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Enter two Mariners, and pass over again.

Trinc. Turn out, turn out all hands to capstorm. You dogs, is this a time to sleep? Lubbord. Heave together, lads. [TRINCALO whistles. [Exeunt MUSTACHO and VENTOSO.

Must. within. Our vial's broke.

Vent. within. 'Tis but our vial-block has given way. Come, heave, lads! we are fixed again. Heave together, bullies.

Enter STEPHANO.

Steph. Cut down the hammocks! cut down the hammocks! come, my lads: Come, bullies, chear up! heave lustily. The anchor's apeak.

Trinc. Is the anchor apeak?

Steph. Is a weigh! is a weigh.

Trinc. Up aloft, my lads, upon the fore-castle; cut the anchor, cut him.

All within. Haul catt, haul catt, haul catt, haul: Haul catt, haul. Below.

Steph. Aft, aft, and loose the mizen!

Trinc. Get the mizen-tack aboard. Haul aft mizen-sheet.

Enter MUSTACHO.

Must. Loose the main-top sail!

Steph. Let him alone, there's too much wind. Trinc. Loose fore-sail! haul aft both sheets! trim her right before the wind. Aft! aft! lads, and hale up the mizen here.

Must. A mackrel-gale, master.

Steph. within. Port hard, port! the wind veers forward, bring the tack aboard-port is.

Starboard,

starboard, a little steady; now steady, keep her thus, no nearer you cannot come, 'till the sails are loose.

Enter VENTOSO.

Vent. Some hands down: The guns are loose.

Trinc. Try the pump, try the pump.

[Exit MUST,

[Exit VENT.

Enter MUSTACHO at the other door.

Must. O master! six foot water in hold.

Steph. Clap the helm hard aweather! flat, flat, flat-in the fore-sheet there.

Trinc. Over-haul your fore-bowling.
Steph. Brace in the larboard.

[Exit.

Trinc. A curse upon this howling, [A great cry within.] They are louder than the weather.

Enter ANTONIO and GONZALO.

Yet again, what do you here? Shall we give over, and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

Gonz. A pox on your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable dog.

Trinc. Work you then, and be poxed.

Anto. Hang, cur, hang, you whorson insolent noise-maker! We are less afraid to be drowned than you are.

Trinc. Ease the fore-brace a little.

[Exit.

Gonz. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky

as an unstanched wench.

Enter ALONZO and FERDINAND.

Ferd. For myself I care not, but your loss brings a thousand deaths to me.

Alon. O name not me, I am grown old, my son; I now am tedious to the world, and that, By use, is so to me: But, Ferdinand, I grieve my subjects' loss in thee: Alas!

[A cry within.

I suffer justly for my crimes, but why
Thou should'st-O heaven!
Hark! farewell, my son, a long farewell!

Enter TRINCALO, MUSTACHO, and VENTOSO.
Trinc. What, must our mouths be cold then?
Vent. All's lost. To prayers, to prayers.
Gonz. The duke and prince are gone within to
prayers. Let's assist them.

Must. Nay, we may e'en pray too, our

Case is now alike.

Ant. Mercy upon us! we split, we split!
Gonz. Let's all sink with the duke, and the young

[blocks in formation]

Trinc. Luff! luff! or we are all lost! there's a rock upon the starboard-bow.

Steph. She strikes, she strikes! All shift for themselves.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-In the midst of the shower of fire, the scene changes. The cloudy sky, rocks, and sea canish; and, when the lights return, discover that beautiful part of the island, which was the habitation of PROSPERO: 'Tis composed of three walks of cypress-trees; each side-walk leads to a cave, in one of which PROSPERO keeps his daughter, in the other HIPPOLITO: The middle-walk is of great depth, and leads to an open part of the island.

Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA.

Prosp. Miranda, where's your sister?

Mir. I left her looking from the pointed rock, At the walk's end, on the huge beat of waters.

Prosp. It is a dreadful object.
Mir. If by your art,

My dearest father, you have put them in
This roar, allay them quickly.
Prosp. I have so ordered,

That not one creature in the ship is lost:
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
My daughter, and thy pretty sister :
You both are ignorant of what you are,
Not knowing whence I am, nor that I'm more
Than Prospero, master of a narrow cell,
And thy unhappy father.

Mir. I ne'er endeavoured

To know more than you were pleased to tell me. Prosp. I should inform thee farther.

Mir. You often, sir, began to tell me what I am, But then you stopt.

Prosp. The hour's now come;

Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time, before we came into this cell?

I do not think thou canst, for then thou wert not
Full three years old.

Mir. Certainly I can, sir.

Prosp. Tell me the image then of any thing, Which thou dost keep in thy remembrance still. Mir. Sir, had I not four or five women once, that tended me?

Prosp. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: What seest thou else,

In the dark back-ward, and abyss of time?

If thou rememberest aught, ere thou cam'st here, Then how thou cam'st thou mayest remember too. Mir. Sir, that I do not.

Prosp. Fifteen years since, Miranda,

Thy father was the duke of Milan, and

A prince of power.

Mir. Sir, are not you my father?

Prosp. Thy mother was all virtue, and she said Thou wast my daughter, and thy sister too.

Mir. O heavens! what foul play had we, that We hither came? or was't a blessing that we did? Prosp. Both, both, my girl.

Mir. But, sir, I pray, proceed.

Prosp. My brother, and thy uncle, called Antonio,

To whom I trusted then the manage of my state, While I was wrapped with secret studies,—that false

uncle,

Having attained the craft of granting suits,
And of denying them; whom to advance,
Or lop, for over-topping,-soon was grown
The ivy, which did hide my princely trunk,
And sucked my verdure out: Thou attend'st not.
Mir. O good sir, I do.

Prosp. I thus neglecting worldly ends, and bent To closeness, and the bettering of my mind,

Waked in my false brother an evil nature: He did believe

He was indeed the duke, because he then

Did execute the outward face of sovereignty-
Do'st thou still mark me?

Mir. Your story would cure deafness.
Prosp. This false duke

Needs would be absolute in Milan, and confeder

ate

With Savoy's duke, to give him tribute, and

To do him homage.

Mir. False man!

Prosp. This duke of Savoy, being an enemy To me inveterate, strait grants my brother's suit; And on a night, mated to his design,

Antonio opened the gates of Milan, and
In the dead of darkness hurried me thence,
With thy young sister, and thy crying self.

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