Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL. Pros. Now does my project gather to a head: My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and Time Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? Ari. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease. Pros. I did say so, When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the king and 's followers? [Exeunt. Confin'd together Ari. Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly Him that you term'd, sir, "The good old lord, Gonzalo;" His tears run down his beard, like winter-drops From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em, That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender. Pros. Dost thou think so, spirit? And mine shall. Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling One of their kind, that relish all as sharply Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel: Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit. Pros. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid Weak masters though ye be — I have bedimm'd I here abjure; and, when I have requir'd [Solemn music. Re-enter ARIEL: after him, ALONSO, with a frantic gesture, attended by GONZALO; SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN and FRANCISCO: they all enter the circle which PROSPERO had made, and there stand charmed; which PROSPERO observing, speaks. A solemn air, and the best comforter To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand, Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses To him thou follow'st! I will pay thy graces Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: Ariel, [Exit Ariel. That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them As I was sometime Milan: - quickly, spirit; Re-enter ARIEL; who sings while helping to attire PROSPERO. Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. Pros. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee; But yet thou shalt have freedom: 80, so, so. To the king's ship, invisible as thou art: Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain And presently, I prithee. Ari. I drink the air before me, and return Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit. Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement, Inhabit here: some heavenly power guide us Out of this fearful country! Pros. Behold, sir king, The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero: For more assurance that a living prince Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; A hearty welcome. Alon. Whêr thou be'st he or no, Or some enchanted trifle to abuse ine, As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which, Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero Be living and be here? Pros. First, noble friend, You do yet taste Welcome, my friends all: Some subtilties o' th' isle, that will not let you [Aside to Seb. and Ant.] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, I'll tell no tales. No. Seb. [aside] The devil speaks in him. Alon. If thou be'st Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation; How thou hast met us here, who three hours since My dear son Ferdinand. Alon. Irreparable is the loss; and patience Says it is past her cure. You have not sought her help; of whose soft grace, |